Sunday 01 April 1917
Day 1099
Dear Diary,
HAPPY 16TH BIRTHDAY!
Although it's supposed to be a happy day (and I did enjoy the homely celebration with my family & friends), I still can't help but feel saddened thanks to the anniversary of Vera's death. Today also marks my third year in the past and the third year since the (yet to happen) end of the world.
For my birthday, I got a new sweater vest that buttons down the front, some nice thick socks that are perfect for sliding up & down the dormitory halls in and a collection of sweets—both handmade & bought. Fena even made a cake! It was kinda tilted (thanks to the uneven flooring in the kitchen), but she just evened it out with a thick layer of icing on top. Still tasted good.
Friday 06 April 1917
Day 1104
Dear Diary,
It's official. Shit has hit the fan. America has finally joined the war.
Saturday 07 April 1917
Day 1105
Dear Diary,
Here are today's headlines:
U.S. IS AT WAR!
UNITED STATES JOINS ALLIES AGAINST GERMANY!
WILSON PROCLAIMS WAR!
PRESIDENT WILSON CALLS FOR VOLUNTEERS
ALL YOUTHS ARE CALLED TO JOIN THE ARMY! WE NEED YOU!
NEED A MILLION MEN AT ONCE TO BOOST MILITARY FORCES
U.S. RESERVE FORCES ARE CALLED OUT!
EMERGENCY WAR FUND OF $100,000,000 GRANTED TO WILSON
TROOPS MUST BE DRAFTED
UNITED STATES AND GERMANY ARE AT WAR: PRESIDENT WILSON HAS SIGNED WAR DECLARATION
ALL GERMAN VESSELS ARE SEIZED
CONGRESS VOTES FOR WAR
GOD OF BATTLES APPEALED TO BY THE AMERICAN NATION
Sunday 08 April 1917
Day 1106
Dear Diary,
At one o'clock today, Peto gathered his official documents and went down to the local town hall to enlist alongside all of the other men of East Dallas who are of age (18yrs+). We've been listening to the radio ever since the announcement, almost to the point where it has become the dismal soundtrack to our lives (and it's only been a couple of days). Earlier, before he left, Fena held him tight and refused to let go. She cried & cried & cried, until eventually Peto had to pry himself free.
I watched the whole thing from the top of the stairs (with my legs hanging over the edge of the landing and my chin tucked over the lowest railing), and I ended up gripping the railing so tight that my lumen half-melted a strange set of fingerprints into the metal. Now, I've gotta fix it.
The last visage I saw of Peto was when he had stopped in the doorway with his shoulders set straight and his documents clutched tightly in his hands. He looked scared. I know I was. I don't want him to go, but I couldn't move. It was like I was outside, watching myself just sit there like an idiot with the saddest puppy-dog face I've ever seen. It was like I was watching him march off to his death, just like Vera.
Please don't die, just like Vera.
Please come home, Peto.
Tuesday 10 April 1917
Day 1108
Dear Diary,
After Peto went off to war, I started to do what Vera used to do when she got overwhelmed; I went to scream at some trees until my throat was raw. But there aren't any (big) forests nearby, so I've mostly just been screaming at some corn. Left behind a lot of crop circles, though. (It's got all of the conspiracy theorists and farmers up in arms. Whoops).
Wednesday 11 April 1917
Day 1109
Dear Diary,
Today Lils, Harley & I took Lila's automobile out for a joyride through the eastern fields. Mrs Forrell kept chasing after us in her high heels 'til we went through this HUGE mud puddle and got her all dirty! Here's what happened:
Harlan: Should we do it? [hand signing] Should we turnaround? Turn off the automobile?
Me: Should we be responsible, for once? [matching grins]
Lila: HAHA! NEVER! [cackling behind the wheel] LET'S MAKE POOR DECISIONS! WOOOOOOOOO!
We got strapped for that.
Thursday 12 April 1917
Day 1110
Dear Diary,
I took a nap out in the fields today, dozing amongst the leafy greens on the slope that borders the rifle range. Now that we've joined the war, the range has gotten so much use that there had to be a rigorous schedule put into place. Though the sound of gunfire still scares me, I find myself getting used to it. I don't know if this is a good thing or not.
It was a nice nap, nonetheless. And when I first opened my eyes and stared up at the cloud-filled sky, I saw pictures of the world that were filled with the snow of thistledown floating across a dusk-painted background. During our lessons, we were taught that the thistles choke the land and that they keep the grass from growing. That, although a struggle was being waged against them, they still flew free of it and all summer long, their seeds stream up & off into the eastern winds. It's all very poetic.
