by M. Boothe
Always, Abby
Freshman Year
M. Boothe
Copyright © 2021 M. Boothe
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Madelene Martin
For Corey,
Thank you for loving and supporting me the way that you do.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Play List
Who is Abby?
August 27, 2003
September 1, 2003
September 6, 2003
September 8, 2003
Reaction
October 1, 2003
October 4, 2003
Act
October 6, 2003
October 17, 2003
October 31, 2003
November 27, 2003
Origami
December 13, 2003
December 26, 2003
January 1, 2004
Ruin
February 14, 2004
**Dawson’s Letter**
February 29, 2004
March 6, 2004
March 8, 2004
March 9, 2004
Haiku
March 17, 2004
March 20, 2004
Tainted
April 1, 2004
*Dawson*
April 14, 2004
April 16, 2004
May 1, 2004
Musings
May 21, 2004
June 6, 2004
Acknowledgement
About The Author
Play List
3 Doors Down - "When I'm Gone"
Matchbox Twenty - "Unwell"
Life House - "Hanging by a Moment"
Toya - "I Do!!"
Jason Mraz - "The Remedy"
Staind - "It's Been Awhile"
Audiosalve - "Like a Stone"
Trapt - "Headstrong"
Lee Ann Womack - "I Hope You Dance"
Aerosmith - "Jaded"
Christina Aguilera - "Beautiful"
Norah Jones - "Don't Know Why"
Lone Star - "I'm Already There"
Kid Rock - "Picture"
The Calling - "Wherever You Will Go"
Puddle of Mudd - "She Hates Me"
Fuel - "Hemorrhage (In My Hands)"
Uncle Kracker - "Drift Away"
Who is Abby?
Have you ever felt like you didn't belong? Have you ever felt like you live a life that nobody could ever understand or relate to? Have you ever felt alone, not enough, invisible? Have you ever gotten tired from simply just trying to make it through the day because you're hoping tomorrow will be better?
If you answered yes to any of those questions, I'd like you to meet Abby.
Abby is a girl who grew up in a not so nice place. She felt isolated, voiceless, and burdened. She was always trying to dream of something bigger and better than what she saw around her. She was always trying to search for the brighter things, always trying to find the brighter people. She just wanted a brighter future for herself.
This is Abby's journey of discovering the strength and bravery that she had always had within herself. Like Abby, I hope you find the courage to try, to give yourself more. I hope you find the brightness.
August 27, 2003
Dear Heart,
Before I fill this book up with the entire melodramatic drama that is my life, let me introduce myself a little.
My name is Abby. I’m fourteen and a half. The half is always important to remember because you’re halfway to something. It’s kind of the always positive version of the “cup half empty, half full” perspective. I can’t go back to just fourteen or thirteen, but I’m moving forward to fifteen. That’s what I want to do, move forward. I want to live in the present to prepare for the future instead of entertaining the past.
I enjoy reading, writing, and watching movies. That may sound boring to you, but I’ve gone on so many exciting journeys and have seen so many different people. I’ve created my own little worlds and my own wild beasts. You’re probably jealous. I would be, too.
I have notebooks upon notebooks filled to the brim with poems, short stories, and even just random prose that popped into my head. I never actually show anybody because they’re super personal, but maybe one day they’ll come in handy. I’m going to share some with you, so that sometimes you’ll have something better to read than just my day-to-day thoughts.
I cry during musicals. I’m not sure if it’s the energy of everyone or the emotion in their voices. I don’t know. But it doesn’t even matter what it’s about. I’ll cry anyway.
I love my friends fiercely. My very best friend is Mason. We’ve been friends forever, and we were probably friends in all of our past lives. I can’t go more than a couple of days without talking to him. Sometimes I branch out a bit and actually write him letters that get sent through the mail. He humors me and always responds.
I live in a trashy, tiny house. It’s white with broken, black shutters. You can see our septic tank when you park in the driveway. The porch is missing half of its roof. There’s a pile of trash bags underneath. I’m not even sure what’s in them. There’s cracked windows that have been put back together with tape. It’s an eyesore.
I could never say that to my parents because they’d kill me, but it’s true. I never invite people over. To be fair, I’m not allowed because Mom and Dad hate having company, but I wouldn’t have anybody over anyway. Who would want to see all of this anyway?
I pretty much stay in my bedroom, away from the mess in the rest of the house. I lay in my bed and stare at the stars on the ceiling. They’re supposed to glow in the dark, but they’re as old as I am. They’ve lost their glow. I’m going to do everything in my power to stop that from happening to me. I may be a little dim right now, but I’m hopefully going to get brighter.
