August 29, 2009
Dear Diary,
Ma just got me this journal. She says I have to write in it every day, just so she can look at it, I bet. Boo Hoo.
Well, what can I say? My name is Tristan Sandstone. Yeah, weird name, huh? I go to Clarence-David's School, in Montgomery, Alabama. I live with Ma and Grandma and my dog Quizno. We call him Quiz. Quiz is a Collie. He's real nice. Da's gone though, 'cause Ma keeps on sayin’ that he'll never come back, that he's gone on a per-mee-dent vacation. Whatever that means. Ma’s nice. She’s always sweet and says she knows me and never yells, no matter what I do. Grandma is weird, though. She spends time in front of the box all day, and never says anythink but just stares at the screen. If we change a channel, she stares. If we ask her whether she’d like a lump o’ suga’ in her tea or not, she stares. If we come into her room, she’s always starin’ at somewhat. I sometimes wake up at nite and hear Ma crying, tryin’ her best to get Grandma out of her rocker and into her bed. I sometimes hear Grandma, too. She only speaks then, saying that everyone was gone and it still hurt, after all those years. That’s when Ma comes out of the room and just sighs somethink sad. I only looked good at Grandma once. Her sleeves were up, and I could see a number on her arm. I thought the old bat had scribbled it on, so I told Ma that she should wash it off. Ma just looked at Grandma with sad eyes.
Ma takes me to a doctor and a sy-ki-a-trist every week, whatever that is. The sy-ki-a-trist asks me weird questions, like how I feel, and what books I've been readin’, and how I feel ‘bout ‘em. None o’ the questions make sense. The doctor doesn't ask questions. He just stabs me with needles. Ma's always in the room, holdin’ my hand or askin' the doctor questions, like when should I next come back. The answers always the same: in a week.
When I ask Ma what this's all 'bout, she says I'm special. But that's not what the folks at Clarence-David's say. They say I'm dumb. Ma says forget 'bout ‘em. They're just jealous that they're not as special as I am.
In a few days, it'll be time for school. I'm not too happy, since I'll have to wake up a 5:30 every mornin' and the kids'll be laughin' at me and Mr. Dup our gym teacher'll yell at me to move faster because I wasn't my grandma and the caf-ee-teer-ee-a food will be just awful. No, sir-ee, I am not ready to go back to school. Ma says I'll have to live with it, since the law states that 'I can't not go to school until I am 16 years old'. When I'm Pre-see-dent, I'll be sure to change that law up in a jiffy.
At least I still have Quizno. After school, I come back with my books tucked under my arm and a change o’ clothes under my arm and when I open the door Quizno comes a-leapin’ out at me and my books and my clothes go flying off in one direction and Quizno comes burrowin’ into my chest and falls on top o’ me. He just stands there while here I am layin’ on the ground, lickin’ my hands first, then my shirt and my shoulders and my chin then my entire face, while he’s also puttin’ his paws on my chest. It’s the best thing that happens all day long. I bring my things inside then I go fetch the collar and a Frisbee and a ball, and then Quizno and me go runnin’ down to the park. We play catch and fetch for one hour, then we go runnin’ back home where Ma is expectin’ us there and appears with a bowl o’ food and treat for Quizno and always has somethin’ good for me. It could be a freshly baked cinnamon bun, or half a melon with a freshly made fruit juice with a little um-bree-ella stickin’ out of the top (I like those and collect ‘em) or maybe she even breaks down and makes me a hot fudge Sunday. That has a scoop of straberry, chocklat, and vin-ill-ia ice cream. The top has chocklat fudge spreadin’ over all ice cream and sprinkles and nut pieces and a cherry or two. Always a cherry.
Sometimes, I’m taken out o’ school early to go to a doctor or sy-ki-a-trist. The doc is always findin’ somewhat wrong with my body, so I’m always goin’ back for shots. Ma’s always cryin’ after these things. The silent cryin’, the one where she tries to sound cheerful, but sounds strange, and when you look at her face, there’s a river o’ tears. I hate when that happens.
Ma’s tryin’ to get Grandma to eat a bit o’ mashed taters, but Grandma’s just starin’ at the box again, ignorin’ everythink. Dinner was good, at least. Ma made her famous mashed taters, famed throughout the entire city of Montgomery. She also made some fried chicken and green beans. I call ‘em green beasts, ‘cause they make my stomach disagree. Very icky. Ma took me out to Dairy Queen as a treat. I got a waffle bowl.
Back at home, I can hear the usual sounds o’ crickers chirpin’ out my window. It’s now ‘bout eight o’ clock. I’ve got to get to sleep before Ma comes up and finds me writin’ in my diary. She’ll be mad, and I don’t want to make her mad. G’night.
Tristan Sandstone,
Resident of Montgomery, Alabama
578 Milkway Street, 98302
Allahmaya9638 Community Member 
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