Jay's Journal

by Beatrice Sparks

  I feel like Job in the Bible, I literally and truly don’t know how much more I can stand.

  I’m pleading sick tonight because there is no way I can win the debate at the Kiwanis Club. I need that scholarship they’re giving, too, and ordinarily it would have been a cinch. I’ve done my homework, I love the positive side of the subject which I was given “What’s right with America” and—oh hell, it’s so primitive and back-woodsey to believe in curses and hexes and shit like that. A lot of this garbage I’m just bringing on myself I know because I’m depressed and filled with guilt feelings. That’s what is making me uncoordinated and accident prone and a general emotional misfit. My physical problems are psychosomatic and . . . Oh shit, I’ve never had saber-toothed crotch crickets before . . . is that all psychosomatic too?

  November 6

  What a fucked-up world. Bought a few reds and a lid to just keep me together and got busted ! Not just for using but for pushing. Derrick was in the car when we smelled burned bacon and the dirty asshole shoved his supply under my seat. When the pigs frisked us he was clean and it was me that got hit! Life isn’t worth poop-de-do.

  November 8

  I am under house arrest. I feel like I am five years old. Mama, may I go to the potty? Number one? Number two? Screw you! Well at least I’m going to have lots of time to think and to get my mental processes straight. I only get to go to school and work. No TV, no record player, no radio, no phone, no friends. What are they trying to do to me? Solitary confinement drives even hardened criminals loony, or maybe gets them straightened out. Maybe I needed this! Maybe it’s just what I needed. At least I’m going to work in that direction. Take a detached look at myself, my general characteristics, my goals and interests. Besides, the old lady demands that I do it! With or without her insistence I had to make some changes in my life, though.

  I must want to change now

  I was placed in this room to provide a motivation for change, i.e., I wouldn’t be let out until I realized and accomplished certain things.

  Am I happy as I am now?

  Am I headed in the direction of accomplishing worthwhile goals in life?

  Am I living up to the trust and love that has been invested in me by people who care?

  Will I be happy in one year from now by staying the way I am?

  No one else will change for me, I must change myself.

  Why should I change? Why should I want to change?

  1. To get out of this room (immediate, temporary, not important as such).

  2. So I can get along with Mom and Dad.

  3. So I can accomplish more with my time.

  4. So I can develop true skills and talents.

  5. So I can set myself in the right direction for accomplishing the things I want to.

  My Biggest Mistakes—

  Not wanting to help (change) myself, deceiving myself into thinking I am happy as I am or that change would come about without really trying to change, or wanting to change.

  Procrastinating about changing.

  I do want to change.

  In order to overcome faults, something must be done.

  In order to overcome

  1. Conceit—become less selfish, see other person’s view of myself. Put my point of view outside of self.

  2. Disrespectfulness—acknowledge love and trust of others.

  3. Lying—remember beauty in truth.

  4. Momentary pleasure—before doing anything stop and think if it will affect long-range goals the right way.

  5. Too much individualism—go out of way to get along with others, don’t think in terms of just self.

  6. Procrastination—start immediately on tasks, do hardest things first.

  7. Laziness—motivate myself to hard work, associated with long-range goals. Anything constructive accomplished is beautiful.

  8. Closed-mindedness—listen to others, see others’ point of view.

  9. Hypocrisy—commit self to ideals and standards, truly live them.

  10. Noncongeniality—put self out to get along, acknowledge that it’s the only way to world peace. Understand others.

  11. Wastefulness—acknowledge work required for things.

  12. Insincerity—Always express true feelings unless they are malicious. Overcome malicious feelings.

  13. Hot temper—Control temper. Do unto others . . .

  14. Being sorry when should have acted—Don’t be hypocritical, if something is wrong, correct it.

  15. Unorganized—Acknowledge importance of organization.

  16. Self-centeredness—Let world revolve around others.

  17. Rebelliousness—Accept social ideas as important, think before blindly rebelling.

  18. Apathy—Get involved as much as possible.

  Basic Faults—

  Laziness—Recognize importance and beauty of constructive work.

  Selfishness—Place point of view outside self.

  Check long-range goals, get involved with others.

  November 9

  It’s like I’m no longer a member of the human race. I can’t relate. I had lunch with Brad and Dell and we couldn’t communicate. They’re on a different, lighter wavelength, talking about basketball and girls and unimportant concepts. They don’t know how it is with me, trying to get my deep, seriously deep concepts back into a working order, an existing order. It’s so easy and kind of floating on the surface for them. I hope they never have to go through the kind of soul searching that I am going through.

  I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked in my life, but I’m not making it in class. I’m just not with it, out of sync—what’s wrong?

  I’ve got to pretend I don’t care, that I’m not really trying my hardest, not really working my ass off. Lie to my family . . . lie to my teachers . . . lie to my friends . . . lie to Tina . . .

  Oh help, I’m drownding!

  Tina . . . (my mind is so fucked-up I can’t even think of the word that means tries to stay away from me) oh yeah . . . ignores me.

  “Got my shit together”

  Definition: I’ve learned how to play it cool, I’ve got some ideas worked out.

  SOMEBODY

  I am very, very lonely,

  I’ve got myself and that’s all, beside the burden I’m carrying. The burden of change. The burden of being myself.

  (My only possession.) If I lose myself by conforming to be exactly what “they” want me to be I lose the only thing I’ve got. I need somebody to tell me some of my ideas are right. I know hope is bad, no argument, but shit . . .

  (What about everything else, O?)

  I need somebody to believe in me!

  (Somebody to love, baby)

  November 11, 8 A.M.

  Mom and Dad, can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re driving me back to that which I am trying to get away from! That which is more dangerous and destructive than rudeness, lack of respect, carelessness, immorality, even doping! Please, don’t do this to me!!!!

  Mom, I know your cousin Cistine is a psychologist, but don’t make her leave her family and come babysit me as my warden. I can’t stand that much pressure, honestly I can’t. I’ll rebel, and go back with them, don’t make me do that! It’s hard enough as it is to resist crawling back to Tina, begging, pleading, offering, selling out my soul to her.

  At night I can smell their incense, taste their vials . . . on a gut level—I can’t resist.

  I’ve tried to pray but it’s like a black cocoon has been thrown down over me and I can’t get through. Oh please, please, please, rest . . . please sleep, come to me . . . be my companion, my refuge, my ally.

  Aunt Cistine was just allowed, by the permission and almighty power of my parents, to come into my room. Aunt Sis, the family shrink, will take all my secret acts, too dreadful for the local headlines. She will carefully sweep them into the closet—that is, after she’s discussed them with every member of the clan over their fancy, gluttonous dinners. I’ve heard the relatives talk about little cousin Ca
lly getting pregnant and having to get married . . . oh how they smacked their mouths over that one . . . barely fourteen years old . . . from our family, our bloodlines, our genealogy!!! And Uncle Martin . . . when they found he was foolin’ around . . . I think it was the reason they called the special party, not Great-grandpa Talley’s eightieth birthday at all—cancer, deaths, handicapped babies . . . everything, a special occasion to hash and rehash family secrets. Well, if they think I’m going to tell anybody, especially Sis, anything, they’re wasting their curiosity. I wouldn’t tell that screwed-up bitch the time of day.

  8:30 P.M.

  When Old Sis started really pressuring me about how much she cared, I told her to try sticking all those emotions where the sun never shines.

  She still wouldn’t give up, and finally she got me so fragmented I told her what a degenerate old whore I really thought she was, trying to get her kicks out of hearing about my transgressions. I wonder what she worms out of the kids at school she works with? Is that how the old bitch turns on? Do she and Charlie discuss those things in the middle of the night and then, fired up as hell, pretending . . . substituting . . . reach out and grab at each other?

