What I Can't Recall

After counting the ceiling tiles (one hundred and thirty-three, and a half) about two hundred times, hearing the weather report at least seventy-two, and attempting to take three naps, I hear a soft knock on the door to my room.

“Come on in,” I call, relieved that I have a visitor. I've been in this room for no more than four hours, and I'm already bored to death. Three of the four of them, I wasn't even alone. I had Jake right next to me. Not that Jake was all that amusing, but I guess at least he stayed. I sit myself up and straighten the stupid green gown I'm wearing as the visitor opens the door.

Bryler walks in, with a leather-bound book in his hand. He smiles at me, puts the book in his back pocket, then pulls a chair up next to the side of my bed, and sits down. He gives me the once-over then opens his mouth to speak.

“You feeling any better?” He asks, with a concerned tone to his voice. Worrying does him no good; his face gets this pale, warn out look to it. Like he’d suddenly gone through some sort of a midlife crisis at fifteen.

“I was never feeling bad in the first place. They are forcing me to stay in this horrid place,” I inform him grouchily, sighing as I pushed my hair out of my eyes.

“You never did like the smell of disinfectant,” Bryler says with a slight laugh, that crooked smile tugging at his lips and the effect making his whole face look a lot better. One smile and the worry had faded away; merely a memory.

“No, and I never will. Especially not now. I could hardly even clean my own house with it. Sometimes I'd make Sarah do it for me. Speaking of which, Sarah isn't too terribly worried, is she?” I ask. The last thing I need is Sarah's eye on me round-the-clock, to make sure I'm okay.

“She was pretty frantic at first, but I think she's fine now. It was hard to reassure her when I didn't know anything, though. Jake called me about an hour ago, as he was leaving. He told me he thought you'd be alright,” he says, using his palm to flatten down his bangs nervously. It was one of his bad habits; I couldn’t contradict him for it, though, because I had my bad habits, too. I picked at my nails, and touched my hair like ten hundred times when I got anxious.

“Yeah, I'll be fine, if I don't die from boredom,” I say, flopping back onto my bed, “not that Jake wasn't wonderful company, sitting in that chair over there for three hours maybe saying four words to me the whole time. I swear, that boy must not know more than ten words of the English language. ”

“Well, maybe I'll be a little bit more entertaining,” Bryler says, smiling down at me and winking.

“You will be as long as your more entertaining than a rock,” I say flatly, looking up at the ceiling, recounting the tiles, in case I happened to miss one the other two hundred-some times I counted.

“Wow. That bad?” He asked, wincing.

“Worst,” I answered, nodding and closing my eyes.

“Well, I'd love to stay and talk, but I can't stay for more than a minute or two,” he tells me.

“What? Why not? You just got here!” I say, my eyes flying open again.

“I have to go to baseball. Once I convinced her you were fine, Mom wouldn't let me get out of practice. I'll be back around seven thirty, though. Besides, I brought you something to help pass the time,” he says. He reaches his hand into his back pocket and then holds out the book he'd been holding earlier.

“Mom's diary,” I say, instantly recognizing it. I run my fingers over the cover, where the worn out words 'my journal' are inscribed. There’s also some kind of quote, but it's so worn I can't make out what it says. At least not with the hospital's dim lighting.

“Yeah,” he says, “I went to the tree house and got it for you, after Jake called. I figured you must be pretty bored.”

“Thanks, Bryler. At least this will give me something to do while I'm sitting here, rotting away,” I say with a dramatic sigh.

“Yeah, well... look, I'm sorry I couldn't get to you in time. You know, when May pushed you in the pool. I tried to, but by the time I got over there, Jake was already diving in. I was on the totally other side of the pool when it happened…” he says, trailing off, and I can tell by the way he keeps reaching up and pushing his hair back and then flattening it back down that he feels guilty, and probably thinks I’m actually mad.

“It's okay. At least someone else saved me. That's all that matters. Never mind if it was you, Superman, or even Jake Spencer,” I say simply.

“Yeah...” he says, looking almost disappointed in himself, “I guess the important thing is you didn't, you know, die.”

“Yeah. That would have sucked. Well, you better go if you're gonna make it to practice on time. You rode your bike here, right?” I guessed, feeling kind of bad he rode all that way for me. I mean, seven miles? Wow.

“Yep. Mom‘s using the car right now,” he explains, sighing at his lack of a car. Sarah had said one was enough, though, and refuses to buy him one.

“Then if you don't leave about five minutes ago, Coach Mike will have you running laps the whole practice,” I tell him.

“Okay, well...,” he gets out of his chair walks over to me with his hands in his pockets, trying to look all cool, but then totally ruins that image by kissing me on the top of the head quickly, then standing back up and saying, “Be safe. Please try not to kill yourself while I'm gone.”

