Feeling sorry for Celia

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Talking about maple syrup, did I ever mention that my cousin Maddie’s new boyfriend is Canadian? Maple syrup’s like Canadian, isn’t it? And so’s your dad. Or does he just live in Canada? Wow, I should have figured that out by now. Sorry. Anyway, I’ve now met the Love-of-Maddie’s-Life because my entire extended family have moved into our house to help us cope with the Renee Crisis.

  It’s nice of them all to be so supportive, but what it actually means is that Mum and I spend our lives doing washing up, laundry, cooking and cleaning. Plus the family bring their own mini-crises with them, like bonus crises – everyone wanting to floss their teeth and pump up their air mattress at the same time each night, and everyone wanting brekky at a different time each morning.

  Mum and I went to the supermarket and bought one of those giant packs filled with lots of little breakfast cereal packages – you know, Fruit Loops and Special K and Coco Pops – so everyone could have their favourite. It turned out that everyone’s favourite is Coco Pops.

  Maddie’s parents are staying too, which is why I got to meet Maddie’s boyfriend. She came over on the weekend, and brought him along. (Maddie doesn’t seem capable of spending more than 24 hours without him.) That complicated sleeping arrangements on Saturday night even more, because we had to make sure Maddie and the boyfriend were the greatest possible distance away from each other within the confines of our house. Otherwise some mysterious magnetic force might have sent them crawling over sleeping grandparents and aunties to get it on together underneath the piano stool.

  The Boyfriend seemed okay. He liked hanging out with the kids more than the grown-ups, and the kids all adored him. So the grown-ups ended up adoring him too, because he kept the kids occupied playing soccer or going on make believe jungle expeditions. I’m reserving judgment on whether I adore him or not. He seems kind of jittery to me, kind of unreliable – like at any moment he’s going to take off, and Maddie’s going to follow, and there’ll be a whole new Maddie-running-away-with-her-boyfriend scandal.

  School’s like this inconvenience at the moment, taking up too much of the time that I should be spending taking care of family crises. Still, it’s also a relief to be away from all the chaos; like a holiday. And if it wasn’t for History classes I wouldn’t be able to write to you, would I?

  Derek and I had a really nice conversation at lunch time today. He was upset about Renee – he told me he misses my whole family, then he said, ‘all of you, I mean, I miss all of you’.

  So, but I’ve been talking about myself too much. How are you going now? I should have asked this earlier, but I wasn’t sure whether you want to talk about it. Don’t worry if you don’t. But how are Celia and Saxon? I mean, emotionally. And how are you about that? I can’t imagine how you must feel, it must be just overwhelming.

  Are you still training? Your half marathon must be coming up really soon. I liked the way you talked about it at the hospital – I think I ALMOST started to understand why you do it. Not that you’ll ever see me within 15k of a pair of running shoes.

  Anyway, you’ve got my number now, so call me any time you want to. And maybe we should see a movie some time?

  Love,

  Christina

  ELIZABETH!!!

  OVER HERE! ON THE TABLE! BY THE HYDRANGEA? IT’S A NOTE FROM YOUR MOTHER!!!

  YOUR FATHER CALLED ABOUT NEXT WEEKEND. B UT DON’T FORGET YOU AND I ALREADY TALKED ABOUT A WEEKEND ON THE COAST, JUST YOU AND I.

  I’VE DISCOVERED A CAMP CALLED ‘SHORT RETREATS FROM THE RIOTS OF YOUR LIFE’ AND I’M TAKING THE BROCHURES OVER TO CELIA’S MUM. I THINK SHE NEEDS SOME PROFESSIONAL HELP, O R AT LEAST A SHORT RETREAT FROM THE RIOTS OF HER LIFE.

  CELIA’S HOME FROM THE HOSPITAL AND WANTS TO SEE YOU COME ON OVER AND JOIN US WHEN YOU GET IN.

  LOVE,

  MUM

  PS JUST BEFORE YOU COME, HOW ABOUT WATERING THIS HYDRANGEA AND THE FIG TREE IN T HE SUNROOM?

