by Kay Kerr
Love, Erin
15 September
Dear Rudy,
I’m finding myself angry that even with all of these letters, the healing isn’t happening. It isn’t coming. It’s not even hinting at being on the way. It’s a complete no-show. My wounds are gaping and instead of doing something to slow the bleeding I’m writing bloody letters as if that’s going to change a thing. I wonder if I’ve even got the right idea of what healing is in the first place. In my mind there’s always been a certain amount of time to strive for, like once I get to that time things will start to feel normal again.
Like, I thought time was supposed to heal. What a bullshit idea that is. The only thing the past year has done is draw out the spaces in between. I might go hours without thinking of what happened, instead of minutes. Maybe eventually it will be days or even weeks. That’s not healing though, is it. It’s not even close. One of the few places that makes me feel as though there is space in between is Robins.
I worked there today. It’s funny how that place and Aggie can feel so normal now, when a month or two ago I would have felt as though I’d die from embarrassment to be working there. I guess we adapt, even those of us who aren’t usually so adaptable.
Aggie was quiet today. She said she wasn’t feeling so well, and it felt like she meant emotionally rather than physically. She mentioned not getting onto the bill at a festival in Brisbane she’d been hoping for, so maybe that was it. She said there were only three female performers in a lineup of over thirty, and all thirty of the acts were white. That can’t be an accident by the organisers, it had to be a conscious choice. So I knew she was dealing with that, but I still have this awful way of catastrophising things in my head and making it all about me, without even meaning to. I’m so used to studying the way people act and trying to figure out what it might mean I guess, and the completely wrong answer feels as weird to me as the completely right one. Like, I felt absolutely certain Aggie was mad at me, I could taste it in my mouth and I let it sink all the way down to the pit of my stomach. I thought about all of the ways I had been selfish and terrible to her, not asking her enough about herself or talking too much about my own stuff. I had tears in my eyes by the time Aggie asked me what was wrong, and when I told her she reacted like it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. She explained that wasn’t the case at all, she was just upset about the festival, and she was in her own head, and that I must have been in my own head as well.
She put on a playlist of Aboriginal musicians to help her feel inspired and me feel better. It worked. ‘Anthem’ by Tiddas was incredible, and ‘January 26’ by A. B. Original was brilliant and catchy as heck. It was hard to shake the wedge I’d imagined between us, and the feeling hung around me for the rest of my shift. That’s why I find people tiring, I guess. There’s so much work to figuring out how each different person thinks and feels.
The longer I know someone, the less I’m like this. It’s why I need you around, Rudy. You are supposed to be around. I know that sounds like pressure, and maybe it is. Maybe I’m supposed to figure it out on my own.
I miss you.
Love, Erin
16 September
Dear Rudy,
I can’t stand what this month is doing to me, or what you’ve done to this month. The anniversary is a black mark on the calendar and it seeps into everything. There’s so much to keep on top of, I feel breathless every time I let myself think. Like today, I was cleaning the wardrobe, MY wardrobe, and I found it. The coat. Your coat. I didn’t put it there, I know that for sure. Maybe Mum moved it out of her room to make space for something else. My eyes were crying fat tears before my brain knew what they were about. It smelt the same as ever, stronger even, like it had spent the year cultivating its own memory of you. The scratchy grey wool was no softer and the middle button was still missing. I don’t even know why Mum kept it, and what on earth she was thinking putting it in my room. I wrapped it around my body and climbed into my bed like a child. So that was my start to the day. Pretty weird, huh!
How does being a loner work for you? I wish it suited me more. I’m learning you can’t anchor yourself to other people, because people leave. Dee went on a little holiday with her mum today. They are going to the Gold Coast. I’m okay about it because I know I’ll be working with Aggie and I’m busy with schoolwork too. Exams are so soon. I’m usually not okay when Dee goes away, but she doesn’t go away very often. She came over to say goodbye and we went for a walk around the block. Isn’t that strange? I don’t think I’ve ever walked around our block before, or at least not that I can remember. We stopped at the playground and sat on the swings for a little bit. We used to go there when we were small enough that playgrounds were fun. We would play Red Rover and go down the slide and look for birds’ nests.
Now we just look like teenagers wagging school or trying to sneak a cigarette, even though we’re not doing either of those things. We talked about the time we caught tadpoles in the drain and took them home to grow into frogs, but it turned out they were cane toad tadpoles. It was pretty gross.
I couldn’t bring myself to talk about the coat, so I didn’t mention it. Dee was quiet for a while, and then she just looked at me and said, ‘You know I love you, Brain. I’m really glad we’re friends.’ It was nice to hear that from her, especially because I hadn’t even asked her in the needy way I do sometimes. I told her I love her too.
‘Next year is going to be different, though, and that’s okay,’ she said.
I guess she thought I needed to hear that, and maybe I did. It’s a fact, but it’s also something we need to agree on. I agreed.
‘I don’t really know how to be a good friend to you this month, so tell me if I’m not doing enough,’ she said.
She is really trying. There is nothing she can do. I told her she is doing enough. We’re all doing our best, I suppose. Even you.
Love, Erin
17 September
Dear Rudy,
Aunt Cath came over tonight, and she took us all out for an expensive dinner. Everyone is being extra nice to us this month. You know why. Mum told us to wear something nice so I wore a dress and Ollie wore a collared shirt and Mum wore high heels. Dad said he didn’t see the point of getting dressed up just to eat, but when he came down the stairs he was wearing a collared shirt too.
Cath seems so much more than ten years older than Mum, doesn’t she. She’s practical I suppose. She still wears her hair short and dresses in shorts and trainers all the time, even at parties and nice dinners. I like that she doesn’t expect us to hug her when she arrives, but I don’t like that she is harsh with her words to Mum. I think Cath is harsh with Mum because Uncle Owen ran off with that woman who worked for him, his secretary or whatever. Mum is soft looking and soft speaking, so she’s an easy target. Still, it was nice of Cath to take us out for dinner.
She told us a few times to order whatever we wanted from the menu, so I decided I would order the bugs. Mum and Dad would never take us to this restaurant down on the waterfront, and if they did they would never let me order bugs. I used to think bugs on the menu meant real bugs, like beetles or grasshoppers. Obviously I know now they are a type of lobster. Dad ordered steak and Mum ordered a prawn salad. I could have guessed that was what they would both get, just by looking at the menu. Oliver wanted chicken nuggets but they didn’t have chicken nuggets so he ordered a kid’s burger. Cath ordered the fish. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but I thought maybe you’d like to know what everyone ate at the special dinner in September. So you can picture us, sitting there in our nice clothes eating the nice food even though we were all struggling to know what to say.
Cath spoke a little bit about you; she said you were strong-willed like your father and caring like your mother. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard her say anything nice about you, or about Mum. She used to say you were reckless and selfish, remember? That time at Christmas a few years ago, when you showed up at her place a
little bit late. You’d stayed up until midnight helping Dad assemble Ollie’s new swing set and Mum and Dad had wanted you to enjoy the sleep-in. It was Cath’s first time hosting without her husband so I suppose it was hard. You were perfectly well behaved and used nice manners, but it was not enough. I hated it when Cath yelled at you and when Mum cried. I hated most of all when Dad slammed the bathroom door so hard the mirror fell off the wall and broke. ‘Seven years bad luck,’ Cath said. ‘And $80 for a replacement please.’
At dinner Mum and Dad both said nice things about you, but I wasn’t really listening. My bugs arrived and I ate them even though I didn’t feel hungry. They were cooked in garlic butter and I love that flavour so it was easy to eat them even without an appetite. Oliver was the only one who finished his meal. He said you were the best big brother in the world and everyone nodded. If I ever want to make myself cry I’ll just have to think of Oliver at that big table talking about his best big brother.
I’m going to go now—I’m too sad. I would rather hear a million bad things about how selfish and reckless and awful you are and have you here, than all the nice things people say because they miss you. I didn’t say it at the dinner, but my nice thing about you is that you are kind to everyone, and especially kind to people that other people are not kind to.
You’ve ruined September, Rudy, maybe even bugs too. And bugs are my favourite.
Love, Erin
18 September
Dear Rudy,
Sorry that last letter was so sad. I was letting myself feel it. Everyone keeps saying I’ve got to feel it, as if that’s something I have any say in. I wonder if you ever got told to ‘feel it’. Your emotions have always been more obvious than mine. I have to perform mine in a way that isn’t real to me in order for people to believe them.
I remember you crying when Ollie was born. Like, really bawling. Do you remember that? At the hospital, Mum was pale and Dad was beaming and you were crying your thirteen-year-old eyes out. I could hardly take my eyes off you to look at our new brother. I couldn’t fathom how something so exciting could make you cry so hard. I couldn’t figure any of it out. Mum said you were sensitive, in a way that felt like a compliment to you and a disparagement of my lack of outward emotions. I was supposed to be the sensitive one, the one who felt things deeply, and there you were, being that one, with your big blobby tears of joy. I don’t know why I’m writing about that. I guess when I think of sadness, of really feeling it and of what it looks like to be sad, I think of you in that hospital, crying about something that was so far from sad—it’s weird I even think of this as my example in the first place.