“Yes sir,” I say, sarcastic, though my heart is pounding like it might explode out of my chest. I wish I wouldn’t do this to myself; I try my hardest not to like him. I try to forget about all those little things that seemed so important before that night. But it doesn’t work.

With that, he looks at the clock, mutters something along the lines of 'oh, crap!' then darts out of the room. I sigh. Alone again. I look at the book in my hand, and slowly open it. The inside cover reads, “Lynn Primrose Days' journal. Do not read. Keep out. For my eyes only. Please no one read this, seriously. Ever. No matter what. Thanks- Lynn.”

I completely ignore her directions that were written so long ago in that messy hand writing of hers, and turn to the first page.

Dear Journal,
Today's date is November eighteenth. Mother has given me a leather-bound journal, for my eighteenth birthday. I'm pretty sure she had Daddy make it for me. I haven't the foggiest idea why, though. She knows I don't like to write. Plus, I'm too old to be writing things in a journal. I should be out living things. I'm practically a grownup, now. I most likely won't have time to write in this, I'll be so busy doing fun, adult things. Yet I can’t make myself throw this away, because when Mother gave this to me all teary-eyed, she begged me to write in it. I promised her I would. So that's why I'm writing in it now. I guess today has been good. I've left home and found myself a nice apartment on the other side of town. Normally, I'd be going off to college, but something tells me that when I leave this town, I'm gone forever, so I've decided to give this town one more try before leaving. You know, as an adult. Maybe it'll be so great that when I finish college, I'll want to come back. Who knows? Well, I guess that's all I'll write for now. While I was writing, I came up with the perfect solution, by the way. I'll start writing in this once a week, and just write about a whole week in one entry. Smart, huh? Who knows, maybe I'll like it so much I'll start writing in it everyday? Well, anything is possible! Bye for now.
Lynn Day

Dear Journal,
The date today is November twenty fifth. Man, what a week. Being on my own was nothing like I expected. It isn't at all fun, like I thought it'd be. It was actually beyond boring. I go to work in the morning (I found myself a job at Villa Rose, being a waitress), go eat lunch, come home and sit around doing nothing, go to Villa Rose for supper (I get an employee discount), then come home and go to sleep. I somehow expected life to be more interesting. My problem is that all my friends went away to college, I guess. Jeanie Beth went to Harvard, and Elsie went to Yale. In fact, I'm pretty sure almost everyone in my graduating class went to college, with the exception of Eric Bowen and Sarah Carr. I'd hang out with them, but Mom says they're bad influences and forbids me to. I've got to find some friends soon, or I might just fall over dead. Die of absolute boredom. I sometimes talk to Joey Harp, he seems to always be at the Villa Rose, but he's two whole years younger than me, and he's at school when I really want someone to talk to, anyways. Well, I guess that's all I'll write for now.
Lynn Day

Dear Journal,
The date today is December second. It's been a week since I've last written, and things have changed. I've been so busy I almost forgot to write, but then as I was on my way to bed, I tripped over something and landed face-to-cover with this journal. (My room is pretty messy. I swear, I didn't lose this journal. It just ran away. I found it under my bed, along with a pen, and an old bowl of dry cereal.) So I grabbed it. Anyways, this has been a pretty interesting week. Tremendously better than last week, anyways. The first few days were incredibly boring, but as the week went on it got a lot better. Wednesday night when I was at Joey's Restaurant, talking to Joey Junior, he told me about this place in town all the kids my age go, called The Bridge. I decided to go down there after I finished up my burger, in hopes of making a friend, so I'd have something to do on these lonely days. When I got there I didn't even get the big deal about the place. It was just a bunch of kids around my age hanging out around a bridge over the creek. After a while though, I started to enjoy myself. I met a nice boy named David there. David Jennings. At first I just wanted to be David's friend, but now I think I'm falling for him. He is such a nice boy. He is always really polite to me, and he's funny, too. He has lovely blonde hair, and striking green eyes. I think Mom and Daddy will approve of him. I'm already smitten! I am trying to think of ways to tell him, but nothing comes to mind. I'll just have to wait and see what happens. You know, live in the moment. Well, it's late. I guess I'll just wrap this up by saying: write to you next week.
Lynn Day

Why Mom's talking like this, I have no idea. Her words don’t reflect her personality at all- not the mom I knew, anyways. It's actually kind of amusing. My guess is it was another one of her phases. She was always going through them. My favorite one was the one where she'd only eat pancakes with peanut butter for every meal, though after the first week, I got sick of it. My least favorite one was definitely the Irish accent. I turn the page.

