It Started with a Sad Song (The Diary of Bo)

Entry One: June 11th, 2006

My mother has been bothering me to keep a diary for months. Actually, no. Years. I’ve been putting it off since I was nine to get a diary. Mostly, because I always thought of diaries as a ruffly little pink book under lock and key, under a pillowcase (where any little sibling could find it) where an insecure tween opens their heart and soul for their parents to analyze while they sleep.

When most children graduate Junior High, they get money, an array of assorted roses, or a big party thrown for them. Not me. Mom just handed me the little blue and purple book with thousands of sheets of blank paper and a pen with purple ink from the passenger seat of the car.

“Here,” she had said. “It might be rough through high school. So when you need to open up and you don’t want to talk to me, Audrey, or Cain, just write it here.” I paused. I said nothing. “I won’t look for it. And if I see it, I won’t read it.” Another pause. “I promise.” Pause. “Please. Do this one thing for me.” I had just grunted lightly, and put the diary in my bag.

That was three weeks ago.

I had planned to forget about this whole shenanigan over the summer break. Unfortunately, it popped up when I was unpacking after the move. We had moved from London to Dublin as quickly and quietly as we had come. There it was. Looking me straight in the face, was the blue and purple cover.

That was a week ago.

I honestly wonder if I’ll keep this. I remember writing down thoughts in a “journal” back during the beginning years of childhood, but I never got past the first page.

Let’s see how this goes, shall we?

My name is Bolinda Linda Johnson. And this is only the beginning...