  Oh shit, I’m the one that’s fucked-up, degenerate, crazy! Not Sis, not Charlie, not my folks, not anybody else in the whole world.

  My sins press

  Down upon my breast

  I cannot rest.

  They crush me

  And I cannot sleep

  I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

  November 11

  Today after school I really tried to talk to Sis. It was nice to have someone—anyone—to verbalize with. My sprained ankle keeps me out of sports and my fucked-up mind keeps me antisocial in class. And Tina . . . Judas, I love that woman so much. She stopped me in the hall and looked at me with those deep purple eyes. They were very purple today because she was wearing a kitten soft purple sweater and tight white pants. I could smell her . . . feel her more than physical wonders. She rubbed against me and whispered, “Oh Jay, I love you so much. Why have you cut me out? Why won’t you let me help you?” A little sob tumbled out of her throat, “Please let me help you, Jay . . . I love you!”

  All the masculine instincts in the world surged over me, a beaten person become alive. Tina wasn’t trying to hurt, hadn’t cut me out. I’d cut her out, and Brad and Dell and everyone else too—being paranoid and self-demeaning and antisocial only got me down—not them!

  Sis came in after dinner and I let it all hang out, at least everything but . . . well, the parts I don’t even like to think about . . . that I’m pretending didn’t really happen. Actually I guess that’s about half, or maybe even two-thirds of what’s happened in the last couple of years.

  Then she started pushing too hard again and said I wasn’t trying . . . I don’t know what kicked me off, but I told her to pull down her pants and try sticking her own head up her ass, that it’s a pretty hard and painful position.

  She stormed out and I’m glad. I hope I never see her again, or anyone else for that matter. This room is like a tomb anyway. I might as well just lie down . . . give up . . . and take my last breath. I wish it was that easy and I would.

  At least I know Sis is professional. She won’t go blabbing. She’s got some shit in her own life she’d like to keep buried, she said. I wonder if I really can trust her? I’ve got to trust someone, got to unload before I explode! Would she prove out to be Benedict Arnold II? No, she wouldn’t . . . she wouldn’t! Tomorrow I’m going to trust her, lay the whole load on her, get it out of my craw and on her shoulders. Judas, what a relief that is going to be. Once I heard President Oaks say that when we read and see and do bad things they stay with us, when we eat bad things we regurgitate them. He reasoned that it was a shame the mind, in that respect, wasn’t as reasonable as the stomach. Well, my mind is going to be! I’m going to puke up everything, but everything in good old Sissy’s lap, and then forget the hell about it forever!

  10 P.M.

  Dad just came in mad as a hornet. It seems that my good old Aunt Sissy, that I was just learning to trust and honor, has betrayed me. Apparently she discussed everything I’d said with my family and the police. I can hardly think, I hurt so much. Nobody will ever know how deeply disillusioned and hurt I am.

  And I’m mad! MAD! . . . MAD! . . . MAD! . . . MAD!!!!

  BENEDICT ARNOLD II

  So man, what do ya do when your family (and or however the hell you spell) has been cheating you, selling you out, screwing you over? She doesn’t give shit for me that’s for sure. If she did she would try and understand the hassles you have and the silent apologies but she is so blinded by the fact she thinks she’s been through the world and knows the shit. She doesn’t know her head from her ass (at least that’s the impression I get after today and all of the other stuff I’ve found out just lately). She may have been through the mill and had a lot of experience and all that but it didn’t do her any good and it’s not going to do me any good if she doesn’t know how to run herself. I really thought she was cool and had my interest in mind. What a bunch of B.S. She hates my guts but I’m not going to get hassled by it ’cause that’s what she wants. She’s waiting for me to slip up so she can screw me. The only hassle for her is I’m not going to screw up. So Sis—you live your life and let me work out my problems my way. You may hold all the cards now so I’ll just have to play your little game for a while. But after that, bug off.

