diary of judy carver (DO NOT READ)
july 31, 1969
dear diary,
holy shit. i'm gonna do it.
it's been two whole years in the making. i can't tell you how many hours i've spent bussing tables at pa's diner (i can - 1,872. yes i did the math. i've made just over 11 grand! just by working at pa's! can you believe it?!
i called mikey this morning - he's still on his way home from school. holy shit, if you could hear how excited he was when i told him i could buy his van... that piece of shit has been through the worst, and he's selling it to me for only $200! it may be a piece of shit, but if it'll get me out of bristol, i don't care.
there's only one problem. and it's kinda big.
i haven't told my parents.
it's not like they'd be cool with it! what, you think i can just waltz into the kitchen like "hey ma, hey pa! just letting you know, i'm buying a used van from my brother and driving up the country to a music festival where i won't know anyone! love you!" they'd have my ass beat into next tuesday.
i don't quite know how i'm gonna do it. i think once i get the van off of mikey, i'll write a letter to ma and pa, tell them where i'm going, and then just... go.
i'll figure it out. life was never meant to be slapped on a calendar ass over tea kettle.
-j.c.
judy slammed her journal shut, the pages blowing a forgiving gust of wind into her sweaty face. out of all the seasons, summer and winter were the most brutal. she stood up from her desk, going to her bathroom to observe her straightened hair. she never liked it when she straightened her hair out. it felt like a part of her was gone - the one part that she loved so dearly. her curls.
when they were free, judy's curls were beautiful. they'd hang off her shoulders and bounce around with every step she took. her curls made her feel big. powerful.
and without them, she was just a hollow version of herself. not judy! just... judy.
she looked in the mirror, taking a deep breath. "now or never, judes."
"judy, come downstairs, mikey's home!"
"in a minute, ma! i'm getting cleaned up!" judy shouted. without a moment's hesitation, she undressed, leaving her neat sunday clothes in the hamper where they would never see the light of day again. she stepped into the shower, purposefully forgetting her shower cap. she was nearly shaking with excitement as she could feel the heat damage washing away with the shampoo she rubbed into her scalp. she worked the product through her dark brown strands, her hair silently thanking her for letting it breathe. i'm never straightening my hair again, she told herself.
not even twenty minutes later, judy bounded down the stairs, her ebony curls following her. "mikey!" she exclaimed, completely disregarding her mother's stern looks as she brought her older brother in for a hug. mikey reciprocated without thought, happy to see his little sister. "you brought the van with you?" she asked lowly, still holding on to him.
"yup," mikey matched her soft voice. "you got the money?"
"donezo."
"judy, when are you gonna stop hugging your brother and tell me why the hell your hair ain't straighter than my pen?" judy's mom demanded.
judy rolled her eyes and unraveled herself from mikey. "it's hot out, my hair was bound to get frizzy anyways. might as well embrace it," she said blankly.
"judy," her father began sternly.
she groaned. "i know what y'all are gonna say. judy, you gotta keep the black away. judy, you know what they call negroes who ain't got they hair tamed," she mocked. "well i'll tell you this much: i. don't. care." she didn't have time to get the looks on her parents' faces before she ended her speech with a humph and stormed back up the stairs.
closing - no, slamming her bedroom door shut, she sat down at her desk, opening her journal. did she want to write another journal entry? no. maybe a poem? no.
the letter.
she got to writing quicker than you can say "banana split."
ma and pa,
there's no easy way to write this letter. but there isn't any way to say this in person, so i'll just have to make do, i suppose.
i'm running away.
no, i'm not leaving with just the clothes on my back. i've saved up some money, and i'm gonna buy mikey's van and i'm gonna get out of bristol. i don't know much except that i will be going to woodstock up in new york. i know y'all won't like me going to a silly old music festival with a bunch of hippies on acid, but hey, i'm not exactly running away so that i can make y'all proud.
i'm not doing this to make you mad, or to spite you. i really just want to be free. i want to see the world and write it all down word for word. i want people to see my curls. if living a long life means that i'll have to stay in bristol for the rest of my days, then i want to die young. and if they call me a nigger because i ain't got my hair tamed, then so be it. they can bring their fire. my leave-in conditioner isn't flammable.
i hope you understand. i love you so much and i cannot wait to see you again.
your daughter always,
judy carver.
a knock sounded on judy's door. "judy? it's mikey."
judy ripped the page out of her journal and folded the letter neatly. "come in," she said quietly.
mikey opened the door to judy's bedroom. his eyes landed on the two backpacks in the corner of her room, filled to the brim. "you gave ma and pa a right talking to. i'm surprised they ain't whopped your ass already."
judy scoffed. "oh, i'll be gone before they even get the chance."
mikey's expression hardened. "you're seriously gonna go?"
judy paused. "...yeah."
mikey then sighed, sitting on the edge of judy's twin bed. "have you thought this through?"
"you moved out when you turned eighteen," judy deflected. "how is this any different?"
"judes," mikey groaned.
"no. don't go all lecture-y on me, mikey. get to the point."
mikey pinched his nose. "i didn't move out just because i wanted to, judy. i had school. a job. something to work towards," he explained. "it's not that i don't want you to go. i do, but... you gotta know what it is you're running towards, not just what you're running away from."
mikey was right.
"... i'm gonna go to new york," judy said slowly. "i'll go to woodstock. and i'll write a book about it."
"and after that?"
"... i don't know."
mikey sighed again. he reached into his pockets, pulling out a key. it was the key to the astro van. "you have my phone number, right?"
judy smiled. she opened her desk drawer and pulled out a makeup bag. in the makeup bag was stacks upon stacks of cash. she pulled out ten $20 bills and traded them to mikey for the key. "i'll call you when shit hits the fan." she emphasized the when.
she stood up and brought mikey into a hug. "please be safe, judy," mikey begged. "if you die, ma and pa will somehow find a way to blame me."
judy let out an odd mix between a laugh and a sob. "i won't die. promise," she said.
mikey pulled away from the hug, letting his hands linger on her shoulders. "the van's in the driveway. go through the window. i'll cover for you," mikey said, nodding his head towards her window.
she smiled gratefully, reaching for one of her backpacks while mikey grabbed the other. she opened her window and climbed on top of her desk, not forgetting her journal. she handed the letter she wrote to mikey. "make sure they read this," she instructed, to which he nodded. she climbed out the window and carefully scaled the wall of her house, landing on her driveway as she had done many times before. she looked back up at mikey, who threw down her other backpack.
"thanks, mikey."
"no problem, judes. see ya later, alligator."
her lips upturned. "after a while, crocodile."
neither of them wanted to say goodbye. this was the next best thing.
she grabbed her other backpack and got in the driver's seat of the van. turning her key through the ignition, she let the roar of the engine mask her insane laughter. this is it, she thought. i'm leaving home.
"FUCK YOU, MA AND PA!" she shouted, pulling out the driveway and driving unusually fast down the suburban street.
-
property of andrew hozier-byrne
31 july, 1969
dear diary,
what the fuck am i doing?
no, seriously. what the fuck am i doing.
i'm so stupid. why did i ever think this was a good idea? i could have started my career any other way, and instead i've decided to fuck off halfway across the world to a city i don't even know. who goes to america and immediately thinks, "oh, virginia seems like just the destination!"
i'm so stupid. i'm so stupid. i'm so stupid.
this is undoubtedly the worst way to celebrate my 21st birthday.