Monday, June 7, 1965
I was in the Tower (toilet) studying and I overheard quite an episode. Miss Lissome was talking to this girl who apparently slashed herself with a razor over another girl. Miss Lissome was very understanding – a little too understanding, if you ask me. This is probably why Beales’ parents think the school is too liberal, because they hide stuff like this. I kept completely quiet and they didn’t know I was there. Apparently they don’t think she needed stitches, but I never got to see her because she went home next day. That’s one way to get out of exams. So far I got a 95 in Bible, (I’m an expert on the Zealots if I do say so myself) a 98 in English (Steinbeck, Steinbeck, Steinbeck - the only A in the class) and I’m fourth from the bottom in Math (sigh). Krissy and I were in Girls’ Doubles and I came in second! Right now “Baby the Rain must Fall” is playing on the radio and I’m getting ready for the freshman-sophomore class party. Gotta go! Plumly School - Mon. Nov 1 – 65 Xaipe is the Greek for “be happy!” So onward and upward with the Adventures of Me! So with mighty thoughts I begin a New Journal. I love looking at all this white paper, aching for words! Am I a crab, a genius, a spastic or a mental case? Here’s a chance for a fresh start! I love tossing an Old Diary over my shoulder and vowing, “I’ll never be such a clod again!” One should never be limited by the past. Lying on the bed during evening study hall. My best friend Krissy is writing KOBS to all the boys in her classes so she gets AT LEAST SOME back. Percy Faith is tinkling out Themes for Young Lovers. It’s putting us in the mood for growing up! Here’s a thought for the day, “You can’t be happy if you’re never sad.” It’s wonderful having a diary to talk to. MUCH better than writing KOBS to God knows who. Here’s my pledge: 1) NEVER fool myself (it’s all right to fool other people) 2) Write in my diary A LOT 3) Make up my own clichés! Tues. Nov 2 - 65 It can’t be healthy for a fifteen-year-old girl to fall this much in love! And I don’t think it’s good for men to give us this much control! But Beales is as close to perfection as a man can possibly come! He’s a senior so the relationship Nazis dishing out social warnings pretty much leave us alone. The only thing wrong with him is his name, which is so awful I have to call him by his parents’ moniker. Aallyn is not the greatest name in the world (everyone spells it wrong) but its way ahead of Leslie! I keep telling him he needs a new name like Caspian, Blue or Swift Hunter. Something with class! When I’m with Beales the simplest things are fraught with satisfaction. I love just touching his face to see if its still there! When he strokes my fingers I get so worked up I’d be lost if we weren’t Prisoners of the Tower watched by jealous sex-starved guards! One thing irks me about Beales. He will never say he loves me! He says he’s “saving” that word! I don’t care for savers – I’m a spender myself. But I’m not going to say it if he’s not! Sometimes I think he’s just on the verge…he wrote Te Amo on a KOB! That doesn’t count! No English no laundry, buster! I suppose the odds of us marrying are a billion to one. I suppose it’s better if we DON’T say we love each other! Then we’d have to be afraid of “fallout” (falling out of love hehehe. Fri Nov 12 - 1965 Am I stupid? The worst of being stupid is you wouldn’t know you are. I know I am on the honor roll but THAT sort of intelligence doesn’t count. (A determined monkey could do it – with the proper rewards.) Beales tells me I am dumb all the time. He says it teasingly but it’s starting to bother me. Then he says, “Actually you’re very clever” but the seed has been planted. It’s awfully wearing to be in love. In fact its getting worse and worse. I only go to meals so I can get a glimpse of the back of his head. He’s got SUCH a sexy neck! He’s going to college next year and he’ll find a new girl to torture (and if she’s smart she’ll torture him back.) Then he’ll work in a bank like his father for a few years and then he’ll get married. It’ll be all moonlight and roses for HIM. He won’t lie awake at night worrying that he ruined my reputation and my academic record! So maybe it’s fortunate that he’s got brakes enough for two. I can just hang on him and drip dry. He won’t French and he won’t kiss me very long (Mark Jonas used to kiss me so long I thought I’d die from lack of air. The least sinus condition and I would have been a goner.) It’s hard to respect someone who won’t French. It’s like they’re worried you’re diseased. Going down now to Gifsto just hoping I’ll catch sight of him (sometimes he fills in there.) I just adore the way he walks – he’s got a real “athlete’s roll.” When he catches sight of me he pulls my hair. Tenderly. He can pull it out so far as I’m concerned. Ah me. Sat. Nov 13 – 65 Are there deeper layers to love? Yes there are and I’m going down for the third time! The main thing I have always loved about Beales is his savoir-faire – but now that I’ve seen him play soccer – Ooooo! Those black smudges beneath his eyes! Wonder if I could get him to wear them to the Christmas Dance…ahem. Unstick my thighs. Probably not; and it’s better that way. Otherwise I might take his precious virginity and crack it in half. Mon. Nov 22, 65 Woman does not live by coffee alone. So I have taken two aspirins and lie down in a blue & white soccer shirt (Beales’) and a pair of pettipants. All that’s wrong with me is too little sleep, love & coffee (illegal for all but seniors so of course we drink it like mad.) Sat night was “unscheduled” so we could do anything we want. (Usually we have “mandatory entertainment” Last week some guy released his damn bird to fly all over the audience. You figure it out.) I was hoping Beales would kiss me and eventually he did, saying, Funny how important kisses are to a girl!” So I slapped him. (Wasn’t a very hard slap.) We went to sit coldly on opposite sides of the room. Finally he said, “Did you ever wonder if we were just specks on a giant’s drinking glass and when he puts us in the dishwasher we’ll be done?” “And I said, “Ever read that Dr. Seuss story about the men in the dust?” So we went to sit closer and he told me all about his Problems with the school newspaper the Blue & White (of which he is editor: “All the news that fits we print”.) Boo hoo. It seems people are always trying to publish exposés about the stupid soccer coach who only cares about winning and is constantly risking the players’ lives and the faculty won’t let them. Thought of a relevant Beach Boys song but didn’t sing it to him since he thinks the Beach Boys are degenerate. Poor Beales is tasteless – didn’t I mention? And only likes classical music. Just pitiable, like being colorblind. Classical music is all right if you need to get to sleep but there are times for hotting up, if you get my meaning. Poor Beales acts like he wants his entire life to be a tranquilizer. I faithfully transcribe his entire KOB: “Please don’t try to understand what I almost or didn’t quite get across tonight; it doesn’t concern you.” (Flattering.) “What I meant to say, or observe, is that I don’t think there is anything very sacred about kissing a girl” (poor wretch) because, after all, one’s fancy and oneself are bound to change sooner or later with time and I guess I just laugh to assert the fact to myself or anyone who happens to be listening” (the girl, perhaps?) and I detest any relationship which devolves to the point where a date can only be rated successful if you kiss so one feels obliged to do so.” (Is he depressing or what?) But this doesn’t concern you, really, because with you I don’t have to or want to change myself. You probably don’t understand this.” Or like it! No – his problem with kissing couldn’t have anything to do with me! Pure Beales - especially the semicolons. (As you have no doubt noticed I am more of a dash myself.) In my return KOB I quoted the Song of Solomon; “I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.” (Bible.) That shut him up! I am reduced to fantasizing about Phil last year – he was good at finding private spots (the trunk room! The observatory!) where he once tore my pantyhose he became so excited. What a pity people have to graduate. Or change. Or be so TOTALLY unpresentable in public.
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Alysse Aallyn
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