His Mothers Diary
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The Diary free porn video
The Diary
by Andrea Lena DiMaggio
Romulus, Michigan....November 23, 2016
The young man lay on his couch; another migraine courtesy of a job that
promised no future other than being consigned to disappointment. It
wasn't so much what he was asked to do as in what manner he was asked to
perform his tasks. He heard a soft knock at the door followed by an even
softer half-growl from the Weimaraner that lay next to him on the floor.
He arose and walked quickly to the door followed closely by the dog
whose mood had changed from vigilant to frisky in a moment. He opened
the door and was greeted by a kind almost grandfatherly looking man who
smiled and spoke.
"Daniel Huarte?"
"Yes...." Daniel's eyes glanced down to the package in the man's hands. A
dreamer of sorts, unexpected letters and packages were always greeted
with wonder, as if someone might send him a manuscript from a heretofore
unknown author or a nice hard-to-find action figure for his collection.
The man's eyes caught his glance and he smiled at the young man with a
beneficent nod.
"I've a registered delivery." The old man seemed almost gleeful as he
handed Daniel the package, indicating on the cards taped to the outside.
?Just sign by the ?x? on both cards, please.? Daniel signed the cards
and handed them back to the man, who nodded once again.
?Happy Thanksgiving,? he said before turning to go. Halfway down the
porch stairs, he turned once more and said at last,
?Good Luck, Daniel.? Daniel had his head down, and he raised it to
respond, but the man was already gone. He walked back into the house,
nudged several times by the dog.
?I don?t know what it is, Mitzi?Let?s sit down and open it, shall we??
The dog tilted her head to one side as if she was considering the
suggestion. Daniel walked back to the couch and sat down. Moments later
he held the contents of the package.
?What do you think it is?? He asked the dog; many folks talk to their
pets, but a single man with few acquaintances and fewer friends might
turn to his dog for encouragement and counsel. He stared at the book in
his hands. Just a bit larger than the palm of his hand, it was covered
in pink satin antique fabric?the kind with subtle darker stripes woven
into the cloth. It had a hasp that closed over the cover along with a
tiny gold lock. A key was secured to the book with a piece of string.
??My Diary??wow?who do you suppose sent this?? Of course the dog was
attentive and equally as silent; she did, however, lick his hand. A
quick examination of the package inside and out revealed no return
address or name. And of course, the postman had already departed. He
paused for a moment. Even though the diary had been sent to him, it
almost seemed as if he was violating the privacy of the sender.
Something almost spoke inside his head, as if to say, ?go ahead, it?s
alright.? He took the key and carefully opened the lock.
?No turning back, girl.? He smiled and the dog seemed to nod in
agreement.
?May 17, 1995, Dear Hortense.? Soft flowing script; cursive like the
kind they used to teach in school; even if she hadn?t included her own
name, it would have been understood immediately that it was written by a
woman, as feminine as it appeared. He smiled only a bit and sighed.
?He came today. So sad. I don?t know what to say. I can?t imagine a
child being more miserable and yet as kind as can be. He even thanked me
for letting him help. I suppose I could manage to get to the store
myself, but then that would spoil everything, wouldn?t it??
It was easy to fall deeply into wonder and fancy with an unknown woman
writing to herself about a child; almost a bridge to Terebithia moment
lit by a Narnia lamp post. Daniel wrote stories of adventure in strange
lands that no one wanted to read; much less produce as a film or a TV
show. But he still could dream.
?The boy is such a dear; it?s a mystery as to why he?s so sad. I
promise, Hortense, that I?ll ask him straight off tomorrow. Perhaps we
can help him??
?I wonder what she found out. I guess we should keep reading? You know,
it always made me wonder what kind of person talks to themselves by name
in a book, you know? Maybe the same kind that talks to their doggie?
Mitzi?? The dog had hopped up onto the couch and had fallen asleep.
?I?ll keep you posted?.what else?? Daniel turned the page. The words
were written this time in a light purple ink, almost lilac; a special
entry.
?He came today and I did what I said I?d do. ?Why are you so sad, young
man?? I asked him. I?m sure there was something going on inside, but he
denied it altogether. I find it hard to believe that a boy that nice
should be so sad; even though he said he wasn?t, the streaks down his
dusty cheeks told me everything. Things are as they should be, however,
since he came when no one else would.? The paper was a creamy shade;
slightly faded due to age, but it still bore the unmistakable mark of
tear stains.
?I wonder why she would cry for a boy she didn?t know?? He turned and
the dog had begun to lick his knee.
?I?ll get you something to eat in a second, girl. Just let me see the
next couple of pages.? He said to her, and she laid her head on his knee
and lolled into a restful doggie nap. Page after page of ?poor boy? and
?oh, what a dear child; minutes turned into an hour until he got to an
entry that was jarring.
?July 18, 1995. Dear Hortense?.? Same beautiful cursive; so lovingly
crafted but the beauty lay not in the expression, but the heart that the
words expressed.
