Please Don't Hug Me

by Kay Kerr

  Anyway, I meant to apply for jobs at the newsagent’s and at Coles, so I had two resumes with me. Then the lady at the newsagent’s said they weren’t looking for anyone and the guy at Coles said to apply online like he did, so I didn’t get to hand in either of them. I walked around the shopping centre looking for signs in windows, but I don’t think anyone does that anymore because I did not see a single one. Well, until I walked past Robins: ‘Casual position available, apply within’. It was a beautiful sign, made with coloured pens and lots of pizzazz. I love that word. At first it feels like you’re writing ‘pizza’ but then it becomes a whole other thing. Anyway, I stopped outside Robins because of the sign, and then I went in because of Aggie.

  I heard her before I saw her. She jingled when she walked because she had bells on her ankles. She was wearing every colour of the rainbow, but it just worked, especially with her black, curly, long hair. Her voice was one of those voices you want to narrate your life.

  ‘Hey there, are you here about the job?’ she said.

  I said no, even though I had two resumes in my hand. She laughed and took the one that said ‘newsagent’s’ at the top.

  I got a bit confused when she asked my favourite song. ‘Is that an interview question?’ I said.

  ‘No it’s a me question.’

  It caught me off guard, I suppose. I gave the first answer that came to mind—I kind of stole it from you. ‘I’m listening to a lot of old stuff at the moment. Nick Cave,’ I said.

  ‘Ooh, that’s some sad stuff. “Into My Arms”? Gives me goosebumps.’ She rubbed her arms when she said it, like she was getting goosebumps thinking about it.

  I feel completely ridiculous about what I said next, even though she didn’t act like Dee did when I said the thing about the milk. I told her I’m happiest when I’m listening to sad music. It was only as I was saying it, I realised it is true. Aggie smiled, but not a smile like she was laughing at me or what I said. It was a smile like she understood what I meant. You’d like her, Rudy, you really would.

  I asked her what music she likes, because I know it’s good manners in a conversation and also because I wanted to know.

  She talked fast, and she made this whole plan for us: ‘I’ll send you some playlists if you like. I like to think I’ve got a pretty good knack for getting the mix just right. I’ve got some sad ones that are guaranteed to have you bawling. Nothing like a good cry, is there. But otherwise it depends on the day or the weather really. I’ve been getting into Talking Heads on my drives to uni. Dad loves them. I put on some Thelma Plum if I want to be inspired. The music in the shop is horrible, by the way. Total rubbish. It’s like Top 40 if you took out all the enjoyable stuff and just left the earworms. If we do the Sunday shift together, Caroline, the manager, is off so we can put on our own stuff.’

  Working with Aggie, playing our music and talking about whatever—it sounded nice. And I got the job, just like that, and I had a soy latte at Coffee Bean with Aggie afterwards to celebrate. Normally I’m not good at talking to new people, but she made it feel easy, mainly because she did most of the talking, but she also asked a lot of questions and listened to me too.

  Aggie talked about her family; she’s got a big one, and said they mostly live on an island called Minjerribah. I said I’d never heard of it, but she said I have, it’s just that people call it Stradbroke Island now. Minjerribah is the traditional name. I never knew that. It’s her traditional land. I feel a bit silly about it, like it’s something I should have known. If something already has a name, and especially if it’s already a place that people live, I think we should keep calling it that name, don’t you? Aggie feels very strongly about it, she knows so much about politics and culture and how things really are. I’m going to do my best to listen to all of it. She didn’t want to talk about Schoolies as much as everyone else in my life does. When I said I was looking forward to it, because that’s a thing I say to everyone, she said, ‘Oh, really? I left Schoolies halfway through, it wasn’t really my thing. It felt like Spring Break cosplay or something. But I’m sure you’ll have a great time if you’ve got a good group of friends.’

