Anyway this whole Aunt Imelda attitude about my trip threw me for a loop. She started right off by saying she was tickled pink, and now I can’t even remember what all she said. (Another crazy thing, because usually I remember every word.) Also, she gave me this photograph she had taken in the dime store and made me promise I’d give it to Berry-berry. She must have moved her head when the shutter clicked, because it came out very blurry and makes her look like Mary Astor with little lights in her eyes and all.

Enough of that.

Now I’ve got to put something down that I hate. I don’t even want to think about it. But my whole theory is that if a thing is true or actually happened or got said by somebody, then I’ve got to put it down or else go crazy. I’m a firm believer in the principle if you admit a thing to yourself, no matter how terrible it is, you’re better off. The Bible backs me up a hundred per cent. It says the truth shall make ye free. Ralph says the Bible is fairy tales. Maybe so, but Shakespeare is also on my side in this thing, and so is Upton Sinclair.

Now the thing I have to put down is this. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of the bus ride all alone through the mountains of Tennessee, I’m afraid of all the strange people I’ll meet all the way down there. I’m afraid of Key Bonita. I wish I had a real mean face with scars all over it and everybody was scared of me.

But the point is I know it’s a mistake to go down to Key Bonita. And I know something terrible is going to happen there, but I can’t stop myself from going. Naturally I could stop myself, because only a real nut gets driven to do things and go places he doesn’t want to go. But—

I just now cried. I picked up this notebook and held it like a little baby holds a Teddy bear and I cried. Now I feel better. But boy did I cry there for a while. Now I’m kind of laughing. I feel sorry for all the people who do not have a really close friend like this notebook. It’s only imitation leather, but if it got hurt or burned or anything, I’d bury it and say prayers just the same as if it was my own brother. Or any person I trusted enough to tell everything to.

I can’t wait to get on the bus.

Resolutions for trip. If you get really scared, write it all down, no matter how dumb it sounds. Then if somebody clubs you to death or you drown, or something even worse, it won’t make so much difference.

And if some really mean son of a bitch comes at you just because you’ve got a baby face, and starts screwing around and you haven’t got time to write it down—don’t let him know you’re scared. Just squint your eyes down to where they’re narrow as hell, talk real deep and snarl if you have to, and fight to kill. They call it a fishing town, okay, but these waterfront crooks are just the same as pirates and are sanguinary. This means they like bloodshed and prefer killing to any other amusement. I don’t happen to believe this just because it’s common knowledge either. It happens to be the God’s truth, I just know it.