Jay's Journal Read online

  Crap, I’m crying like a little two-year-old girl . . . but I feel so bad . . . so bad. . . . Dad honors his family name. It’s part of his religion, part of his background, part of his heritage . . . and me, that honored special family name didn’t mean shit to me when I was only interested in my own needs. I didn’t think about his, and my, ancestors crossing the plains, doing without, being maligned and mistreated and martyred. . . . No, only about me . . . the big fancy jock trying to make his woman happy by any means.

  Not that it was easy that first time. I remember my T shirt got absolutely wet with perspiration I was so nervous, and my head was pounding like someone was trying to drill a well inside . . . and my stomach . . . I remember the knots and wrenches and the fear that I was going to throw up all over the whole counter. Another strange thing, I’d never been bothered much about stinking when I sweated but man, I could hardly stand myself then. It was like I was sweating rotten egg gas. That’s weird, isn’t it? That even my chemical balance was upset? . . . or that evil? . . . or . . . oh Judas, I’m crumbling my crackers.

  What if Mom dies? Who will make the bread? I don’t think I could exist without her homemade bread. It smells so good, and . . . see, even now I’m thinking of me. Not her, not Dad, not poor little Kendall and Chad. What would they do? I’m big enough to make it on my own but . . . I wonder if Dad would have Aunt Joyce, who just lost her husband, come and live with us. . . . Oh I hope not, she’s such a fanatic about having everything clean and straight. She can’t stand a gum wrapper in a wastebasket or a milk glass on the sink. What if Dad remarries? Who? Would she be good to Kendall and Chad? I know whoever she was, she couldn’t love them as much as Mom.

  Oh God, here I am thinking about things like Mom’s already being dead. That’s faith for you. But between Dell leaving and Mom so . . . whatever . . . I can’t stand it. I feel like my head and chest and stomach and everything else is going to explode! Oh God, help me stand it.

  3 A.M.

  I don’t know when I’ve ever prayed so long so hard. God just can’t let Mom die now. We need her too much. Kendall and Chad and Dad need her. I’m not worth her love. But I’m going to be! If Mom gets well I’m going to make her proud and happy. I’ll have a grade point average that is flawless, and attend to my home and church duties with a cheerful heart and appreciation. Appreciation, that’s what I need most of all. Appreciation for God, and my parents, and my brothers and school and . . . I could go on forever . . . I’m so unworthy, so weak and trouble-giving and unworthy!

  Oh please, please God, make Mom well and I’ll never ask for anything more as long as I live. It hurts so bad to know that she is in such misery. Oh dear God, what if that’s because someone else is substituting at the pharmacy. I can’t stand that thought! But it’s possible!

  All the relatives are fasting until after the specialists make their diagnosis. Usually fasting is so difficult but this time it’s a wonderful feeling bringing the whole family closer together. Aunt Ruth took me in her arms last night and I cried like a kid while she patted my hair. It’s a terrible thing but it seems like tragedy brings people closer together, makes them more supportive, more dependent.

  I’m so glad I’ve got you, journal. It’s like . . . I don’t know, but I guess it’s like going to a psychiatrist . . . I can just get rid of all my fears and frustrations, at least dilute them, by writing in you.

  January 15

  What a day! Can you believe I won All-State Finals Forensic Society? Every word that came out of my mouth was just right! Imagine winning over high school kids, 500 in the first elimination. Me . . . Me . . . not yet sixteen-year-old snot-nosed kid, winning over those suckers. It was Mom’s first really big night out and I think I did it mostly for her. She’s so special in my life. And it was so special of her to make me homemade bread to celebrate. Man, what a family! I’m going to make President of the National Thespians for them next year or bust!

  In some ways I’m kind of like two people, the easy coasting me when I’m not in competition; the precise slugger when I’m on stage.