  Dear Elizabeth,

  Having trouble sorting out what matters most? Having trouble scheduling quality time with an emotionally dependent mother, bearable time with an eager-to-make-up-for-fifteen-years-of-absence father, training for the Forest Hill Half Marathon, replying to the letter of a new friend, visiting an old friend who has just attempted suicide, and watering house plants?

  Not to mention, of course, the inconsequential matter of homework?

  Perhaps we could interest you in an Introductory Package Deal: two weeks at our exclusive mountain retreat undertaking our rigorous, vigorous training course! Each day you will learn a new strategy for managing your time! Learn to select your favourite family member! Learn to TRICK people into thinking that you’re spending time with them, when in fact you’re home doing your Maths assignment! Do they really need YOU in the same room as them? Perhaps a hologram of you would do fine!

  Fill in the application form below and send it back to us quick smart!

  Keep smiling!

  Priorities Come First! Pty Limited

  PS Tick this box for even more junk mail!

  Dear Ms Elizabeth Clarry,

  Actually, why not come to our camp?

  We are confident that we can interest you in our BEDS.

  We offer waterbeds, four-poster beds, camp beds, beds of nails and flower beds!

  We are equally confident that we can entice you with our PILLOWS.

  We offer fat pillows, skinny pillows, boomerang pillows, vibrating pillows, satin pillows, silk pillows, Santa Claus and Snow White pillows!

  Here at our camp you can snuggle under feathery quilts and blankets, warm your toe-tops with hot-water bottles, and cuddle teddy bears. Listen to lullabies, draw the drapes on star-filled skies, yawn and click the off-button on your bedside lamp!

  At our camp you can toss aside schedules, time-tables, and worries. At our camp you need no clipboards and notepads!

  At our camp all you do is climb into your bed and you sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep.

  Call us.

  The Land of Nod Inc.

  Dear Christina,

  Are you crazy? Of course we should keep writing. What would be the point in going to school if I couldn’t check the cardboard box outside the upper staff room for your letters?

  There’d be no point. I’d have to stop going.

  But I’d also like to go out or something again, because I really liked meeting you in person. Although I can’t BELIEVE you were nervous about meeting me. I just can’t believe it. I think you’re making it up. Or you’re getting yourself confused with me – think back, Christina – remember? You were the perfectly calm and graceful one, I was the one tripping over coffee tables and gabbling like a lunatic. You remember now?

  Hey, and how come you never told me how pretty you are? Not that I assumed you were grotesquely hideous or anything, but I had no idea you looked like a supermodel. That was such a shock. No wonder I tripped over the coffee table.

  I REALISE you couldn’t have said in a letter: ‘Oh yeah, another thing about me. I’m a goddess. I should actually be making millions on the catwalk but I just have to study for my history exam first.’ But STILL, you could have given me some kind of a hint, the tiniest warning.

  I had actually started writing a letter to you at the hospital, before I realised you were also there. But I won’t bother to finish it or send it to you. I was just ranting about Celia really; and I already did that that night.

  And you were such a great listener. Especially since you had your own things to worry about. You shouldn’t have sent me the marigold seeds ‘cause it should be ME thanking you. But thank you very much for them. I’ve never grown anything before. I’m excited about becoming a gardener.

  I’m so happy that Renee’s getting better now. Celia seems okay too, although still a bit weird. Then again, Celia’s always weird so it’s hard to tell if this is a new weird or not.

  She was actually okay physically the morning after I saw you, and she could have gone home, only they kept her and Saxon there for counselling. It’s
compulsory if you attempt suicide. It was awful really – Celia was saying things like, ’I didn’t actually mean to go through with it, you know, so can’t I go home now?’ (Saxon’s head kind of leapt backwards when she said that, as if he was in a car that suddenly braked.) But the hospital people just said, Sorry, no choice. They HAD to stay there, and get examined to make sure they didn’t have any mental illnesses, like schizophrenia or manic depression or something.

  In the end, the psychiatrists decided there were no preexisting conditions, and that they were just highly-strung kids who had a slight case of inability-to-see-the-consequences-of-their-behaviour. Something like that. And they still have to go to counselling twice a week.

  They’re both taking some time off school, and lolling around at Celia’s place together, which doesn’t seem very emotionally invigorating to me. Saxon’s always at Celia’s even though his mother has FORBIDDEN him from seeing her anymore – which has brought Celia’s mother and my mother together in a united bond of hatred for Saxon’s mother.

  EXAMPLE–

  Celia’s mum: It’s like pruning a rose bush with an axe! Can she not see that our children are in LOVE? Can she not see that the rose of love is a thorny one and that of COURSE there will be glitches as it heads its way to a glorious flower of togetherness?!

  My mum: Once a fascist dictator always a fascist dictator. Why, I knew this sort of thing would happen way back when she was the driving force behind banning rollerblading in the shopping mall. Banning rollerblading! I know, I can’t believe it either. Thin edge of the wedge is what this is, you mark my words.

  Celia’s mum: Freedom! The children must have freedom!

  My mum: Thin edge of the wedge, I tell you. Mark my words.

  I’m not sure what my mother means by ‘thin edge of the wedge’. Does she think that someone who bans rollerblading will automatically ban her son from seeing his girlfriend, and that someone who bans her son from seeing his girlfriend will automatically take control over the country via a military coup and lock everyone up in their laundries?

  But I do kind of like the way she hates Saxon’s mum – especially as she secretly also seems to hate Saxon. She confessed it to me driving back from Celia’s the other day. ‘It’s COMPLETELY the wrong thing to separate a young couple who are as smitten with each other as those two are,’ she was ranting away. Then, just before we pulled in to our driveway: ‘Still, it’s beyond me what Celia actually SEES in that boy.’

  It’s strange how happy I was to hear that. But I have to agree with her – I’ve been spending a lot of time over at Celia’s trying to be a supportive friend – but it’s impossible because he never stays more than a millimetre away from her, and he never stops gazing and moping at her. Actually, he reminds me of that dog you told me about that belongs to your next-door neighbour. He practically throws himself on the ground in front of Celia and begs her to scratch his tummy.

  It’s just not attractive.

  I tried talking to Celia about her letter to me (difficult with Saxon the puppy-dog always around, but I got Celia on her own in the kitchen), and asked her if she wanted to talk about everything. She said maybe one day, but not right now and that she wasn’t herself when she wrote that note and I should forget it. Then she climbed up on the kitchen table and did a trapeze jump through the living room door and onto the couch, nearly killing Saxon.

  She’s supposed to be taking it easy while she recovers but she’s definitely getting her energy back.

  My parents are being stupendously nice to me at the moment which is very weird. They were both at the hospital for most of the night when Celia was there – somehow Dad got phoned in the Celia crisis. He and Mum asked the doctors all the right questions, and were perfectly supportive and soothing with Celia’s crazy mother and Saxon’s outraged parents. We were actually like a FAMILY.

  Although a weird sort of family – with the parents being eerily polite with each other. EXAMPLE:

  Mum: So, Albert, how is your work with the airline?

  Dad: It’s going very well. And how is your work at the agency?

  Mum: It’s going very well. And how are your family?

  Dad: They’re very well. And how are your family?

  Mum: They’re very well. And (etc, etc, etc).

  Mum was watching him VERY closely when she asked about his family, trying to get clues about the affair (she also asked questions like where was he living, oh, and what’s that like, oh, and how big is your place, oh, and is mat big enough for you, oh, I suppose if you’re living on your own it must be, etc, etc, etc). But she got nothing out of him except for a classic performance of Mr Smooth and Polite.

  Dad actually drove out here on Sunday afternoon and took me for a movie and a coffee just in Castle Hill, if you can believe it. Downmarket for him, huh? He was really nice about Celia, and somehow got me talking about the whole thing – about how Celia seemed to be changing, and about how I felt guilty about not being a supportive enough friend, but that deep down I was just tired of feeling sorry for her, especially since I rescued her from the evil circus and all she did to pay me back was steal the boy I liked.

  I know, I can’t believe I told him all that stuff. I think I partly did it because I was hoping to get something personal out of him too. Like: ‘Well, all this is very interesting, Elizabeth. And it reminds me of my own personal crisis. I’ve been cheating on my wife, you see, living with another woman, what do you think about that?’

  But all he said was that friendships go through fluxes and to hang in there and it would turn out for the best, he was sure. And then he asked me about the half marathon and said he thought I might be overdoing it, and too much running could wear me out. (He also said that he’s heard you can stop pantyhose running with a little clear nailpolish, so maybe he should stop ME running with the same thing, ha ha ha. Why do ALL fathers have the WORST senses of humour in the world, please?)

  Wait a minute.

  --

  SORRY. I just had to stop writing for a minute. I’m in English at the moment and I was writing along happily with Mr Botherit’s voice like a kind of background music when suddenly the background music began to turn into eerily familiar words. It turned out he was reading out MY assignment to the class. You know we had to write a letter explaining why we shouldn’t write an essay on My Brilliant Career? He gave mine the best mark. Ha. It was a dirty trick getting me to do it, and now he’s pulled another one giving me the best marks. Now I feel like I HAVE to do the next assignment so I can get more praise. It’s evil psychological game-playing and I’m going to resist it at all costs.

  The bell’s ringing and I’m going to miss my bus if I don’t leave right NOW.

  Love,

  Elizabeth

  Dear Elizabeth,

  I know I told you I’d be out of the state by now and you should forget my existence. But you’ve probably already noticed that I’m still on your bus every day. All us Brookfield boys are still here.

  I also promised that I wouldn’t write to you again, but Christina told me today that she met you at the hospital when her little sister was sick. She told me how you stayed with her the entire night and she told me you were wonderful.

  So I just had to write and say that you’re a legend, you know that, don’t you?

  You’re also incredibly beautiful.

  The Stranger

  Dear Elizabeth,

  We regret to inform you that your application must be refused.

  A ‘crush’ does not count unless it is directed at somebody specific. A ‘crush’ that is directed at three young men simultaneously, which will crystallise into a specific crush when a specific condition has been met; a crush which is entirely contingent upon which of three boys happens to be the author of a series of short, garbled and inconsequential anonymous notes, simply fails to meet our definition of a ‘crush’.

  You must try a little harder, Elizabeth. Along with the Association of Teenagers, we are just about ready to throw in th
e towel.

  Yours,

  Young Romance Association

  Dear Elizabeth,

  Well yes, we see your dilemma, but we don’t think that we can help.

  To tell you the truth, we can’t figure it out and we don’t think you’re going to figure it out either.

  It is perfectly possible that it is Grunge boy, Quiet boy or Feral boy. All of them are plausible.

  You can sit there on that bus seat and turn around as many times as you want on the pretext of working out what vehicles happen to be following the bus today. You do that, Elizabeth. You can run through your measly collection of clues backwards and forwards and upside down if you want to. You can stare into the eyes of every single one of those boys and watch as every single one stares straight back.

  But you’re just not going to work it out.

  Yours,

  Society of Amateur Detectives

  Elizabeth,

  On second thoughts. WHAT just happened? WHAT did you just hear?

  Keep trying, Elizabeth! We’re rooting for you!

  Society of Amateur Detectives

  Elizabeth,

  Yes, we can replay that for you, sure.

  ‘You’re a legend, you know that, don’t you?’

  No, we cannot isolate the person who said it. Yes, we agree that the words were just spoken by a boy who was heading past you up to the back of the bus. Yes, we also agree that this may be of vital importance, given that an anonymous person used exactly that phrase in a note to you this morning. Yes, we can confirm that a short conversation took place, as two boys headed down the aisle past your seat, as follows –