Diaries

In the sixth grade, I received a diary as a Christmas gift. New diaries replaced the old until they filled a black metal book rack. On a hot day, my sister and I rearranged the bedroom to get more air since we had no fan, let alone air conditioning. I temporarily set the book rack downstairs to keep it out of the way. Unfortunately, I forgot about the rack. Big, big mistake!

Later, I walked into the house quietly from the back door and heard riotous noise. Curious, I approached the front porch. Several teenage neighbor boys were laughing and hooting. Only then did I see my older brother reading aloud from a diary. My diary.

Open diaries sat on the floor. Humiliated with face flaming, I yelled, slammed open the screen door, swooped up all the diaries and glared at the boys. Facing my wrath, the laughter died. In no time, I stood at the trash barrel. Bang! I threw all the diaries inside the barrel except for one. That lone diary I set afire and dropped it in to ignite the other books. I watched the flames until Every Single Diary Was Burned.

To this day, I no longer keep a diary.