  THE JOYS OF ARGUMENTATIVE SPEAKING

  I have told several different people that nothing can be compared to the feeling you have after completely destroying the confidence of a person in himself by “wiping him out” in debate. Yes, you do have kind of a feeling of achievement (mixed with pity, especially if there are girls and they cry) but the greater joy lies in the fact that you are maybe causing people to think, to react a little and that you are developing an argumentative style, a basic speaking style, and an analytical mind. These are the real joys of debate. You can feel yourself becoming better. Then there are the people you meet, many of them pretty cool and some of them sloppy dinks; but on the average, you will be attracted to the cool people and the others will repel or just do nothing.

  January 17

  Brad’s date last night was an octopus. He said he had to fight her off all night. I could hear them scuffling around in the backseat but I thought he was the one making the moves. Judas, isn’t that funny, Brad having to protect his virginity by practically slugging the wench. Man, I didn’t know Caroline had the hots for him like that, I guess he didn’t either or he wouldn’t have asked her out. Come to think of it, she and Mela asked us. Mela even furnished the car, and actually, come to think of it in more detail, Mela roughed me up more than I did her too. I’m not getting into that all-the-way thing again though. Good little church girls . . . except at the drive-in movies. Ha, if their mothers only knew. I feel like telling them. Brad and Dell are both virgins and they’re right! There should be a single standard for both girls and boys, good! Then there’s me . . . nonrelevant, nonpredictable . . . ass-headed!

  I think for Brad’s birthday I’m going to buy him a lock for his zipper when he goes out on dates. Wouldn’t that be a laugh. Him opening this present and family all wondering what the hell it was. Man, I’ve got to think of some way to do that. He may wet his pants before the evening is over . . . but, oh Judas, I wish Dell was here so we could plan it together.

  January 25

  Isn’t it funny how many different kinds of “love” and “lust” there are. Dad told me once when I was going with Debbie that I was not in love but just in “lust.” It seemed sort of nutty then but now I’m beginning to understand because while I have mixed emotions about Barry I know that part of the feeling of security and peace that I have around her is that I know where she stands. “No handseys!” It really makes for a nice, comfortable relationship. We’re “buds,” someone dependable to study with or go to games and dances with but no fooling around. It’s really a fantastic feeling of unpressure, is that a word?

  January 30

  Barry’s got this little sister who has Down’s. At first I felt uncomfortable around her, and always tried to really not see her, but you know she’s a sweet kid once you get to know her, even though she drools and she’s always got this funny kind of grin on her face. Sometimes I used to have to fight myself to keep from pulling away from her when she came close, but now I’m beginning to like her, not just endure her—but really like her! She has a kind of innocence and peace and tranquility that none of the rest of us, in the normal sphere of living, even come close to. Like when she cut herself, she didn’t cry or scream like Chaddy would have done or curse a little, like Kendall, if Mom hadn’t been around, would have done. She just looked surprised that anything or anyone could or would hurt her. It was so sweet and gentle I felt like Barry did and wanted to hold her and take the pain away, in fact even take it on myself. I like the way she makes me feel inside. Like I really do care about more than myself! I’m sure she even makes my relationship with Barry better. I wonder how I’d feel though if Barry ever wanted to take her with us to the Mall or something. I know I’d be embarrassed, probably even mad, because I’d know other people would be making fun of her the way I used to do with people that were different. Life is strange. I wonder if I’ll ever really understand it. Maybe I should go into psychiatr
y, but I dunno, all the psychiatrists I’ve ever known were as cuckoo, and uptight, and had kids as rotten as anybody else. It would be terrible to go into a field that had no concrete answers.

  February 1

  Can you believe only fourteen more days and I’ll be sixteen? SIXTEEN! SIXTEEN! I’ll have wheels! No more having to have a licensed driver with me. No more sneaking cars—no more feeling guilty . . . I can’t bear the wonder of it.

  February 15

  THIS is the day! I got my driver’s license and I wanted to drive completely around the world without stopping, over both the Pacific and the Atlantic oceans and through the Sea of Galilee and every other place I could think of. I did drive to Troy and back all by myself. I didn’t even want Barry or Brad with me. It was kind of like something I had always looked forward to that was almost sacred. That’s dumb, isn’t it? To worship a car. That’s almost what it is, though. I cut school. Mom didn’t know that, but I think she understands how important a car is in my life, I know Dad does. He’s been as excited as I about my getting a driver’s license. He joked and teased about how none of the streets would be safe anymore and how little old ladies would lock themselves and their kids and their pets indoors when I was at the wheel and stuff, but I’m sure that’s just because he understands how important it is to me.

