Two Girls of Chicago
“Birthday, it is your birthday!” Lillian ran around the house singing, greatly annoying her sister. Charlotte got up from the solid giant wooden square she called her study desk and promptly went over to her bed to throw a pillow at her sister.
Lillian picked up the pillow after it hit her square in the face and threw it back at Charlotte. Charlotte ducked to avoid it and walked back to her makeshift desk.
The desk wasn’t anything spectacular, just a block of wood that her dad found and cut to fit through her narrow doorway. It sometimes gave its owner splinters, and it took up most of the empty floor space in the girl’s bedroom. But it was the one thing Charlotte truly called her own. And that was all that mattered.
“You were more fun when you were nine!” six year old Lillian exclaimed.
“Well,” Charlotte said, trying to come up with a lady-like answer, “I guess I am all grown up now. I am ten, you know.”
“I guess I am all grown up now.” Lillian said, mimicking her sister’s tone.
Then the two girls heard the door open downstairs, and the two forgot their argument to go greet their father. The girls ran down the creaking wooden stairs to the narrow hallway where the front door was. Charlotte was first into his arms.
“Oh, papa, you are finally home. I am so glad.” She said, still using her grown up voice.
“Well lookie here, I think my Char is all grown up.” He said, “And grown up girls get extra special birthday presents.” He pulled out of his bag a beautiful book that would serve as Charlottes only companion for hard times soon to come.
The book was green, with a single ribbon sticking out of the top and had Charlotte’s name on the front in gold lettering. Upon opening it, Charlotte realized it was a journal. I was the most beautiful thing she owned.
“Oh daddy, I love it so much! I don’t know how you possibly could have afforded this for me. That looks like real gold in the lettering.”
Mr. Dale let out a sigh. The lettering, in fact, was gold. It had cost him almost a month’s paycheck to get that book. But he counted himself lucky to even have a job. Many did not, for the year was 1934 and the great depression was at its worst.
Charlotte ran up to her room, and over to her desk. Eagerly she grabbed a pencil and began to write.
Dear Journal,
My name is Charlotte Dale. I am the daughter of Ruth and Walter Dale. I also have a sister, and the pest’s name is Lillian.
I love to write. But more than anything in the whole wide world I love to sing. Mommy says my voice is pretty, but that singers can become very silly.
But I won’t be silly. Someday I will grow up and be on Broadway and travel to all the wonderful places in the world. I will go to Paris and London, and everywhere I go people will know my name.
I will sign my name all fancy so that people can’t even read it. But the one thing is I guess I will have to start practicing my fancy signature now. Otherwise I might be caught off guard when I get older. And that would be awful.
I must go to dinner now.
Love,
Charlotte Dale
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Points: 1040
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