I usually wear my hair, which is an auburn color, hanging down my back. It’s kind of curly and kind of not. I may be part poodle. Who knows? I’d absolutely be a small poodle since I’m only five foot four. I’m not sure how much I weigh, because my parents always point out I’m chubby anyway. I only wear a size four in jeans, though. So, just imagine that. My eyes are green with gold dots around my pupil. It’s weird, but sometimes they switch to blue when I’m upset.
I can’t remember a time when anybody told me that I was pretty. I don’t know if it matters really. I just know that at some point, I want somebody to look at me and think, that’s her, that’s who I need in my life. I keep searching for something that I could be missing, something that I’ve overlooked. I always stare at myself in the mirror hanging on my wall and wonder if I’ll always be so plain, or if something magical will happen, and I’ll finally see something worth looking at.
The mirror used to be part of an old vanity table that my dad bought a few Christmases ago. The glass on the table broke, so it was useless. I used a screwdriver and took the mirror off the top. I didn’t think it was fair to waste the only good part. That’s how I feel about myself sometimes. I know a part of me will always be broken or cracked, but there’s still good parts that I don’t want to waste.
I guess maybe that’s why I wanted to start creating this diary. I think it’ll help me find the best parts of me that I can unscrew from what’s broken.
Also, I feel like everybody who has eve
r kept a diary starts out with “Dear Diary”. I don’t want to do that. I remember how my grandma used to say “Oh, dear heart” before she’d start blabbing about something she thought was important. If Grandma can use it, I can too. Seeing as how this will hopefully be full of allllll the great things that will ever happen to me. I want so many great things. So many. Is that bad?
I don’t think so. So, I’m going to try to keep a record of all the important parts of my life, now that I’ve made it to high school. Finally.
Today was the first day of freshman year. I was hoping the first day would go smoothly, but it started out horrible. Mom and Dad were fighting first thing this morning and that kind of just set the mood for the rest of the day. When the first thing you hear after waking up is screaming, you feel pretty angry yourself. Mom’s anger isn’t even real anger. It’s faux anger produced by the pills she swallows every day.
That’s something I hope I never fall victim to. Here in Appalachia, the road is paved with broken dreams and avoidable deaths because of how many people that seem to trip into the same cycle as generations past.
I can’t let that happen.
I almost missed the bus and didn’t know I needed to switch to a second bus before I even made it to the school. Then you know, I was gawked at like I was stuck in a zoo exhibit or something. It was kind of embarrassing because they didn’t tell us where to go once we got into the school, so all the new kids were just huddled near the doors. A lot of people watched us from the cafeteria tables. It felt so weird.
Classes were okay. I’m stuck in a math class with a teacher who never looks at us. He just stared at the whiteboard the entire time and would yell over his shoulder. My English teacher is kind of cool, but I got a weird vibe from him. He basically told us we could do whatever we wanted during class time if we handed in our assignments and did the readings we were supposed to.
The first book was the Outsiders. I haven’t found a book I love more than that one yet. I appreciate that, when you read it, it feels like Ponyboy is talking straight to you. It’s not like you’re reading alone in your room. You’re watching the movie with him, you’re fighting for your life, you’re hiding in the church, and you’re having to say goodbye to your best friend. The book hurt to read and I think that’s what makes a great storyteller.
I’ve always wished I was as smart and insightful as Ponyboy. Maybe one day I’ll look at things from a different perspective like him. I just hope I don’t have to be involved in a murder and runaway scandal to find it. That would suck.
Not a whole lot happened other than finding our classes and getting our books. I was glad to finally see my friends again. I think lunch is probably going to be my favorite block. It’s really the only time I’ll have to talk to anybody. The older kids don’t really interact with us. I noticed that unless you’ve been playing sports or something that they treat us like we don’t exist. I’m too clumsy to play anything.
I did run into this guy while I was leaving my locker and I think he may be older. I was trying to hurry because I wasn’t sure where my bus would be, and I ran right into him. I was so embarrassed. He didn’t say anything. Just gave an “umph” noise and touched my arm to move me. I did notice that he was kind of cute. I didn’t get a real close look at him, but I know he had these weird blue eyes that seemed almost too bright, too surprised kind of.
I don’t know. I want something to happen. I feel like I deserve that, you know? I deserve something special, a nice sweep you off your feet, kind of something. I don’t even really know what yet. I just think that I’ve been through enough and I deserve something else.
I’m home now and mom isn’t talking to anybody. She’s been in her bedroom with the TV on. She didn’t even make dinner tonight. It’s a little typical for her since it’s the end of the month and her prescription is almost gone. She always rations her pills the last week of the month, making everybody’s life a living hell until she can refill them. Dad told her once that he couldn’t stand to look at her when she acted that way, so now she hides when the withdrawals threaten to kick in.
