Friday, May 3, 1861
M Y BROTHER IS GOING TO KILL ME.
Kill me or laugh at me—or something.
If he ever finds this book… this… Heavens I don't want to say journal. However, I suppose that’s what it is.
A book where I can write down my thoughts.
I'm sure not able to, nor have the capacity to, do it in life. In real life.
And if mother ever sees this… I shudder to think what she would do to me. This is my father's father's journal. I found it here last week in an old trunk shoved back in the loft of the barn. I find things to do so I don't have to go inside the house. I have my reasons. I suppose this is a safe place to share those reasons or talk about why. No one else is going to come up here and read it, but I know my feelings. So, why should I write them down?
Because my grandfather did.
Because I want to be in the house as little as possible.
Because I need to talk to someone.
Because there is something in me that I can't explain.
Something dark.
Something… I don't know. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I'm just being a baby and thinking too much about it. I don't know…
Maybe this is all too dumb to write down.
But…
I can feel it sometimes. Mainly when I’m angry, which is a lot of the time actually. Perhaps it’s because I’ll never live up to my brother in my mother's eyes. Perhaps it’s because she never wanted me Lucien could do no wrong. I could do no right. I touched her damn book with the weird symbols on it when I was three and couldn't sit for a week.
And she never wanted me. Yes, she told me that for the first time when I was eight and embarrassed her by getting into a fight at church.
To be fair, Laurence Baker had it coming. He called my brother a name. Nobody picks on my brother but me.
I didn't tell Mother that. Lucien asked me not to.
Mother didn't think I had any reason to break ten-year-old Laurence's nose.
Thing is, Lucien didn't even stand up for me when it was his fault—well, sort of his fault. He just stood by while Mother broke the broom over my back. He told me later he was sorry. He thanked me while he put some cooling pieces of wet cloth on my back. Sometimes I think he's more scared of our mother than I am, which makes no sense since he's the oldest and the favorite.
He promised he'd never let her hurt me again.
So far, he's kept his promise.
She's hit me since, but never like that. Mostly it's just words. Looks. The way she dotes on Lucien more. I don't even know if I can explain it. I just know that if Lucien and I were both drowning, I might as well just let go and drown because she's not helping me, especially not over Lucien. She calls him her angel.
I guess I know what that makes me.
Anyway, I don't want to write about the past. I don't even want to think about it. The past can't be changed. I can only look forward to the future.
The scary, scary future.
The war is going on around us. There’s talk that Tennessee will join the CSA.
I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Am I ready to go to war? Would I join the war? If so, which side?
The news around here is grim, but we must continue to live our lives. We have no choice in the matter.
My brother seems to smile more now, though. Well for the past few days anyway. Lucien has a big heart, mostly, and a big dumb smile. But something had him down the past few weeks. I asked him what, but he refused to answer. Not refused exactly, but he changed the subject.
Lately, though, he's seems lighter. Today, I caught him sniffing a flower.
Sniffing.
A flower.
With an idiotic grin.
It was… I was going to say strange, but it was actually pretty nice.
Whatever is going on with Lucien, I hope the same will happen to me soon.
Not that I want to stop and sniff flowers.
I'm not that desperate.
Saturday, May 4, 1861
T WO DAYS IN A ROW.
I'm surprised I even picked this up again. I figured I'd write some idiotic drivel and then forget about it.
But here I am. Sitting with a lantern in the loft,
M Y BROTHER IS GOING TO KILL ME.
Kill me or laugh at me—or something.
If he ever finds this book… this… Heavens I don't want to say journal. However, I suppose that’s what it is.
A book where I can write down my thoughts.
I'm sure not able to, nor have the capacity to, do it in life. In real life.
And if mother ever sees this… I shudder to think what she would do to me. This is my father's father's journal. I found it here last week in an old trunk shoved back in the loft of the barn. I find things to do so I don't have to go inside the house. I have my reasons. I suppose this is a safe place to share those reasons or talk about why. No one else is going to come up here and read it, but I know my feelings. So, why should I write them down?
Because my grandfather did.
Because I want to be in the house as little as possible.
Because I need to talk to someone.
Because there is something in me that I can't explain.
Something dark.
Something… I don't know. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I'm just being a baby and thinking too much about it. I don't know…
Maybe this is all too dumb to write down.
But…
I can feel it sometimes. Mainly when I’m angry, which is a lot of the time actually. Perhaps it’s because I’ll never live up to my brother in my mother's eyes. Perhaps it’s because she never wanted me Lucien could do no wrong. I could do no right. I touched her damn book with the weird symbols on it when I was three and couldn't sit for a week.
And she never wanted me. Yes, she told me that for the first time when I was eight and embarrassed her by getting into a fight at church.
To be fair, Laurence Baker had it coming. He called my brother a name. Nobody picks on my brother but me.
I didn't tell Mother that. Lucien asked me not to.
Mother didn't think I had any reason to break ten-year-old Laurence's nose.
Thing is, Lucien didn't even stand up for me when it was his fault—well, sort of his fault. He just stood by while Mother broke the broom over my back. He told me later he was sorry. He thanked me while he put some cooling pieces of wet cloth on my back. Sometimes I think he's more scared of our mother than I am, which makes no sense since he's the oldest and the favorite.
He promised he'd never let her hurt me again.
So far, he's kept his promise.
She's hit me since, but never like that. Mostly it's just words. Looks. The way she dotes on Lucien more. I don't even know if I can explain it. I just know that if Lucien and I were both drowning, I might as well just let go and drown because she's not helping me, especially not over Lucien. She calls him her angel.
I guess I know what that makes me.
Anyway, I don't want to write about the past. I don't even want to think about it. The past can't be changed. I can only look forward to the future.
The scary, scary future.
The war is going on around us. There’s talk that Tennessee will join the CSA.
I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Am I ready to go to war? Would I join the war? If so, which side?
The news around here is grim, but we must continue to live our lives. We have no choice in the matter.
My brother seems to smile more now, though. Well for the past few days anyway. Lucien has a big heart, mostly, and a big dumb smile. But something had him down the past few weeks. I asked him what, but he refused to answer. Not refused exactly, but he changed the subject.
Lately, though, he's seems lighter. Today, I caught him sniffing a flower.
Sniffing.
A flower.
With an idiotic grin.
It was… I was going to say strange, but it was actually pretty nice.
Whatever is going on with Lucien, I hope the same will happen to me soon.
Not that I want to stop and sniff flowers.
I'm not that desperate.
Saturday, May 4, 1861
T WO DAYS IN A ROW.
I'm surprised I even picked this up again. I figured I'd write some idiotic drivel and then forget about it.
But here I am. Sitting with a lantern in the loft,
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