April 27th 1920
Today itís 361 days since Buddy got hit by the train. Almost a year. It seems like everyone else has forgotten, and it really doesnít surprise me, theyíre 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 didnít want to talk to them either. Mom tried of course, but I donít want to talk to her. Itís her fault, if she hadnít invited Ruth we hadnít 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 donít. And if they do, they donít show it at all. They look all natural and happy, maybe a little tired of me, but they arenít sulking like me. Itís like they donít even care anymore about me either, because I went to the woods yesterday, and when I came home early today, she didnít mention it, so I guess she didnít notice.
I donít have anyone to talk to either. I never had, I just had Buddy. And now heís gone, so I almost donít talk at all. Just when I have to answer mom, itís only her I say anything to, but I never look at her. I canít stand the exhaustion and sadness in her eyes anymore.
Ruth comes over here often. I donít know why, I always leave when she comes. I donít 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 donít know if Iím even hungry. But I should go; I donít want her to go out here. Iíll 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 momís lap again, like she does once a month. But Iíll be sorry to say that she doesnít 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 wouldnít know what to do with her around all the time.
I really hope Ruth stay away for a few days; I canít 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, Iím sure itís because then I donít have to be around my family and Ruth.
Now I really have to go, itís late, and if I want to go to the woods tomorrow, I have to wake up early.
April 31th 1920
Today itís exactly a year since Buddy died. Or murdered by a train to be more exact. Iím still in the forest, I havenít been bothered enough to go home, not that anyone will bother fuss over me.
I donít think Iíve ever cried so much in my life, except the day Buddy died. It just hurts so much, thinking about that I couldíve saved him. I really want him back here; I donít want to be alone anymore.
Itís obviously been a horrible day at home too, and I actually should be there. But I bet Ruth is there, and I really donít want to see her smiles of pity and understanding. She doesnít understand that I really donít 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 Iím going to finish here. I hope things arenít too bad at home, I canít handle that.