It’s not like I’ve never made something for myself. I usually just make a sandwich, or whatever cans of soup we have when this happens. It’s sad what you can get used to and what you just accept as your normal. I wonder sometimes what somebody else’s normal looks like.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to come home and just find her laying somewhere, lifeless because she flew too high this time. Honestly, it would be better than what’s been happening and that’s a scary thought for a kid to have. For anybody, really.
It’s hard growing up in a house where there’s so much darkness. I can never seem to find the light in this house. Every single day I have to make sure to be on my absolute best behavior because I never know what’s going to set one of them off. Last week I walked too loud down the hallway and was accused of having an attitude. I was grounded from the phone for a week. Mason probably called twenty-seven times before school started and I couldn’t even tell him I was grounded.
Imagine not even being able to talk to your best friend before one of the biggest days of your life. And that’s really what starting high school feels like to me. My game plan is to do as good as I can in all my classes so that I get as many scholarships as I can. I need to get away from here.
I don’t even know if they’d miss me. To them, I’ve been a burden my whole life. I’d like to believe that once upon a time they actually liked each other, loved each other. I’ve only ever seen the resentment between them. Dad grew up with a need. Mom grew up with a want. Somehow together, they found the need and the want with each other. I guess over time they both realized that even though what worked once before wasn’t working anymore, they’d made it too far and didn’t know what to do.
I’m sure a lot of kids love their families. They love going home at the end of the day. I’m sure some of them even love spending all weekend with their parents. I wouldn’t know what that’s like. I stay trapped in my bedroom for as long as I can to avoid being yelled at or sometimes worse.
I just know that when I’m eighteen and I graduate, I want to go as far away as I can. I’ve seen people on T.V. pack up all their belongings and live out of a van or an old bus. I could probably do that. Seeing different places and people would be so cool. I could finally leave Appalachia and find where I belong. Washington sounds nice. I can deal with the rain and cloudy skies. It really won’t be any different than it is now. It’ll just be the outside finally matching my inside.
Always,
Abby
September 1, 2003
Dear Heart,
I’ve not had time to write the past few days. School has been a little harder to deal with than I thought it would be, but in a completely awesome way. We had some kind of weird assembly Friday that only certain people were allowed to go to. They went by your grades and academic record. Apparently, I’m a good kid. Who knew?
Anyway, they asked if we would want to sign up to be peer mediators for our classes. So, if another freshman has a problem, they said usually something emotional, we’d be asked to kind of listen and counsel them. If it’s a problem that’s too big for us to handle, then we’re supposed to get the principal. But isn’t that so cool?
I had my very first meeting today with two kids who were fighting over something that happened over the summer. They didn’t go into specifics, but most of it was just a huge misunderstanding that they were too stubborn to work out. They’d still be fighting if I hadn’t talked to them and that makes me feel super helpful. I like that feeling.
What if I did that? What if I went to college to get some kind of degree to be a guidance counselor or a therapist? It made a lot of sense while I was thinking about it. I could help people in a way that I haven’t been helped. I tried to talk to Mom about it when I made it home. Not about how I need help, but about how I could maybe help kids as they grow up, help them understand what life’s like. She told me that I wasn’t sma
rt enough to do something that big.
She basically said that we were white trash and that nobody would want me to try to help them if they knew where I came from. I didn’t really know what to say because obviously I came from her and Dad. It seemed so degrading to say something like that. They sucked at the parenting thing, but neither one of them had ever admitted it before. Apparently even though I’ve had good grades, she doesn’t believe I can work hard enough to make it to college.
I can’t stress enough how much I HAVE to get there. I have to go somewhere new, some place where nobody knows me. I didn’t tell her that. I’m always afraid of what she or Dad will do if they find out how much I’m plotting to get away. I started saving birthday money once. It wasn’t a lot, but when mom asked me what I thought I was going to do with it, I told her I wanted to save until I had enough to buy a car. She laughed at me and said I wasn’t going anywhere. The next day my money was gone.
I never mentioned it and she never brought it up again. It was only around eighty dollars, and I was twelve. I just thought to myself that there’d be other birthdays and even Christmas. Every year there’s a little bit of money in my stocking to buy something that I’ve picked out myself. I think Dad used to put it in there because he knew Mom never paid attention to what I liked. I say used to because there hasn’t been any more money given to me in two years.
I guess Mom meant what she said.
I feel trapped here. I feel like they want me to be trapped, with them. And I also feel like if I end up stuck here with them, I won’t survive. To be honest, I may not want to.
Anyway, I’m excited to see what kind of things I can do through the peer mediator thing. Nobody may have faith in me, but I can start by having faith in myself.
Mason’s birthday is Saturday. It’s funny, but the town has this little carnival for Labor Day. It lasts for the weekend. I always joke with him that it’s his birthday party and the whole town wants to celebrate with him.