Dear Journal,
Today’s date is December eleventh. I know that I am two days late writing, but I haven't had the time to write, honestly. Also, I had a great deal of trouble finding it. I seem to always be misplacing my things, now that Mom isn't here to organize things for me. I haven't had time to clean my room, either. I've been spending all my time with David. We're officially a couple now. I didn't even have to tell him I liked him, he somehow knew, and he liked me too. The way he asked me to be his girl was so cute and romantic, too. We were sitting on the hill up the road from The Bridge, all alone for once. We got into this shoving match that ended with us both rolling down the hill, laughing. He landed with a thud on top of me. We just laid there like that for a moment, then he looked me in the eyes. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” He asked. “Yes.” I whispered. He then tucked my hair behind my ear and slowly leaned in to kiss me. The closer he got, the harder my heart pounded. It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. Then, it seemed like everything sped up and his lips were already on mine before I could even blink. He was a great kisser, I think it had something to do with variations of pressure he used. First he kissed all gentle, then hard, then in the middle, then softly again. His lips were soft and smooth and he tasted like vanilla ice cream. After a moment he pulled away to breathe, then said, “I was wondering if you'll be my girl. If the answer's yes, then kiss me.” So I kissed him again. We spent the whole night on that hill, kissing. It was wonderful. I feel as if I've found my sole mate. David knows all the right things to say to make me laugh when I feel as if I'll never smile again. He gives me this warm, fuzzy feeling when I'm around him. I don't feel like I have to be perfect for him, either. It's like he understands that I can't always be miss perfect. Plus, he is a marvelous kisser. Way better than William Conner, my last boyfriend, was. Will was always all slobbery. Well, it's pretty late. I'm off to bed. Write to you in a week!
Lynn Day

Dear Journal,
Today's date is December eighteenth. It has been such a wonderful week, let me tell you. I've been spending all my time with David. He takes me to the matinee almost everyday, and we always go out to lunch together. Every night we go to The Bridge, then after that the hill. You know, the one where we first kissed and where he asked me to be his girl. We sit there and talk the night away. Sometimes we just kiss, though. It's so great, I truly and really love David. He means the world to me now. I guess I know for sure I'll come back after college, now. Because I'd never leave David behind in this small town. I told David that he should go to college with me next year, but he said he couldn't. He has to work at his old man's auto shop, because nobody else in the family can anymore. I told him he was such a wonderful and selfless man and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He gave me that stunning smile of his that I just love, and said, “Why don't you just stay here with me? I could provide for you.” I gave him a little smile and told him going to college was just something I had to do, but I'd be back. He asked me why I had to go, and I told him so that I could become a teacher. “A teacher, huh?” was all he said. He then asked me if I wanted to be a teacher, or if my mom wanted me to be a teacher. I don't know what he's talking about exactly, but I've been thinking about it. I mean, I know Mom wants me to be a teacher and go to college. Me and her have been planning this since I was a little girl. I can't remember ever not knowing that I was going to be one. Mom was always right there next to me, telling me exactly who I was and who I am going to be. It's a lot to think about for me, so I think I'll sleep on it some. Maybe I'll have it all figured out when I write to you next week. Well I suppose that's all. I've got no more to say. I'll write to you next week. Bye.
Lynn Day

Dear Journal,
Today's date is December twenty-third (I‘m writing a whole two days earlier than usual. See? I told you I‘d get better at this). It is only two days until Christmas, and I'm really excited. I'm taking David over to Mom and Daddy's house for Christmas dinner, to introduce them to one another. I haven't told Mom who he is yet, just that I'm bringing him over. I don't think she's heard of him, anyhow. I really think my parents will approve of him, he's such a handsome man, charming too. He is also funny. Mom always did love it when I brought funny boys home to meet her and Dad. I've also picked out a wonderful gift for David. It's this really expensive jacket. It's this jet black color, it reminds me of something James Bond would wear. He'll look so cute in it. In fact, I might have him wear it to the dinner, because the jacket is something I know Mom would approve of. I can't help but wonder what he's got picked out for me. He's asked me what I'd like once or twice, but I've told him to surprise me. I hope he gets me something romantic, perhaps a bouquet of flowers? I wouldn't even mind it if all he got me was a kiss. Well, I know I'll hardly be able to sleep with all my excitement, but I guess that's all for now. I'll write again in a week or so.
Lynn Day

Dear Journal,
Today’s date is December twenty sixth. I am not so sorry to inform you this will be my last entry, EVER. Why? You may ask. Well, the Christmas dinner, that's why. I was so excited about it, I was so sure my parents would love David straightaway. But you know what Mom and Dad did? Mom took one look at David and said “Oh, my.” She asked to speak to me privately in the kitchen, then once we got in there told me I wasn't allowed to court David, because he isn't “my type”. I yelled at her that he is too my type. She asked me how in the world can that piece of white trash be my type. She went on about how I am an honor student, and how I have my whole life to look forward to, dreams to fulfill, and that I can't achieve them with David holding me back. I simply told her that I loved him, and that's what made him my type; something I‘d heard said before in the movie. I found it to be the perfect line. I then stormed out of the kitchen, grabbed David and announced “We're leaving”. I think I understand what David was talking about when he asked me if I wanted to be a teacher or if my mother wanted me to. By the way, David got me a beautiful necklace with a heart on the end for Christmas. On the heart, the word 'forever' is engraved. Well that's all for now. Heck, that's all forever.
Lynn Day

