Friday, 10 March 2017

Some Found Diary Entries About The Mystery Of Babies (And Sex)

I found a book in the street today.*  I'm going to try to get it back to its owner if I can find him.  Inside the cover are the words, "Henry Rodgerson.  My Diary."  There was no address and I confess I read from the diary in order to try to return it.  I haven't been able to locate Henry.  Perhaps you can help.  These are the final two entries in the book.  If you have any ideas let me know.  I want to return the book if I can.

Thank you.

That's me.  About six weeks old and already looking happy!

March 7th 2017

The greatest mystery of life is this:  Where do babies come from?  They just seem to appear.  One week a woman is walking in the park alone.  The next she's in company.  Baby in a pram.  And then she'll gather with others.  Eight babies.  Eight prams.  And eight women, all sharing this special secret knowledge.  Babies.  I was one once.  At least that's what I've been told.  I don't remember it.  Perhaps they're right.  I was that small and helpless too.  I can't quite imagine it.  Maybe my parents were privy to that secret knowledge too and maybe they knew of deep mysteries.  Not me.  I've thought long and hard about these things.  Am I the only one who doesn't know?  Is there some kind of global conspiracy against me?  I mean, I know where to find a pram.  That's easy.  I even know where I might find a woman with the necessary skill to push the thing.  Women are everywhere.  I know that.  Everywhere.  I don't understand them though.  The only woman at home was mum and she's mum.  Not a woman like the ones in the park.  And there weren't any of these strange, somehow different creatures at school.  But I see them now.  Everywhere.  In shops, in the street.  I even see them at church and have talked to some of them too.  They don't seem very different but I can tell most of them are another species.  Because of their clothes.  Sometimes it's hard to tell.  No.  I don't understand what women are meant to be at all.  They're a bit like men.  Are they a new invention?  Did a doctor invent them round the time I left home?  I don't know.  Some of them look too old but I can't tell for sure.  Do women appear in the same way as babies?  Another secret.  How do I find out?  Anyway, I can find a pram.  Find a woman.  But a baby?  Where on earth can I find one of those that isn't already in a pram?  Why do they all know?
Long.  Hard.  Difficult.  That's how I've thought.  Yesterday my dad gave me a clue and it's what I'm going to investigate today.  I asked him about babies.  Again.  I keep asking him and he just goes silent.  Mumbles incoherently.  Or says to ask mum.  I ask her and she does the same.  But says to ask dad.  It's not fair.  I don't think so.  I mean, they know the secret.  Why don't they want me to know?  I'd quite like a baby.  They're so cute.  Except when they cry.  And so pink.  Except when they're other colours.  People are different colours.  Did you know that dear diary?  I was amazed to find that out when I left home.  It's okay though.  Doesn't matter.  It was a shock though the day I first saw a person who wasn't pink.  Now I'm used to it and wonder why I only saw pink people at school.  Anyway.  I asked dad again yesterday.  And asked again.  I want answers.  I want a baby and if there's a special shop I want to know where it is.  So I asked him.  Over and over.  Forty-seven times.
It was at this point he snapped at me.  Looked mean.  Shouted, "Damn you stop asking about such disgusting things."  I don't think babies are disgusting.  So I asked again.  "Please dad, you got me.  Where do babies come from?  Where did you go to get me?"  Dad boomed.  "For God's sake Henry.  Didn't you listen to Secks Ed?"  Then he stormed out.  Slammed the door so hard the walls shook.  I've never seen him to that before.
A clue.  Secks Ed.  Secks Ed.  Funny name.  I know someone called Ed.  But his first name isn't Secks.  Secks.  Secks?  Funny word.  What kind of a word is that?  Secks Ed.  And then in the middle of the night I realised.  Secks.  I've heard the word before.  In hushed tones.  It was a long time ago.  I was still at school.  Fifteen years old.  There was a rumour.  All of us were going to meet Secks Ed.  Maybe he was a clown.  Big red nose.  Perhaps he'd read us a story or teach us about another country.  Or tell us about politics.  No wonder the tones were hushed if he was going to mention dangerous things like politics.
This morning I remembered.  I never got to meet Secks Ed.  Never.  I would have to find him.  And so later I'm going to the library for the first time.  See if they know Secks Ed.  They might know his address.  I'm excited to find him.  I'll tell you why I didn't meet him when he visited my school.  Did he say something about babies?  I can hardly believe it's possible.  Circuses and maths.  That would be better.  Much preferable and I'd like to have seen his big red nose and ...

[at this point a page has been ripped out]

... the library.

March 8th 2017

Oh my God.  No.  That's awful.  The man at the library gave me a book.  He said that Ed wasn't a person at all.  His first name was on the front of the book and it's actually spelled S - E - X.  When I got home I started to read the book.
THAT happens?  No.  No.  NO.  God no.

I don't want a baby any more.  Awful.  Truly, gut-wrenchingly the worst thing I've ever seen.  Disgusting.  Horribly, horribly disgusting.  The pictures are even worse.  I feel very ill.

Say no more.  I'm going back to bed.

*All information in the opening paragraph is false. The diary entries were free written in a Writers' Cafe session on March 7th.  The session was based on The Guinness Book of Records but some of us moved far away from the books.  How I got from the world record Rubik's Cube solve to the free writing is a tale that I don't need to tell here.  Especially as I want to write about the Cube at some point.  I put this disclaimer here just so you know I'm not publicly posting the private diary of someone.  As if you ever thought I might.

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