Chapter 3
Saturday 3rd May, 1958
Dear diary,
Today must have been one of the worst days of my life, including the day my baby brother passed on. Sincerely. Now Veronica is dead, I feel so awful. I found out the news last night from my mother. It was even in the fucking headlines! How could somebody do something so terrible to such a cute girl? She was only twelve for Christ’s sake! I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget this day… I just wish the ground would swallow me up.
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Monday 5th May, 1958
Dear diary,
The class feels so empty without Veronica. I caught Greta Bowie crying this morning. What a sight! I’ve never seen a Bowie cry before. She thinks she’s all tough, but everyone was crying. Well, apart from Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter. Why are they so emotionless? It’s really odd. I think they’re crazy. Wouldn’t be surprised at all if the guidance councillor were to take them away for an inspection…
I don’t want to admit this to anybody (although Victor Criss did hand me a handkerchief behind his friends’ backs), but I cried for hours. My eyes still sting now. Okay, I admit it; I had a thing for Veronica Grogan. She was beautiful with long brown hair and blue eyes. Veronica was quiet, but a very clever girl. I could tell.
It’s hard to believe she’s gone.
In the morning the school held a little assembly in her memory. At the end of it the headmistress was preaching at us about ‘stranger danger’ and how to protect yourself from ‘strange adults’. A load of rubbish if you ask me – Veronica wasn’t some dumb whore.
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Tuesday 6th May, 1958
Dear diary,
Why did my mom remarry such a fucking horrible man? He’s fucking crazy! Ask anybody!
Today he has burnt his cigarette butt into my arm. It hurts so badly. Mom had just ignored me when I’d gone to her crying. What a bitch! I can’t trust anybody anymore. No one cares about me.
I wish I could live with my real dad. He’s in Boston though… I miss him so much.
My step dad’s constantly yelling at me, making me do all the chores (I’m not fucking Cinderella!), hurting me when I disobey or do something wrong, even accidentally. I hate him. One of these days I’m gonna end up killing him. Sincerely.
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Friday 9th May, 1958
Dear Diary,
My life really isn’t looking up at the moment, huh? School was terrible, although that’s nothing new…. Mrs Reichs gave me a detention for slapping Hockstetter. He deserved it though! Really he fucking did! That asshole was winding me up about Veronica, teasing me about being turned down by her. Patrick really should watch his mouth. If he doesn’t want to lose all his perfect teeth that is.
He’s such a baby fag! I guess he was just jealous that I get to be around Henry more than him. I don’t even understand why Henry would let him hang around anyway. He so… girly and weak. He’s harmless. Patrick couldn’t even beat up that pansy Eddie Kaspbrak! Wow that’s something I’’d like to see!
Anyway, detention was the worst. All the usual guys were there; Henry, Reg Belch, Trashmouth and even Victor this time. It was like being trapped with a bunch of wild animals. Seriously. I don’t want to talk about it… I’ve never had a detention before – mom was so mad with me! I’m really scared for when my step-dad comes home and finds out. I think I should disappear to downtown for a while and lay low.
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Saturday 10th May, 1958
Dear Diary,
Hey, something really good happened today! It’s so amazing! My dad, my REAL dad sent me a letter in the mail asking if I’d like to go on holiday with him!! TO FLORIDA! I’ve never been on holiday before. Well, out of Maine I mean. I’m so excited. We’ll be leaving at the end of this month when daddy has finished his work out in Boston.
Apparently in Florida it’s always hot and sunny – I really need that. Here in Derry for the past few days it just won’t stop raining! I’m so sick of it.
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Sunday 11th May, 1958
Dear Diary,
Tom’s hurt me again. I can’t move my elbow without it being very, very painful. I totally think it’s broken. I can hear and feel the bones grinding against each other. Bruises are forming there too! Why can’t mom take me to the hospital? She’s telling me I’m being a stupid baby. I’m telling her she’s a stupid cow. Now I’ve been sent to my room.
I can’t stand it anymore. I’m thinking of leaving home. My real dad’s the only person who loves me, and I hate this shitty small town. Everything about it just stinks. Everything and everyone. I want out.
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Monday 12th May, 1958
Dear Diary,
This is it. I’ve been tempted for a while now. I’m running away. If anyone even tries to stop me I’ll get out my step-dad’s .30-.30 and blow their brains out. I can’t take it anymore; everything is just so fucking awful.
Screw mom. She doesn’t even care for me. Not after baby Dorsey died.
Fuck dad. He cancelled on me. Apparently he’s busy at work. I thought he loved me.
I’ve been planning this a while now. If it wasn’t for my education, I would have done it already.
I’m going to pack one change of clothes, most of my step-dad’s cash that he’d kept in his underwear drawer (he doesn’t deserve it) and some tootsie rolls for on the way.
Well, I guess this is the end of my journal. I have to admit I’ll miss writing in it every now and again, but maybe when I’ve made a better life for myself, I’ll buy a new one and record my thoughts then.
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