Winston returned to his apartment. When he put down his coat onto the bed, he felt something hard and paper in it. Curious, he reached into the pocket and pulled it out. It was a wine red journal just like his Winston stared at it hard. Where did it come from? He slowly opened the book. The first page read this:
This journal contains my life and North Country’s history. The first part is my homeland’s history.
Winston scanned the page. A few lines down, he saw the initials W.S. Right then, he knew it was Willa’s journal. She must have slipped it is his pocket while he wasn’t paying attention. Winston decided to return it to her. But after he read it. So, he took his daughter’s journal with him to his hidden corner and continued reading.
History of North Country
Out of curiosity one day when I was sixteen, I asked my mom about how North Country came to be. She gave me a full timeline like this:
Winter 1987: President Fyodor Nikitin is assassinated by Oceania spies. His right hand man, Adrik Titov, takes over. Seeing how we are losing to Oceania, he searches for new ideas
Spring 87: Titov opens a new policy: Nahe. This means we will take away the young soldiers from Oceania and treat them like our own boys.
Summer 87: Titov opens another policy: Lieben. This means we will be free to offer suggestions to the government to run the war. Mom said she had doubts it would work.
Autumn 1989: Eurasia’s power slowly decays. Th polices are lighter. The government still holds the country’s hand.
Spring 1991: My home fights for its independence. The big man is enraged. The world war begins.
Summer 1998: My home has won! North Country is born.
Spring 2003: Today, Eurasia has broken into thirteen countries. Oceania is losing to us.
This blew Winston away. For months, the Party said they were winning. This made him wonder, what else did Big Brother hide from everyone?
VIII
Winston turned the page. The next section was about his daughter’s life.
I, Willa Addison Smith, never thought of myself as a pretty child. My mom said I was beautiful but I thought she was lying. I believe I was just so ugly. Pale as a corpse due to a clash of chemicals in the water my mother drank before I was born. It bleached the pigment in my skin. I have been called a vampire since I was ten. The girls in my first private school would circle me and chant “miss Dracula” during our break.
My mom has a balance to her. Beautiful yet psychotic. Smart yet cruel. Nice yet manipulative. We are like Oceania and Eurasia sometimes. (Mom being Oceania and I being Eurasia.) But we try to stay out of each other’s ways. Lucky for us, I am at boarding school for months at a time and she works as a successful journalist. But when it’s summer or I’m suspended, that’s a small problem.
Our apartment is nice-looking. The walls are a faded peach color. The carpets are a sand color. The furniture and decorations are vintage and elegant. Most of them were gifts from friends of mom. (She wouldn’t take them but they insisted.) We live on the seventh floor. My room faces the city. It never changes. The city looks depressed. Almost like me.
My childhood was mediocre. Aside from the evil hussies calling me a vampire, I had a decent childhood. My good memories include my first taste of watermelon and trips to the beach. I had a good life until I was twelve.
When I was twelve, my mom sent me to hell. This hell was called St. Luciana’s School for Girls. I was stuck with the same people I grew up with in St. Catherine’s! They despised me! I wanted to hang mom.
The first day didn’t help either. Helen Lee Miller said out to everyone, “I always thought vampires burned in the sunlight! I didn’t know that was a myth!” The other girls just laughed at me. Two years ago, it wasn’t anything. But now, that stung in my heart like a steak. I ran behind the building and cried the whole morning.
By second period, the headmistress found me. Despite the obvious fact of teary eyes and streams on my face, she assumed that I was skipping and dragged me to German class.
I had four classes English, German, history, and machinery. English doesn’t faze me at all. I hate German and history. Machinery is my friend. The teachers are evil. They favor the rich stuck-up tarts over me. I was in hell in St. Luciana. I withdrew away from life and became depressed. I had no interest in life.
On December first 1997, the thought of suicide entered my mind. I spent months planning it. I would finish seventh grade with a smile and when summer came, I would sneak out one night and jump off the Carnet Bridge to my death. I just needed a date to do so.
On June fifth 1998, I began to carry out my plan. I lied in bed for a few minutes and then peeked across the hall to see if mom was still asleep. Once that was confirmed, I crept out of our apartment to the elevator. “Going somewhere?” the elevator man asked. “Just a walk.” I answered. He just smiles at me. I disappeared into the elevator.
The night was clear and heavy. I walked faster and faster. I was almost running. I made it to the bridge. I looked down at the black swirling water. I shut my eyes tightly and jumped off. Then… I froze in mid-air. I looked up and saw some boy my age holding me by black shirt. He looked worried. I became angry. “Let me go! I want to die!” I screamed. He didn’t listen. The boy dragged me back over the bridge.
He took me further down the road. I kept kicking and screaming along the way. “Let go of me! Where are you taking me?!? If you don’t let go of me now, I will scream rape so loud even the devil will hear me!” I kept yelling. My captor kept walking.
We came to a gas station and went inside. We walked up to the counter. The cashier was old, tired, and bored. “Can I help you?” he asked. “Two colas.” the boy said. I just glared at them.
Then, a miracle happened. While we waited for our drinks, a young worker turned up the TV. A young woman was at the news desk on it. She was smiling. This was a real smile. Something must have been good.