  Weird, hey? I haven’t been thinking of Schoolies as something that is or isn’t someone’s thing. It’s everyone’s thing. It’s THE thing. And I don’t really know if I have a good group of friends, or what that even means. Anyway, maybe I’ll bring her to your thing and you can meet her then. I told her about it, and you, by the way. She said now the Nick Cave thing makes sense. Now I just have to figure out how to tell Dee about Robins and still be friends. Between the milk thing and now my old-lady job, she’ll probably look at me like I have shit on my face for the rest of the year.

  So please remember that Aggie is my friend and I’d like to keep just one person for myself.

  Love, Erin

  21 August

  Dear Rudy,

  Hello? Anyone there? I’m getting pretty sick of talking to myself over here. That’s what it feels like when you don’t reply. I gave up calling your mobile months ago, because it’s obviously flat now and your voicemail message makes me sad. I mean, of course I know you can’t have a phone, but rules have never stopped you before. If anyone could figure this out, it would be you. Like when Mum had me on that elimination diet to try and ‘cure’ my autism early on, and you managed to sneak lollies into the house, somehow, even though she was checking our schoolbags every day. I still don’t know how you did that, but I think about it sometimes and I’m grateful. Skittles and snakes make me think of you.

  Dee wasn’t at school today, and I didn’t speak to anyone all day. That’s bad, isn’t it. I mean, I answered the teachers when they asked me questions in class, and I said hi to the Jessicas and Pointy Kathy when I sat with them at lunch, but otherwise I was just quiet. I don’t mind having quiet days, it’s only when I notice I’m not talking that I get stressed about it, because it’s not normal. And when Pointy Kathy said ‘bye, Mute’ at the end of lunch I knew it was weird to everyone else too. Dee usually texts me when she’s not going to be at school, but she didn’t today. I thought about going home, but I had English in fifth period and I wanted to hear what everyone had to say about Of Mice and Men. That’s the book we’re reading at the moment. You probably read it in year twelve too. Mrs Rossi said it was one of her favourites, and I can see why. It’s so short but it says so much. I’d like to write a book but I think I’d have the opposite problem and write too much and say too little. It’s a pity our final exam is not going to be on this book, but I’m sure I’ll love whatever book we’re tested on just as much.

  I missed Dee’s laugh today. She would have cracked up when Freckle Ben walked into the doorframe coming inside. She loves physical comedy like that. She also loves sarcasm and knock-knock jokes and screwball. She just likes laughing, I think, and I’m glad. The only time I’ve ever been thankful for Dee not laughing was when I told her about my diagnosis. Remember when I was twelve and I was having outbursts so often I was taking big chunks of time off school? I wanted to stay inside, in my room, in my bed, inside my head. We’ve never actually talked about it, you and me. Not talking about stuff seems to be a family trait. After two weeks of me not really moving, eating or showering, Mum took me to a doctor—I can’t remember his name or what he looked like—and he talked to me and got me to answer some questionnaires and then he said I was on the autism spectrum. Mum said it made sense and Dad said we should get a second opinion.

  When I got home Mum invited Dee over and I told her about the thing that means my brain is wired differently. We had an autistic boy, Dean, in our grade three class and I explained it was kind of like that, but also different because it’s a spectrum. Dee didn’t laugh or call me the R word or anything. Everyone used to call Dean the R word. And Dee promised not to tell anyone unless I said she could. She kept that promise too, by the way. Even though she likes parties and I prefer reality television these days, I like to remind myself of that.

  People like Dee and J
essica Rabbit and Freckle Ben seem to have become more comfortable in high school as the years have gone on, but I think I’ve become less. They have settled into their places and got to know people and made friends and started in-jokes. I have said awkward things and been mute and embarrassed myself in front of people and acted strange and had outbursts. I think that’s what makes me hate school; people here know too much about me and I can’t be unseen. Here, I have the comfort of knowing the rules, but the discomfort of being known.

  Have you always known that you like bike-riding and gardening and making friends with people other people find strange? Or that you don’t like egos or money or the kind of people who ask what school you went to? Sometimes I wonder if I even like the things I like, or if I’ve picked those things based on outside factors like how people will see me. I mean, I know I like certain books, but that’s a private thing. I guess I’m thinking about how a person becomes a person and what makes a person who they are.