Dear Journal,
Today's date is January twenty third. I know I said that I'd never ever write in this journal ever again, but I actually wanted to write about this. It's been about a month since I last wrote. David and I have been a couple for about two months. Last night, David and I made love. It was so exciting, so... different. Thrilling. Risky. It gave me this feeling of... I don't even know how to describe it. Just that is was different. It was something that was totally out of character for me, too. Miss Lynn Day isn't a preacher's kid good girl anymore, like everyone expects of her. It made me feel so... light. It was like I realized I didn't have to do what everyone expected me to or wanted me to. I could do whatever I feel like. If I wanted I could stay up until four AM, eating ice cream, watching some adult show Mom would never let me watch, I could. If I want I can wear the most revealing clothes I can possibly find and no one will yell at me on my way out to get upstairs and change into some decent clothing. I feel... free. That's the word I was looking for. Like, for the first time in my life, I can do whatever I want to do. I can be whoever I want to be. I don't have to be that good-girl that my mother has painted me out to be. I don't have to get straight A's, talk properly, always use my manners, or even go to college so I'll become a teacher. I never even wanted to become a teacher, really. Mom just told me I did and I just... believed her. It's like all this time I was a little robot that Mom programmed. Now David has opened my eyes and showed me exactly what I want to be. A mom. I love the idea of holding my little baby girl in my arms, and her loving me instantly, no matter what. Of course, she'll be a girl. I won't be as strict as my parents were, either. I'll let her follow her dreams. She will grow up to be something wonderful, I just know it. She'll love me and respect me for who I am, too. She won't be embarrassed like my own mother was of me. She'll bring her friends over, look them in the eyes and say, 'this is my mom' like she's so proud of me. I just know it. I don't want to be a mother right away, or anything. I want to wait until I'm a little older and I've gotten married. I know David will be the best father ever, too. He'll be the father, I just know it. Me and him? We're gonna last forever. Well, I have a date with David tonight at The Bridge around midnight, so I need to go get ready. I might just possibly write to you next week. By the way, ever since I've been mad at Mom I've been going totally against the rules. I've even started hanging with Sarah Carr. Mom was wrong about her. She's nice. Anyways, bye.
Lynn Day

So that was that. It took about eight journal entries to have Mom cracked like an open book. It explains so much.

Like why Mom was always letting me do as I please, or why she never really cared what my grades were, or who I chose to hang with. Why she was always so carefree about everything, why she always acted like such a child: she never got to really be one in the first place, and she was making up for it. Partly all of who she turned out to be was because she had a controlling mom.

It also explains why we don't visit Grandma. I remember seeing her once, and Granddaddy, too. I was about five, and Mom took me over there so they could meet me. Mom and Grandma got in this huge fight, while Granddaddy and I played. I remember he was really nice to me, and told me to call him Granddaddy. So I did. Then, Mom shouted something along the lines of ‘You still don’t get it, do you? I’m leaving, I don’t need you guys. And I’m not coming back’, so we left. That's why I couldn't live with Grandma and Granddaddy after the accident. Mom just filled out paper that said Sarah, my godmother, gets custody if anything was to happen to her. Not to mention, Granddaddy and Grandma moved away. I have no clue where they are now.

It also explains who Dad is. David Jennings. He sounds like a pretty nice guy, and according to Mom he'll be a great dad. September Jennings. It doesn't fit as well as September Day, but it works. I'll have to have Bryler look him up. We'll find his address and then go tell him the story. I guess he didn't stay in town and work in his old man's shop. Otherwise he would know who I was. Mom would have been able to tell him.

I look over at the clock, it's seven thirty five. I guess Bryler was late to practice; Coach Mike probably made him run laps afterwards. I sigh and set the diary on the nightstand. I lie there with my eyes close, trying my hardest not to cry. Reading the journal was like bringing my mother back alive again, if only just for a moment. Something about the way she put things makes me want to cry until the cows came home. I guess because as she was writing this, she would never have imagined what a horrible death she'd have. How sad it would be. I guess because she didn't know all the hard times she was going to go through, like being pregnant at the age of nineteen.

I guess because I never did look my friends in the eyes and say 'this is my mom' like I was so proud.

I decide that I probably shouldn't read anymore, since it will only upset me even further. After silently crying for a moment I turn over and somehow manage to go to sleep.