Saturday 14 April 1917
Day 1112
Dear Diary,
Today, Benjamin Brockman told us a story today about how he got into comedy (inadvertently). He told us that his uncle—whose an amateur magician (meaning, he REALLY wants to be a magician, but he's just Loredamn awful at it) and Uncle Brockman always does these Christmas shows every year. And when Benjamin said that, I had pictured card tricks and pulling rabbits out of hats, but apparently that was not the case. Uncle Brockman is an amateur magician in the sense that he's an amateur escapologist-slash-dare-devil-slash-illusionist kind of magician. He just does these horribly dangerous stunts with ABSOLUTELY no training and not a lot going on upstairs. Like the lights are on, but no one's home.
Anyway, Benjamin said that this one time, his Uncle Brockman got upon top of the pergola in their backyard, wearing nothing but a STRAIGHT JACKET & a pair of swimming trunks. Apparently, he planned to JUMP off of the pergola & into the swimming pool (hence the trunks). And the idea was that he wasn't gonna surface until he got out of the straight jacket. The best part? NONE of his family told him not to do it—Benjamin even said that he cheered him on! So, Uncle Brockman is up there on the pergola, wrapped in his straight jacket, and he screams his catchphrase: "One, two, three, ready Freddy!"
And then he took a step back to run up into the pool, except he just went—"YAH!"—straight through the pergola! Uncle Brockman IMPALED his shoulder on the star picket right below him, he TORE all of the ligaments in his ankle and when he landed, he made SUCH a loud noise that it frightened their dog ran up to him and BIT him on the face!
I laughed so hard that milk squirted of my nose! (Does that make me a bad person?)
Sunday 15 April 1917
Day 1113
Dear Diary,
Lila was in a mood today.
Harlan: WHERE ARE YOU GOING?
Lila: TO GET SOME ICE CREAM OR TO COMMIT A FELONY! I'LL DECIDE IN THE CAR!
Girls are so weird.
Tuesday 17 April 1917
Day 1115
Dear Diary,
Lila floated the idea of joining the war today. Both she and Harlan are of age to join, but I'm still a year or two out. I don't want them to leave me behind, but I also don't want to go to war. What am I gonna do?
Thursday 19 April 1917
Day 1117
Dear Diary,
I was thinking about this the other day (dunno why), but I think the moment that I KNEW for sure, that I had been forcefully dragged out of my grief over my Vera, was when the three of us [Harley, Lils & I] were down at the Cooper's lake one day. And it was all thanks to Lila, a revolver (Lore knows where she got it from) and Harlan's half-burnt chicken sandwiches.
It was during the weekend (I forget which day) during the tentative first days of our friendship and I was laying in the Cooper's lake, half-dressed, whilst Harley moped around on the water's edge about some argument that we had (I can't remember what it was about, I only remember that I was upset). I had been sulking in the water—trying to hide my tears in the lake—when, all of a sudden, Lila comes strutting across the paddocks with a revolver in her hands, a thunderous look on her face and she goes:
Lila: I am SO sick of stubborn men! [To Harley] YOU—! YOU act like a little boy that doesn't want to admit that he'd wrong! [To me] And YOU—! YOU act like a sad old man, that doesn't want to be happy! THAT'S IT! I'VE HAD IT!
[Shoots the rubber tire I'm in]
Me: WHAT THE HELL! YOU COULD'VE SHOT ME! [Sinking]
Lila: Oh, C'ME ON, Ted! I could've UNBUTTONED your pants, if I wanted to! Now COME HERE or sink! And I'm taking THIS with me to Church!
Harlan: Lila—! [Signing]
Lila:—I will tell you what I tell the bulls, gentlemen: "I love you, but DON'T make me regret letting you keep your testicles!"
Me: But I like my testicles…!
Lila: Then COME HERE & quit your whining!
Me: Yes, ma'am! [squeaks]
Y'know, in complete & typical Lila-fashion, she was right. Apparently the touch love approach was EXACTLY what I needed. Who knew? (I guess she did).
Friday 20 April 1917
Day 1118
Dear Diary,
Did you know that polar bears only live with their veras for two years before they're left to fend for themselves? I'm glad I'm not a polar bear, but aren't veras supposed to last longer than mine?
Saturday 21 April 1917
Day 1119
Dear Diary,
LILA'S GARDE?! WHAT THE HELL?!
HOW DID I NOT NOTICE IT SOONER?!
Lore, I'm such an idiot.