  You’ve always seemed so sure about your choices, even when you know they are choices other people are going to think are wrong. I’m not even sure about the things I’m sure about. And I’m definitely not sure about where I’m going or what I’m going to do when I’m an adult. How can a person be sure about something like that?

  I wish I could see you to talk about this stuff. Knowing what I know now, I would make sure we are a family who talks.

  Love, Erin

  22 August

  Dear Rudy,

  We had shepherd’s pie for dinner tonight, minus the carrots. Mum made a big thing of forgetting the carrots at the shop, but I knew. I think it still makes everyone think about you because it’s your favourite dinner. You should come home so Mum can make you shepherd’s pie and fuss over you. She’ll give you the biggest serving and call you a ‘growing lad’. I love the texture of the mashed potato and how it makes me feel warm, and Mum smiled when I told her that. Dad told Oliver not to bring his figures to the table, and I said if Dad can have the radio on the races, then Oliver should be able to have Batman and Spiderman. Oliver shot me his dimple-cornered smile and I poked my tongue back. I wish I was the type of sister who gave him life lessons and had long chats and cuddles on the couch, but our closeness is an unspoken kind. We spell out rude words with our vegetables on our dinner plates and snigger quietly, that kind of thing. I’m not sure if that makes our bond any less meaningful than those siblings who do talk, but I hope not. You’re better at talking to him, and I know he’d love to hear from you.

  I used to get annoyed that Mum makes us sit at the dinner table every night, because eating on the couch in front of the television is nice. But now I’m kind of glad. Even two years ago when Mum and Dad weren’t talking, and when they said the word divorce late at night when they thought we were asleep, we always ate dinner at the table together. It’s because Mum read an article in a magazine about how it keeps families together, and even though I’m not sure how it works, I like it anyway. They don’t say the word divorce anymore, not even late at night when they think we are asleep, and I don’t know what has changed. Dad still goes to the pub, Mum still meditates and fusses over what she eats, you’re not here and I’m still having outbursts. Oliver stopped wetting the bed, though, so maybe that was the balancing factor. When I’d finished eating, I asked them if they were happy and they both said yes, but their eyes said they weren’t sure. Maybe they were happy though, and adult happiness just looks different.

  Mitch was here for dinner too. You probably don’t want to hear about him, but I’ve been telling you heaps of things in these letters and I’ve hardly mentioned him so far, so here we are. We were having a fight, Mitch and I, another one. I still can’t quite figure out if I was completely in the wrong like he said I was, or if maybe I was right and he just couldn’t admit that. I’m going to tell you how it went, and maybe you can give me some advice. You’re a big brother, after all, even if you’re not acting like one at the moment. So, it was like this:

  Him: ‘Baby, you’re being ridiculous.’

  Me: ‘Well, why can’t you show me the texts then?’

  Him: ‘You shouldn’t have to go through my phone. Don’t you trust me?’

  Me: ‘Not if you are hiding your texts from me. If there was nothing there you would show me.’

  Him: ‘That’s not the point. You shouldn’t need to see them.’

  Me: ‘You go through my phone.’

  Him: ‘Yeah, but that’s different. You wouldn’t know if someone was flirting with you. You think everyone is just being nice. I’m looking out for you.’

  Me: ‘You were texting me when you were with Mia.’

  Him: ‘You were texting me too.’

  Me: ‘That’s not fair.’

  Him: ‘You’re not being fair. You’re acting like I’m out cheating on you when I’m just talking to a girl from work. I’m allowed to have friends who are girls aren’t I? Or is that off limits now?’

  Me: ‘If you weren’t so secretive all the time I wouldn’t care about seeing your phone.’

  Him: ‘I’m only secretive because you always want to go through my stuff. Don’t cry, now you’re just making me feel bad when I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Me: (crying) ‘I’m not crying to make you feel bad, I’m crying because I’m overwhelmed.’

  Him: ‘You can’t just blame everything on autism and win every fight.’

  Me: ‘Well, I can’t help crying. I’m not trying to win anything.’