?He?s finally admitted he?s sad. Week after week of kind attention to
these old bones?.somebody that looked past the dusty hallway and the
dark doors. Someone who cared enough to help me, dear heart. How special
a child who would care for someone whom every other soul in town
considered unlovable?someone who wasn?t acceptable? And there he was
today. I asked him and he finally answered.? The words promised a
revelation, but Mitzi had woken up and was whimpering by the doorway,
looking very, very anxious. Daniel laid the diary down and in a moment
was out the door with the dog.
* * *
?You know, dear heart, that we have endured so much ignorance and scorn
these past few years, but I cannot fathom how someone could hurt a child
like this boy has been hurt.? Daniel hadn?t noticed, but he had begun to
read aloud, more for the benefit of the moment than for either him or
the dog. A solemnity of sorts began to permeate the moment even though
the sound of his own voice was as jarring as ever. He wanted to sound
authentic for the narrative, but the same old baritone came from deep
inside; disappointing as always.
?The boy admitted to me that he feels out of place; like he doesn?t
belong.? The words seemed to sting; almost as if Daniel could feel for
the child.
?Imagine that?he actually told me how sorry he was for me because no one
comes to visit me. The only one in how many years, dear heart?? Hortense
spoke to herself in much the same fashion that Daniel had resigned
himself to. He actually found himself hoping that the woman had a dog as
well.
?Barbie has found a new friend; the boy and she have taken to each
other. No other person other than the postman has been kind to the dog,
and I imagine she and the boy have become kindred spirits of a sort,
aye? Maybe like I have with the boy as well. It?s fascinating how a
welcome smile and a nice bark can help a child open up. He says they
hate him!? It wasn?t as if he knew, but Daniel almost sensed a feeling
of anger from the words, even though the pretty script belied the
message.
?If Peter had lived? We would have had children, would we not, dear
one?? Introspection? Grief? Who was Peter? And who, really, was Hortense
other than a name on a page?? Daniel felt a chill up his back, but it
wasn?t eerie or uncomfortable; almost like the feeling you have when you
go through something that seems very familiar, but you don?t recall
where or when.
?The boy was teased, from what he said, by his family today. ?They hate
me,? he said once again. It brings me to tears to hear him say it so
matter of fact, as if he deserved to be neglected or mistreated. And all
because he?s different?? The lament seemed to cool and warm Daniel at
the same time; a fearful dreadful sensation came over him. The words
almost demanded attention that he was too scared to give, but too rapt
to ignore. He read on.
?I remember when I found out?you remember, don?t you, dear heart?? The
words seemed almost foolish, since Hortense was asking herself that
question, but it was really almost an inner poet speaking out what she
needed to say in order to assure herself.
?You?re a boy, Harry! And boys don?t do that at all. You?ve been given
much, Harry; don?t disappoint your father!? The words seemed to shout
the accusation, as if the somber disdain wasn?t enough to get the
reader?s attention.
?You?re a wizard, young man, not a witch; no matter what you think or
feel!? Screaming denial, the words felt like they weren?t meant from
poet to reader only, but seemed to pierce Daniel?s heart.
?When we?when I changed, it changed everything else forever, dear heart,
now didn?t it? And the boy knew the same pain?.the same feeling of being
trapped between three worlds? Like he didn?t belong to his family and he
didn?t belong to his?what they expected him to be?and he didn?t belong
to the world of solids and substance?? Mitzi nudged Daniel?s arm; a
hungry dog might wait for a while, but a whole day? Daniel laid the
diary down once again and went into the kitchen. Minutes later both he
and Mitzi were back on the couch. He looked around and noticed it had
gotten dark. It seemed to have gotten dark inside himself as well.
Turning on the lamp next to the couch he returned to the diary.?
?Out of time and out of place and out of any welcome; he?s just like we
were. I should have seen it; the same sad look we had when we were his
age.? She continued to speak to herself as if she was two instead of
one. She was two, in a way, but in a way that was coming together even
as he read; a purpose seemed to emanate from her words even as the ink
blurred more and more from empathetic tears.
?Such a sweet child. Like I was?.me?the first time after I changed I
felt so alive. I couldn?t have borne the ignorance and hatred that came
my way if I had remained as I had been created. I used my strength to
change for my own benefit; a violation of a foolish rule. How can we be
helpful to others if we are too weak and neglected ourselves? And to be
whom we were meant to be? I vowed at that moment, and you know because
you were there, dear heart, that never again would I act so selfishly as
to be foolishly selfless. And somehow, if I ever found out ?.If we ever
can do something for that dear child that I will?we will do for him what
others so carelessly insisted I shouldn?t do for myself.? The final
words of the page were almost unreadable due to the blurred ink. Daniel
paused and sighed as deep a sigh as he had ever let go.
?September 8, 1995?Dear Hortense.? Even though nothing had changed
visually in the cursive, the writing seemed to be lighter, almost gay
and carefree even before Daniel had read past the salutation.