  After school I picked up Brad and Barry and we just cruised till time to go to work, stopping only long enough to get a hamburger to eat on the way, and gas; man, gas is expensive! I’ve got to get myself a VW or something I can support. I’ve got $420 in the bank so it shouldn’t be too long before I can pick up some kind of a clunker.

  February 19

  I guess I’ve got the neatest parents in the world. Tonight when I was telling them about the little VW I’d seen advertised in the paper and had gone to see they both smiled at each other and said they would make up the difference. Wow! With their $180 and my $420 I’ll have wheels! Tomorrow during lunch period Mom’s going to pick me up and take me to the bank, then to pick up my car! MY CAR! It’s like saying MY WORLD! It’s a clean little critter. Green as a little fat toad and just as cute!

  February 27

  Dad says I’m trying to polish the paint off Toad, but I’m not. I’m just showing him how much I love him. Barry loves him too, she’s helped me clean the motor and polish the chrome. He’s our little buddy. And our school sticker is practically his shade of green. Isn’t that neat?

  It’s funny how Barry can be so much like Dell. Of course, she’ll never take his place! No one ever could.

  February 28

  Barry’s into drama. She keeps telling me how much I’d love it but I don’t know—it seems so damned gay and fruity or something . . . being an actor. She wants me to try out for the play they’re casting but . . . Judas, I think I’d hate her through all of eternity and beyond if I fell on my ass, even trying out and not getting the part would be an injury to this puffed up but necessary ego of mine that I’m not sure would ever heal.

  March 1

  Barry was on my case again today. I’ve got to decide by tomorrow. I thought it would be easier if I tried to put my thoughts on paper, most things are to me, but not this. . . . I know if we both got parts we’d be together more of the time and have another common interest . . . but what if she got a part and I didn’t . . . what if I got a part and she didn’t? Oh crap . . . no inspirations . . . no answers . . . no decisions.

  March 2

  It’s all these crappy little decisions that drive people bananas. Barry and I are even fighting. Twelve-thirty but I think I’ll sneak out and push Toad down the driveway and go for a cruise.

  March 3

  I’ve really got life in a bundle! Me . . . Me . . . imagine me! One of the leads and Barry with one of the others . . . Oh we’re so neat, so fortunate and neat and talented! But I’ve never done anything like this before, I wonder if I’ll wet my pants halfway through the first act. In a way I’m kind of sorry I let Barry talk me into it, acting is so . . . so dependent. It’s not like debating where you can change your strategy and your style and timing and pressure, it’s . . . I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what it is. At least it’s only two days till we start rehearsal, then I’ll know. Man, I hope it won’t be a bummer.

  May 30

  ACTING . . . ACTING . . . ACTING . . . It’s the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me. It’s like debating, only somehow more fulfilling. . . . It’s like being someone else—or like being me as a new form of existence. It turns me on, and on, and on, and on.

  THE JOYS OF THE THEATER

  You’re thinking, what would he do, what would he think, how would he react? You start pulling. Pulling out the little packaged thought, feelings, and emotions that will make you that character. Then the other people, so talented, so quiet and caring but so open and loud and emotional. Everyone can feel the vibrations, the audience is restless, the people want a show. They paid money to sit in the auditorium and watch the fantasy of the emotions, both real (method) and unreal (technique). Then (the curtain opens), everyone smiles and some shake a little. The first words are said, the first jokes are cracked, and the audience laughs and at the end (the time goes so fast, you’re so involved in being that person that you live in a fantasy that included time as fast time; the faces in the audience, the people, all make the time go fast), at the end, the applause picks you up from the stage, lifts you into a different world, and you don’t come back till the next morning. The chills, the smiles, the embraces, the smell of cold cream and pancake, the tears, the cheers, the smell of perspiration, the running jumps in the hall, the “how was I?” and “how did it go?” The “great show’s” and the “hey you guys were good’s.” That is the reward, the joy in the theater is the theater and what it stands for. The stage, a fantasy, and for just those moments you on that stage with God knows how many faces looking at you.