“Tonight, Belgium has won its independence!” she boomed out. “We have split into sixteen new provinces. Our province shall from now on be known as… North Country!”
Winston froze. It was clear to him now! The night his daughter attempted suicide and North Country became emancipated, was the same night his nightmares of Willa began. Could it be a sign? What did it all mean?
Winston read on.
Once we got our colas, the boy I walked outside. I was still bitter with him. He looked at me confused. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I felt like straggling him. “Why… did…. you… save… me?!?” I hissed. The boy just asked me, “Why kill yourself?” I bitterly opened my drink. After a sip, I said, “I hate my life, my mom doesn’t care that I go to hell every year, everyone at my school hates, me, I’m too pale, and I have no friends.” “That’s not true.” he said. “ You have me.” I just snorted.
“I don’t even know you.” I snapped. “Why do you care so much anyway?” The boy just smiled. “Because,” he said. “I don’t like when something pretty dies.” I looked up at him. This guy was both annoying and crazy. Was this guy listening to a single word I said? Was he stupid or something? I know I spoke in clear English. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “I am ugly! There’s nothing pretty about me!”
“I beg to differ.” he said. Now he was annoying, crazy, and stupid. “Who are you?!?” I asked. The boy just smiled saint-like. “My name is Brian Davidson.” he answered. “You’re Willa Addison Smith, aren’t you? Daughter of Julia, right?” My anger turned to shock. “Everyone talks about you in my school.” Brian said. “Now to answer your question, I don’t like seeing pretty things die. And also, we are now in a free land, that’s the best reason now.”
His words moved me. For the first time, someone actually cares for me. From then on, I vowed to stay close to Brian until the very end.
Brian walked me home in the morning. I didn’t want to go home to tell the truth. I wanted to stay with Brian as long as I could. “Will I see you again?” I asked. Brian paused and turned. “As mush as you like.” he answered. For once in two years, I smiled. I held his arm tightly. Suddenly, the trip home wasn’t so bad.
Mom reluctantly thanked Brian for bringing me home alive. She was glad, worried, and angry to see me again. I don’t blame her now. I’d be upset too if my kid tried to commit suicide and some strange boy brought them home. It didn’t matter. Because days later, I went to a physicist.
One thing about being in therapy, is you miss school if the case is bad. I missed a year of school. I was in a group home for depression in Paris, France. Thirty-seven other kids were there too. I had a room that looked out on the lake and mountains. This was the first time in two years I saw something beautiful.
I didn’t know anybody here and kept to myself. I spent the first three weeks in my room staring out the window, doing my homework from school that mom sent weekly in the mail, and writing in Italian. (Little secret: I am tri-lingual. I speak English, German, and Italian. Italian is a dead language and is barely used. I speak it anyway just to drive Brian and mom crazy.) I thought I was alone again.
Then one night, I heard someone speaking in Italian. Overjoyed, I peaked over my bunk to the door. A girl about sixteen was standing outside in the hall. Her long blonde hair hung loose. She was thin and pale. Strangely, I felt a closeness to her. It was as if she was my sister. I silently crawled out of bed and across the floor. The girl’s Italian was clear and perfect. I whispered out to her. My angel fell silent and looked around. “I’m down here.” I whispered in Italian. She looked down and saw me. I got a good look at my angel. Her blonde bangs made her face look small and her bluish-grey eyes look like a puppy’s. She was everyone’s idea of beauty. “Who are you?” she asked in Italian. “Willa.” I answered. “Who are you?” “Gaile.” she answered.
“You speak Italian too?” Gaile asked. “Yes, fluently.” I said. Gaile stepped closer. “Come out so I can see you.” she said. I was hesitant at first but then I stood up and opened the door. Gaile stared at me long and hard. I was trembling nervously. What would this perfect angel think of me now that she saw this “vampire”?
But then, this angel smiled. “You’re pretty.” she said. I was dumbfounded. I waited for Gaile to say she was joking. But she didn’t. At that point, I saw mentor.
Gaile taught me many things. My confidence went up again. Gaile was a rich girl. She was sixteen and a perfect life. But, she was depressed and had anxiety problems. Gaile tried to kill herself many times. Her father finally sent her here. I admired her bravery. Gaile got me into a swimsuit again and helped me with my homework. I thought I had seen it all with Gaile. But I was blown away.
I went back to my room one evening after dinner and found Gaile sitting on the floor. She had set up a semi-circle of dominoes. I watched her closely. What was she doing?
I stepped closer. “It’s a stress reliever game.” Gaile answered without turning around. I froze. “How?” I asked. She smiled and looked up. “These dominoes represent a vice in life.” Gaile explained. “In knocking them down, you are taking out the vice and solving the problem.” I saw her point. “Go on,” Gaile coaxed me. “Push it down.” I sat down beside her. I looked at the blocks of plastic. This felt forbidden. I was nervous at first. Finally, I gathered my courage and pushed down the first domino. The rest fell fast. A wave of joy shot through me. Gaile smiled at me. We spent the night playing dominoes. Yes, my year in Paris was my happiest year.
At that point, Winston made up his mind. He decided to go to Willa’s wedding and get to know her more.
Next Chapter