?Mommy wrote to me today; they know that they?.? An odd pause, as if she
had been speaking aloud along with Daniel?s narrative.
?It?s more than ?all is forgiven,? Hortense, my dear. It?s that there
was nothing to forgive in the first place. Daddy sends his regards?.and
asks ?written by his own hand??my dear sweet child; I am so sorry?.?
He?s sorry, dear one. Centuries of pride?am I angry? No?I am as at peace
as any time in my life, and I know he and Mommy are sorry. We?re a
family again.? The word again was almost indecipherable as the ink was
nearly all washed away. Daniel shuddered as he read the words again.
?We?re a family.? So foreign; not just in language or culture, but in
spirit as he began to weep for the woman on the page; the woman had
started life much in the same way as the little boy for whom she wept.
Her heart of forgiveness so deep; her heart of compassion so wide, he
wished he could have known her. And he wished he had been blessed as the
little boy to have known her even if for a moment. He sighed. Probably
the best fantasy he had ever read, he could only wish that he had the
talent and the words to speak with such prose about something so
personal.
Mitzi nudged him, her wet nose cool against his bare arm. Once again he
laid the diary down and the two went out for another walk. He returned
and noticed that the lights seemed dimmer in the room; a breaking dawn
will do that. He shook his head and sat down. A long, ponderous and
lonely day ahead, he sighed once again and picked up the diary. Entry
after entry seemed to be joyful and with great relief.
?January 17, 2002 Dear Hortense?Life is beautiful, but I do so wish I
knew what happened to that child.
?July 4, 2009 Dear Hortense. The whole town seems excited, and I?ve
learned to be content. New neighbors invited me to their home for a nice
meal. Life has changed so much. My heart is filled with joy but for the
thought of that dear child. I only wish I could find him.
?November 20, 2016 Dear Hortense?I?m so glad we?re going home, finally a
part once again of the grand scheme of things; a happy creation once
again reunited with my creator. Only one thing left to do other than to
give thanks? We found him! I?m so glad?now I can rest assured that we
both will know what it is like to truly be who we are and to truly be
thankful.?
Daniel spoke the words, and something inside of him was grateful even
through the loneliness and pain. Something that seemed so oddly familiar
even though he had struggled with gratefulness for a long time. He
remembered how much he had longed to be different, and how his brothers
and his father had teased him. He remembered how his mother had loved
him but had been helpless to protect him. The days that turned into
weeks that turned into years of being something other than who he was.
Mitzi interrupted his musing with an anxious bark.
?It?s okay, girl. Really. I?m finally happy, even though I have no idea
why." He winked at the dog at the silly fib.
"And I?m grateful?I?m alive?and at least I?ve got you, right?? The dog
barked in agreement. The moment was as magical a moment as you?ve ever
read about anywhere. And there was nothing different other than a
changed heart. Daniel looked down at himself; perhaps for the first time
without hating himself, but he felt oddly hopeful. Things hadn?t changed
one bit other than that his heart, broken in so many pieces over so many
hurts and disappointments, had begun to knit together. He got up off the
couch and walked into the bedroom.
??The first day is always the hardest,? Kristie had told me the other
day. I don?t know how I?m going to manage it, but I?m on my way, girl,?
Daniel said, looking down at the dog; Mitzi appeared eagerly
encouraging, as if her tail wag was a signal for approval. Daniel opened
his dresser and pulled out some garments. A few minutes later he stood
before the mirror on his closet door?.her?closet door.
?Daddy?s going to be pissed, but I think in the end he?ll come around,
what do you think?? Danielle Marie Huarte nodded at her best friend in
the world, who wagged her tail in glee.
?Yeah, that?s what I think, too. ? She looked at herself in the mirror,
as if in examination. Her light brown hair was pulled back, exposing a
graceful jaw line courtesy of her mother and a nice slender neck
courtesy of Dr. Alphonso Ghiaralldi. Her face was almost pristine,
absent of any makeup other than a bit of shadow and lip gloss. Her
blouse was a simple dark green, gold strands made it almost shimmer;
maybe too early for Christmas colors but that was okay. Her jeans were
loose; a fit that worked for girls her age; they tapered down into dark
brown low-heeled boots more suitable for a walk after the big dinner.
And finally, she grabbed the last garment from her closet; a gift from
her father years before, but the first time that Danielle would wear it
instead of Daniel. She pulled it on and smiled broadly as Mitzi wagged
her tail excitedly.
?Yeah, girl?I think he?ll like it just fine,? she said as she modeled
the hooded sweatshirt with the?Detroit Lions?logo emblazoned on the
front. She looked at herself in the mirror once again; perhaps for the
first time really being thankful for the person she was. No longer
ashamed and filled with doubt; no longer the little boy who was
befriended by a kind old and very eccentric lady, she smiled at the
image in the mirror before turning to the Mitzi once again.
?Happy Thanksgiving!?
Brandy
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