  June 1

  The letdown is incredible! I was upped on school, debating, drama, Barry and Brad. Now they’re all gone. Barry and Brad’s folks both took their vacation right after school was out. Dad wants to let his employees go first, good old Dad, poor old us.

  Working is a bore, maybe I could get something else, but what? Every other job I could hold would be just as boring as the one I’ve got. Why can’t I be an astronaut or an oceanographer or a brain surgeon, just for the summer? I’m a pea-brain that lives on wishes and fantasy and doesn’t know his ass from his head, that’s why!

  June 4

  Oh agony, pain, torture . . . torment . . . carelessness . . . drunken driving. I wrecked little Toad. Almost totaled him. Dad won’t even talk to me about him. Oh crap, if he’d just talk . . . but like he says, “What is there to say?” I was drunk. I was out with Lucy Loose Legs. . . . I was a fool, an idiot, and a nincompoop. I know better.

  Dad didn’t say a thing about grounding me. I guess he knows I couldn’t be any more hurt. In a way I wish he had inflicted some kind of punishment, at least then I could have put some of the blame on him, hated him a little more and myself a little less, shared the blame, put it on somebody, anybody. The insiders, the outsiders. Oh Judas, what am I going to do?

  June 6

  Went out with Carl and Nelson, they’re both into Astra baloney. I was so damned lonely. There’s nobody but nobody left in this screwed-up little burg. Everybody took off for vacation as soon as school was out like rats leaving a sinking ship. Everybody but us! Carl and Nelson are such nerds! I should be able to understand how they are curious and intrigued by all that supernatural crap, because I’ve been through it. Judas, I’ll keep what I’ve got, thank you. They can both go kiss a cactus.

  June 7

  Carl has an Ouija board at his house. It’s really creepy how these things work. It answered questions about me and Debbie and about me and Pete that nobody in the whole world could have known except me. It’s funny but the bloody thing won’t work for Nelson. It just plain doesn’t move or when it does move doesn’t make sense. I asked it about
my auwa and it said “no” and wouldn’t move any more the whole night.

  We levitated coins and light objects for a while. Carl is better than I am. Nelson just keeps trying. He’s really kind of scared. I’m not anymore because now I’m just investigating in a scientific way. There has to be some explanation of these powers that we can’t understand. It must be kind of like an electric or magnetic force that we all possess but just don’t do anything about. Refusing to check into this kind of phenomena is kind of like disregarding knowledge. It does exist. I cannot deny that it exists.

  I can see a red aura around Carl. Nelson has a gray one that floats off almost cloudlike from him. I really have to concentrate to see them now. I guess even this type of skill like all others is lost with lack of use.

  June 8

  I’ve had a real strange feeling since Carl and Nelson left. When we were using our Astra expertise Kendall came running into my room crying. He was having bad dreams of things he couldn’t explain. A few minutes later Chaddy toddled in all sleepy eyed and scared. He had felt the same vibes or whatever. I had to leave both their lights on to get them to go back to sleep. I was glad Mom and Dad weren’t home.

  A while later when we were talking to the Ouija board Chaddy came in again. I know he’d never seen an Ouija board before because I hadn’t until I saw Pete’s at the Pine Boys’ School; anyway Chad pulled away from it like it was poison and said he hated it. Isn’t that hard to comprehend? I wonder if Chad could feel its psychic forces? Being so young naturally he couldn’t understand them, or maybe he’s just too young to handle them so he feels afraid. I wish I could talk to Dad about these things but I’m sure he’d try to get me to drop the whole research project I’ve decided to do about the occult. I can’t do that! The occult thing is growing so fast it has to have something. In fact, I know it has something—I’ve seen and used its powers! If I find it’s wrong or does evil, after I do my research, I’ll get Dad to help me instigate a drive against it.