Sunday 22 April 1917
Day 1120
Dear Diary,
So, Fena & Peto went out tonight for date night & they aren't coming back until tomorrow, leaving me home alone with Mr Pennycrumb (which is fine). But here's the deal: Mr Pennycrumb is REALLY well trained, y'know, with all of the basic stuff: stay, sit, heel, lie down, roll over, play dead and so on. But, uh, he also has an attack command, which came in rather handy tonight.
So, I'm home alone and the radio's kinda just buzzing the background to break up the silence, y'know? Anyway, it's like three in the morning and I'm woken up to the sound of Mr Pennycrumb just growling like he does whenever he chases after the other dogs at the dog park. So, I sit up and I look around and then I hear the downstairs door handle jiggle.
At first I thought that it was Fena & Peto coming back earlier than planned, but Mr Pennycrumb just keeps growling and I'm like, "Oh no!" 'coz the pug LOVES those two. (I don't think that he's EVER growled at those two, grumpy or not). Anyways, when I hear the window rattle, I IMMEDIATELY threw myself out of bed, I opened the kennel for the dog, I picked him up and then I went downstairs.
I kinda just announced to the dark store that they had to "Get out! There's a dog in here!" But the windows continued to rattle and then I hear the front door slide open, so I said again "Get out! There's a dog in here!" But apparently, that's not scary enough 'coz when I lit up the place with a couple of balls of lumen, there was just this…guy in a mask, halfway through the fucking door and he's looking at ME, like I'M the weirdo.
He clearly wasn't leaving anytime soon, so I dropped Mr Pennycrumb like a hot potato and gave him the attack command. I've never seen that pug move so fast; he FLEW across the room like he was rocket-powered! And, I gotta say, I have NEVER heard a man—grown or otherwise—make a noise like THAT before. It was horrifying.
Needless to say, I haven't gone back to sleep after that and Mr Pennycrumb's still standing guard. Gotta love that pug.
Monday 23 April 1917
Day 1121
Dear Diary,
I was just crossing the street today, minding my own business, when I nearly got hit by an automobile! Haha! I can't believe he missed! Like, do you wanna try again, buddy? Haha! It's true what they say! Teenagers really ARE invincible (or naive-slash-scary enough to believe it)!
Tuesday 24 April 1917
Day 1122
Dear Diary,
Lila floated the idea of joining the war effort again, today. Most of the upperclassmen have already joined and even some in my grade (with the aid of forged papers, money-laden parents and good ole trickery) have joined as well.
At this point, the only reason I'd probably go, was so that I wouldn't be left behind. I don't wanna lose anyone else and at least if I'm there WITH them, then I can make sure that they'll be okay. I CAN'T lose anyone else, I refuse to.
My mind's already been made up, hasn't it?
Wednesday 25 April 1917
Day 1123
Dear Diary,
We snuck down to the local sign-up today (the one in Fort Worth, not in Dallas), with forged papers and all. Everything was going fine, even if my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest or that I was going to faint at any moment, or that my tongue felt uselessly heavy; we still somehow got through.
Boys & girls had to be separated for the physical tests where they made sure that we were all in working order—to see if we were fit for war, y'know—and other stuff like that. But I knew, even going in there, that my eye (or lack thereof) was going to be a problem, even though I had worn that glass eye that I had gotten for my 15th birthday (it's a different colour, but it still works).
I panicked and ended up "charming" the tester into letting me in, 'coz I didn't want to be left behind. Not that they can really afford turning away (willing) bodies to throw at the enemy; but I suppose the army would still want the ones who're most able, to last just that little bit longer.
Am I gonna regret this?
Thursday 26 April 1917
Day 1224
Dear Diary,
Well, it's done. We're going off to war, tomorrow.
Harlan says that it'll be an adventure and that we'll get to serve our country alongside everyone else; that that's something we should take great pride in (though his words sound more like something his doro would say instead of him, but whatever).
I wonder if it'll be anything like those superhero movies that Vera & I used to watch? Y'know, the glitzy and SUPER dramatic ones with Drey in them? The ones where the heroes have these RIDICULOUS fighting poses and walk around like the world owes them an explanation? Or will it be more like those stories about the Umbrella Academy (back in its hay day)? Fighting a villain every other day and being rewarded with ice cream afterwards? I do like ice cream…
Maybe it'll be like those history lesson that I can't quite remember? Fuzzy memories of ridiculously large stats, black & white photos, flags flying and twelve gun salutes that thundered through the television static. Or, maybe it'll be just like what of this patriotic crap is saying it'll be. Y'know, all the cartoonic newspaper strips, the posters slapped to the brick walls and the radio announcers singing praises of war; all being shoved down our throats at every available instance?
I'm not sure HOW I'm supposed to feel—about how I'm supposed to deal—with this, but at least I get to (learn to fly) a plane…