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Dear Diary

It’s funny how life works. My mother a social worker whose job it is to solve people’s problems can’t even solve her own daughter’s problem. I hate it. I hate hate my stutter. I mean it’s not like we didn’t try. I only went to 11 different professionals throughout my life. But it looks like my stutter is here to stay at least for now. Presenting Tova Bandman prisoner of her mouth.

But my mother actually did give me a good idea which was a life saver. You see the stutter thing kind of ate up at my self-confidence so I don’t have that many friends at school. I hang around a couple of kids who aren’t really my type but the super normal kids like Rochel Weiss and Dina Kamanetzky stick with girls who can actually get a string of sentences out within a span of less than a minute. So here’s where pen and paper come in.

A pen doesn’t stutter. Which is why I do have one very real pen-pal friend my mother introduced to me through some kind of teen project. When I write to my pen pal Shana Greenspan I feel like a bird whose shackles were lifted off her wings. I can write and write about how I really feel without a care in the world. And Shana is so normal. But here is where my conscience really gets to me. Shana doesn’t know about my stutter. I sound so normal on paper I almost feel like I’m cheating. I guess it’s just one of those guilt trips I’ll always have. Three cheers for Tova world’s presiding queen of guilt.

Dear Diary

So this is news. Real news. I’m going to meet Shana Greenspan my pen pal and best friend for the first time ever. She just emailed that she’s coming from Los Angeles to New York in two days so of course we’re going to make up a time and place to see each other for the very first time. I mean I sort of know what she looks like because she sent me a selfie of herself in a letter but meeting in person is different. But I’m literally biting my nails. How is she going to react when she meets me for the first time? We’ve never even spoke on the phone so she totally has no clue about my stutter. I know it’s really silly but I almost feel like a jeweler caught selling a gold ring that isn’t genuine. But there’s no use mulling over it. I guess time will tell whether my fears have any basis.

Dear Diary

When I woke up this morning I literally felt my stomach doing somersaults. All my excitement about meeting Shana was swallowed up by a big bundle of nerves. After showering changing the color scheme of my outfit six times — only to go back to my first try — I ran to the kitchen and wolfed down a granola bar and a yogurt. I was supposed to meet Shana at eleven in front of J-II Pizza.

I got there ten minutes early shivering in the cold as the wind whipped at my wet hair. Finally a car pulled up right in front of the store. I immediately recognized Shana through the window from the pictures she sent me. She sat tall and upright exuding a refreshing combination of vivacity and regality. She looked just as I had imagined her to look in person. A disarming dimpled smile met sparkling slightly mischievous green eyes; soft brown curls bounced just past her shoulders. Her mother waved through the window opened the door for Shana and then helped her out. They smiled as they approached while Mrs. Greenspan pushed Shana toward me. An effervescent ethereal princess prisoner of her throne.

“H-h-hi” I managed to smile and stammer.