April 27th 1920
Today it’s 361 days since Buddy got hit by the train. Almost a year. It seems like everyone else has forgotten, and it really doesn’t surprise me, they’re all idiots. Not that my opinion counts, no one cares about me anymore. Ever since Buddy was gone, no one really talked to me, and I didn’t want to talk to them either. Mom tried of course, but I don’t want to talk to her. It’s her fault, if she hadn’t invited Ruth we hadn’t gone for that walk at all. Ruth actually came over last night though, looking as pretty as ever. Of course she and mom tried to cheer me up like always, but why would I want to be together with the people that got my brother killed? I miss him so much, they don’t. And if they do, they don’t show it at all. They look all natural and happy, maybe a little tired of me, but they aren’t sulking like me. It’s like they don’t even care anymore about me either, because I went to the woods yesterday, and when I came home early today, she didn’t mention it, so I guess she didn’t notice.
I don’t have anyone to talk to either. I never had, I just had Buddy. And now he’s gone, so I almost don’t talk at all. Just when I have to answer mom, it’s only her I say anything to, but I never look at her. I can’t stand the exhaustion and sadness in her eyes anymore.
Ruth comes over here often. I don’t know why, I always leave when she comes. I don’t want to talk to her, why should I? She never has anything interesting to say anyway.
Now mom is calling me for dinner, but I don’t know if I’m even hungry. But I should go; I don’t want her to go out here. I’ll see if I can write some more tomorrow.
April 28th 1920
362 days, another day closer to a year. I bet Ruth is going to come over here and cry in my mom’s lap again, like she does once a month. But I’ll be sorry to say that she doesn’t come over here just once a month, like I said yesterday; she often visits. Mom even asked her if she wanted to move in one time! But luckily she said no, I wouldn’t know what to do with her around all the time.
I really hope Ruth stay away for a few days; I can’t handle her being here and sobbing when I have my own sorrow. I was thinking about going out in the woods again, just to be alone. I always feel better by being there, I’m sure it’s because then I don’t have to be around my family and Ruth.
Now I really have to go, it’s late, and if I want to go to the woods tomorrow, I have to wake up early.
April 31th 1920
Today it’s exactly a year since Buddy died. Or murdered by a train to be more exact. I’m still in the forest, I haven’t been bothered enough to go home, not that anyone will bother fuss over me.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much in my life, except the day Buddy died. It just hurts so much, thinking about that I could’ve saved him. I really want him back here; I don’t want to be alone anymore.
It’s obviously been a horrible day at home too, and I actually should be there. But I bet Ruth is there, and I really don’t want to see her smiles of pity and understanding. She doesn’t understand that I really don’t want her pity or pathetic excuses.
It makes it even harder to go home, thinking about the ones at home. But I should go anyway, so I’m going to finish here. I hope things aren’t too bad at home, I can’t handle that.