Work Text:
“June 13, 1938.”
A sigh.
“Jack gave me this for my birthday today. Well, the choir did. Maurice said it was so I could write down stuff and feel better, but I’m not sure.”
The voice reading stops, shuddering. It continues.
“I’ve been in the choir for a year now. I don't think any of them are fond of me. The fainting doesn't help. Luckily, I have only fainted during one of our concerts. Jack was quick to rearrange us and put me in front, so if I fall again, I won't fall far. He says it’s so no one else falls.”
“Jack is the head boy. We have Roger, Maurice, Bill, and Robert too. There’s a few others, but I don't remember their names.”
The writing is smudged and faded, old. The reader paused, trying to decipher the messily written words.
“The choir has been doing well. The director says we sound like the year 9s. Jack is happy. The school year will end soon, I hope to play with Jack during the summer.”
Pause.
A few are skipped.
“September 21st, 1938.”
“A new school year has started. My classmates are almost the same. Jack is with me again. He sits next to me during math, and I can help him with it. He yells at me anyway.”
A soft laugh from the other side of the room. A glare is shot in the direction of the disruptance and it stops.
“The choir has its auditions again soon. Previous members tend to get in easier. I hope the director thinks my voice is still good.”
More skipped.
“February 12th, 1939.”
“Jack invited me to the movie theatre for Valentines’ day. He said it was because he didn't want some girl to pester him, but I'm glad to hang out with him anyway. He’s gotten stricter with the choir, I'm happy to relax with him for once. Everyone keeps pestering me. I hate it. They’re loud and don't know when to stop.”
Sniffle.
“The classes are getting harder. The teachers aren't good. They don't explain anything. Jack and Robert help me. Maurice tries, but he's not good. Neither is Bill.”
“I’m so tired.”
“June 19th, 1939.”
“I got lucky. Robert helped me with my homework, and I barely passed. Jack hasn't had as much free time to be with me either. Hopefully he'll be free during the summer.”
Sobs.
“August 31st, 1939.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow. Mama said I can't take this journal with me, but I’ll get a new one at my temporary home. Mama also says that some of the choir will be with me in the new home. I really hope Jack is with me.”
Tears drop onto the page and the journal is swiftly shut. The tears fall from blue eyes that once pierced fear into many, especially a small, brown child, but now they lay in their sockets with a fog in them. Red curls fall in front, desperately trying to hide the pain, as the boy has always tried to do.
Slightly tan arms pull the redheaded boy close, but that tanned body lets tears of its own fall, too. Not hidden though, no. He can show sadness in close company, but the other boy? Never.
“...It’s okay, Jack. He was struggling anyway. Even if he deserved a better end,” Ralph says.
Silence.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
“...I should have been in his place.”