Tuesday, March 29, 2011

"The Scribe" Started A Blog!

I told my daughters to get ready for school.

"But I am ready," The Scribe argued.

I looked at her and noticed something strange.  A huge piece of paper stuck from beneath her shirt.  She obviously didn't think I'd see it.  "What's that?" I asked and quickly pulled the paper into the open air.


Her face turned like a chameleon, fitting her angry emotions.  "It's nothing!  Give it back!"

"If it's nothing, then why are you hiding it?"

"Because it's silly."  She snatched it back.  Her bottom lip pouted and her big eyes blinked against a flood of tears.

"What's going on, honey?"

"It's just that . . .  You promise you won't think I'm silly?"

I nodded.  "I promise.  Cross my heart and hope I'll die. Stick a needle in my eye and all that good stuck if I break my word."

She passed me the paper, but before I read it, she said, "I started a blog."

"A blog?"

"Yeah, except I don't have a computer, so I've been writing notes in my diary.  I write two copies.  One to keep, just so I'll remember what I wrote, and then one for a person to read.  I write a new thing each day."  She looked up at me.  "I write . . . just like you do."

That made me so happy I could have jumped an electric fence!  She's such a doll.  She wanted to be like me--I couldn't believe it.  But as I thought, something hit me.  "And, what do you do with the copy you don't keep?  The copy a person reads?

"Oh, that's where it gets exciting.  I've been putting the notes in a random locker."

"A random locker?"  I almost choked on the words.  I knew that conversation had headed to a bad place--a place worse than Hell on a weekend!

"Yeah."  She smiled, very proud of herself.  "It's a nice-looking locker."

"The person who uses it, do they know who you are?"

"No, but I'm giving them clues each day."

"That's great, honey.  But aren't you curious to know who they are?"  It seemed silly!  What if that locker belonged to some creep!  Maybe it belonged to a HORRIBLE Bully!

That's when The Scribe broad-sided me with logic.  "Well, I figure you don't know who you're writing to when you blog . . . so why should I worry about it.  Isn't that the point of blogging?"

"Well, no, but I guess that's part of it."  As I thought, I laughed so hard I nearly stopped breathing.  After I regained my breath, I grinned at the letter in my hand and read.

Name: #9

Hi, I think you already know who I am?  So, let's get on with how my life works.  I am so sorry, but I'm going to talk about yesterday.  I really didn't have a good day.  Some kids were mean to me, but whatever. 

I know something is wrong.  Everybody is missing something, like how things were created.  I never told anyone this, but I know something is in the world except no one thinks about this.  You probably think I am crazy, but I don't think I am.

Whenever I get back from school, I look out my window and say, "What's missing?"  I think differently from most people.

~The End of Part 5~

I hugged The Scribe after that.  "What's missing, Sweetie?  Are you okay?"

She smiled up at me.  "Yeah.  I'm starting to feel better now that I'm blogging and now that you know I am.  Maybe that's what was missing.  I can see why you like it so much.  Maybe I need to blog."

After I'd dropped The Scribe at school, I found her diary and sure enough, she'd already written several notes and torn out even more papers.  I wondered how many notes she'd put in that random locker.
That kid cracks me up!

Here's what the first note said:

Name: #9
I got this book on December 10, 2010 on Friday.  It was my birthday present. I should write about my life. 

Each day you will learn more about me in crisis or not! When you find who I am, give the book back. I will give you one year to find me. My name starts with “R.” I am a girl; you can think I'm a secret admirer or not. Each day you will learn about me and how I feel for you and how my life works.

"In crisis or not"--that cracks the Hell out of me--The Scribe IS NOT your average nine-year-old.

Regardless of her cuteness, now I'm worried.  Does she know who she's writing these to?  If she does, maybe she lied.  But what if she really doesn't know?  Maybe she dislikes the person she's sending them to.  What if the person's a girl--worse yet--a bully girl!  That poor Scribe.  I hope this will end as well as The Play Date did, but I'm not so sure.