  Him: ‘There’s nothing to cry about.’

  Me: (still crying)

  Him: ‘Please don’t cry. I should have deleted them. I just knew you’d be upset and I didn’t want you to be. Let’s forget it, okay. I’ll show you next time.’

  Me: (not planning to forget it any time soon) ‘Okay.’

  What do you think? Weird, right? It was exhausting, going back and forth like that. That’s how our relationship goes lately. He does something I’m not okay about, he gets defensive, I get overwhelmed, I cry, he gets mad, he apologises and we make up and start the whole thing again.

  When we fight, he comes at it with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. I’ve told him some of my darkest thoughts and he likes to pull them out like a winning poker hand, throwing them on the table instead of trying to understand where I’m coming from. It is kind of like how in movie fight scenes, if someone has a gunshot wound the person fighting them will stick their finger in the hole to disarm them. He knows where my gunshot wounds are and goes for them when he has nothing else.

  I know you think he’s a loser. I don’t know if he is, or if that even matters. I’m just tired of hearing all the ways I’m getting stuff wrong. I’m always ‘miscommunicating’ or ‘misunderstanding’ or ‘overreacting’ or ‘underreacting’. Maybe other people should put as much consideration into their communication with me as I do with them. It’s all I freaking think about sometimes. Did I say the wrong thing? Did I misread the situation? Should I have asked that person more about the thing they are upset about, or do they not want to talk? Is sharing my experience of a similar thing helpful or making it all about me? It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted. And you’ve made things harder, Rudy, just so you know. You’ve made it all about you.

  Mum has stern eyes but soft words for Mitch. I think she wants to help him. I don’t mean Mum is attracted to Mitch, but she cuts him more slack than she does me. Women sometimes like troubled men don’t they? That’s one of those things that I’m learning is a rule. I know there’s something maternal there, a desire to make everything okay. But it’s more selfish than that, isn’t it, more conceited. ‘I will be the one who will fix them’, or ‘I’m worth changing for’, though I’ve never seen that play out successfully. The reality is far less romantic. Hurt people hurt people as effortlessly as breathing.

  Mitch makes me feel small in the ways I want to feel big, and insecure about the parts of me I so desperately want to be small, like my thighs. I’m still trying to figure out how to be
, and how to read him. I know for sure I’d have an outburst and a bad time if I broke up with him, and I can’t imagine a way to do it that wouldn’t be messy. If I could just backspace him out of my life without having to tell him to his face, or over the phone, maybe I’d do it. But then I’d have one less person to spend time with.

  ‘You’re lucky to have a boyfriend. No one else would put up with your strangeness.’ That’s what my mind keeps reminding me, and so I’m still here, having fights about his texts with girls from work. He was nicer to me at the start, or at least I think he was. He was charming anyway, and he treated me like normal. I don’t think Mitch is a loser, but maybe you are right.

  You’re right about people a lot. I don’t know if you remember this, but maybe you do. When I was eight, and you were ten we had that neighbour called Fred. If I’d been using my nickname system back then I’d have called him Flanno Fred, because he always wore flannelette shirts and his name was Fred. Fred offered to babysit on the days Mum and Dad were working late, but you told Mum you would rather we were in after-school care than go to Flanno Fred’s house. You called Flanno Fred a weirdo and Mum argued with you, but you protested so much she decided it was easier to let us go to after-school care. Then one day there were police officers at Flanno Fred’s house and they took away his two computers, and Mum told Dad and they agreed you were right after all. ‘Rudy gets people,’ I heard Mum telling someone on the phone not long after. And you do. You have that way, where people feel like you’re their friend right away and they want to tell you stuff they wouldn’t normally tell anyone. There is definitely less talking going on in the house without you, that’s for sure. Wish you’d come back.

  Love, Erin

  23 August

  Dear Rudy,

  You’ll be proud to hear I had my training shift at Robins today, and for somewhere so different to Surf Zone, things sure are similar working there. There are obvious differences, like the shop is about one-tenth the size and the clientele is at least double the age. There are only four sections: