Dear Myself

Chapter One - Mimi's House

July 4

Dear Myself,

I’ve never been good at keeping a journal. It’s always been one of those things I planned on getting around to, but never actually did. But I figure, now is a time best as any to finally start one. I want to document everything I’m leaving behind because I have a feeling it’s going to change dramatically. And I don’t want to forget where, or who, I’ve been.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt as free and relieved as I do right now.

Or as lonely.

But that should be an easy fix. There should be plenty of people out tonight, considering it’s the Fourth of July. I think I’m going to call it Independence Day from now on, though, because today is my own personal Independence Day as well.

It’ll be a while before anybody realizes I’m missing. My mom is too busy sulking up the sun in the Bahamas, or filming another movie in some foreign country. I’m sure the housekeepers haven’t noticed my absence either. They never saw much of me. I spent most of my time stuck up in my bedroom thinking about how life was like a novel, and I was stuck rewriting my prologue.

But I’ve decided to finally begin my first chapter. Setting? The warm sand of Huntington Beach, California. All I know other than that is I’m never going back home, because this is probably the happiest I’ve felt in my life. I keep wondering how long it’ll be until ‘Melinda Montgomery Raises Teen Angst’ and ‘Daughter of Hollywood Starlet Goes Missing’ hit the front page of every gossip magazine in LA. Except I’m not missing. Really, I’m found, at least in my head. I feel like I can get rid of every negative thought that ever entered my brain, and start over. Because, at least for the duration of the summer, I don’t have to worry about anything at all.

Although, a place to live is fairly crucial. There’s a trashy little motel down the street. I could stay in a room there with the little money I brought with me. But I can only afford a night or two. I greatly underestimated the prices here, assuming everything would be a lot cheaper. Unfortunately, with my lack of experience at just about everything, it’ll be hard for me to get a job. And I can’t exactly live off the land here because that’d mean surviving off ocean water and seaweed that washes up on shore, along with the occasional dead jellyfish. Can they still sting you if they’re dead? I think they can.

I feel like I’m talking to myself, even though this is a journal. Addressing it with ‘Dear Myself’ seems a lot less cliché than the typical ‘Dear Diary’, and typical is the last thing I want to be.

I want to be an inspiration to people. I want to live life freely without having to worry about my mother’s spotless image being tarnished. I want to read books on the beach until it’s so dark that I can’t see the pages anymore. I want to write down every irrelevant thought that enters my mind, and keep it forever. I want to run around without shoes, and not care if people think I look homeless. Yes, those are all thing I’d love to do.

And now I can, because I’m here, and there’s nobody to tell me not to.

How does one usually end a journal entry? I should probably figure that out if I’m going to keep up with this.

- Bridie

♦

            I stared down proudly at my finished journal entry, clicking my pen and pushing a stray piece of dark hair behind my ear. Inked words seemed to flow down the page like a waterfall, expressing so much with so little. Writing had always come easy to me, but this time I really knew I was doing it for myself, as opposed to a school assignment.

            It was lovely. Everything was. The way the sun was just beginning to set on the horizon of the ocean out in the distance. The happy family sitting around a bonfire, roasting marshmallows and eating hotdogs, down the beach. The occasional sound of a firework being set off and ringing in my ears, courtesy of some teenager who couldn’t stand waiting until dark. How the warm sand felt against my skin, as I lounged lazily on my stomach. Everything was untouchably perfect.