  Yeah, after writing that little bit I feel a heck of a lot better. That’s what this book is for I guess. To get the hassles out of my system. I don’t know how much of that stuff I just wrote is really true but she does seem to have turned against me. Her shit just doesn’t fit my head. I wish they could understand. It would be so cool if we could get along (me and the family) but they just don’t understand. (I guess I kinda blew it so that they are sure they’re right now.) At any rate, I do feel less hostile and I suppose that’s constructive.

  November 12

  I couldn’t stand the pressure at school this afternoon so I thumbed home, bent on hot-wiring Toad and just taking off for California or Mexico or somewhere. Cutting-out seemed like the only thing to do.

  When I got here it was obvious that Dad had read my thoughts because he had put Toad in the garage with a new big lock that I couldn’t get the hell open. I knew Mom was at Relief Society so I even tried to break the damn thing with a crowbar but I couldn’t. Failure seems to have become a critical part of my life, maybe even a fatal malady for me.

  Just as I was about to bash my head against the wall I noticed the pickup in front of the boat, anybody could hot-wire that! After I’d got it out I tried to get the motorcycle in the bed. I’d take them up the canyon and maybe dirt racing would get me put together enough so I could hang on. At this point I knew running away wasn’t the answer, some dangerous racing and a few physical hurts to concentrate on might be, I reasoned.

  Well, the bike was so damned heavy there was no way I could get both wheels up at one time, even far enough over so I could push them in. So, after I’d smashed all my toes and broken two fingernails down to the quick and hurt my ankle again, I decided to build a ramp and drive the sucker up on the bed. It seemed like a neat idea until I tried it—once, twice, maybe three or four times. Finally I decided I’d have to go way to the end of the driveway, eighty or ninety feet, and really start the old machine gunning before I could get enough power to take it up the ramp, especially since the driveway was a little slippery.

  Success? WRONG! I not only went into the truck bed—but into the back of the cab! Wrenching the front wheel on the bike and cracking the window and making a big old hairy dent in the cab, besides throwing me headfirst end-over-end over the top, down the windshield, and onto the hood.

  Well, at least I’ve got something to concentrate on besides my old problems now, like: breaking the rules for house arrest, wrecking the bike, wrecking the truck, a possible broken nose and a couple of loose front teeth, scratches, bruises
, and lacerations. But hell, I don’t care! It was exciting! The most exciting thing that’s happened in my life in what seems like eons.

  Even the blood tasted good in my mouth and the loose teeth will give me an excuse to go to the dentist for nitrous.

  When Mom got home I was stretched out on my bed. I had decided to manipulate and pretend I was really hurt, that would greaten their concern for me and lessen their anxiety about the dirt bike and the truck. . . . It worked! Man, did it work!

  I even pretended I was a little incoherent when Mom came in and I had let the blood from my nose and mouth drip and dry on my face and shirt and bed. She was ready to call an ambulance but I convinced her I could make it to the car with her help. It was like being in the theater. Me leaning on her and giving an occasional groan.

  I was embarrassed in the emergency room of the hospital because Mom had called before we left home and there were nurses and two doctors waiting. Of course that was just because Mom and Dad knew everybody in town I’m sure, or maybe they were just curious to see what the Bozo had done to himself this time. Anyway, now I’m all tucked into my own clean little bed and everyone is so concerned about my physical well-being the whole other pile of shit has been forgotten.

  November 13

  Man, I look awful, two black eyes, a kind of tin grin retainer on my teeth till they’re tight again, all the skin peeled off one cheek, the other one black and purple and blue. I look like a clown but, man, am I ever getting attention. It’s like the olden days! Me, the man on the flying dirt bike. It should be embarrassing but it isn’t. It’s funny and fun, fun, fun, happy funny fun! I guess ripping off the establishment is the best part. They’re treating me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. Motorcycles and trucks can be replaced . . . but me! . . . WOWIE! I’m back where I belong.