I’m still tired from the dinner, so I’m glad I had my easiest timetable day today. PE for the first half of the day and religion and assembly in the second. Dee and I usually manage to get out of PE by mentioning our periods to Mr Simpson. Girl problems are on his list of unmentionables, along with male feelings, the time we saw him with a lady who wasn’t Mrs Simpson in the main street of Cleveland, and State of Origin whenever the Blues lose. If you mention any of those things he goes bright red, starts to sweat and stumbles over his words while backing away. I would almost think he has ASD too, except he only acts like that when you mention one of those four things. Other times he knows how to organise his words and make small talk. Mr Simpson lets us sit on the hill beside the oval and keep score of whatever game the class is playing. It’s an arrangement that suits everyone. I really don’t understand the point of group exercise. There are so many things I would prefer to be learning, including:
Another language, preferably French because it seems romantic
Flower arranging. This is the kind of thing that was taught in finishing schools back in more sexist times, but I think I’d really love it
How to ace a job interview. Seriously, we can play two hours of dodgeball, but no one thinks to teach us something we might actually use
How to do hair and makeup. Okay this is another probably wrong thing to want to learn, but I don’t know how to contour and I’d really like to know how to curl my hair with a straightener
Pay bills, or taxes, or both. Another one of those ‘real-life’ skills that would come in handy.
Dee asked about what I had planned for tonight, and after I spent a really long time telling her all about the exams I planned to study for and the ways I would do it, I noticed her eyes were kind of glazed over. I realised she wanted to hear the question back. That’s a thing people do, you know—ask a question so they can be asked it back and tell you the thing they want to say. Anyway, Dee was very excited.
‘I think I’m going to go to the point with Jessica Rabbit. She wants to meet that Matt guy from the party the other night and he goes down there on Fridays.’
I didn’t tell her it sounded boring, even though it did. I asked if she was ‘third-wheeling’ because I’ve heard Jessica Rabbit talk about third-wheeling like it’s the worst thing you can do.
‘Well, it’s not a date. I don’t think he even knows she’s coming. She just wants to run into him accidentally, you know.’
It sounded way worse than third-wheeling, and definitely not like an accident. I guess girls look more appealing if it seems like they’re not trying. She told me I should come, to meet someone and ‘get over’ Mitch.
I told her I didn’t want to. Dee doesn’t like Mitch very much. I think it’s because of how he treated me at formal and when we first got together. Did I ever tell you about that? Probably not; it’s not something I talked about with many people. I met him at a party and he had a girlfriend, but he told me they had broken up. Turns out he was lying and he dated us both for a while. Eventually she found out. And then he only had one girlfriend. Me. I was the winner. Or the loser, depending on how you look at it. You would say loser. I used to feel like the winner, like somehow I had something she didn’t, but now I realise she had something I didn’t. Self-esteem.
The bell rang and we were gone from the hill before Mr Simpson had a chance to ask us to help pack up. Dee was the first to the quadrangle while I lined up for our salad sandwiches and apple-and-cinnamon muffins. A group of year eights, who looked like they were five years old, started a water fight at the bubblers that I knew would get them a detention.
I told them to cut it out and they asked me for my change. I had forty-five cents in my hand, not enough to buy more than a Zooper Dooper or a tomato sauce from tuckshop, so I reached out as if I was going to hand it over, and threw it on the ground instead. It’s a trick I’d seen Jessica Rabbit do loads of times. The kids scrambled on their hands and knees around the queue and I brought our food back to Dee. She was clutching her stomach with laughter as I handed her the sandwich. My face burned. Freckle Ben said how awesome it was that I ‘made them crawl’ and I wanted to crawl into a hole myself. They all threw their coins from the quadrangle to the line to keep the kids scrambling around on the floor.
It was awful. Freckle Ben said it was better than that time someone had glued $2 coins to the ground, but I suspect that’s because at the time we were the year eights down on our hands and knees trying to prise the glued coins off the ground. I still remember the horror of hearing a group of year twelves in the quadrangle laughing at me when I fell for the prank.
I guess I’m telling you because I wasn’t kind to the year-eight kids, and I know you would have been. I don’t always like the person I am when I’m around this group at school. Even Dee. But I’m just as bad for trying so hard to fit in. I’m working on being better, Rudy. September is just a hard month. I’ll be better in October.
Love, Erin
19 September
Dear Rudy,
I woke up in the middle of the night last night from a vivid dream about the time you said to me, ‘You’re not perfect, you know. You just can’t admit your own faults.’ It’s funny to me that I can picture the exact look on your face in the moment you said that, but I can’t pinpoint how old I was or what we were fighting about. It had something to do with t
he TV, I know that much. I guess that means it was before Netflix, before we could retreat to our own rooms and watch our shows in peace. Anyway, I didn’t say it at the time, so I’m saying it now. I spend more time thinking about the times I have been wrong than I ever spend thinking that I’m right.
And I was wrong about Aggie. She isn’t happy all the time. She’s just more okay with being sad. ‘Happiness isn’t a permanent state of being, Erin,’ she said to me, like it was one of those rules she just knows. I told her I wanted to be happy all the time anyway and she laughed as if it was a ridiculous idea.
She asked, ‘What do you learn being happy? You’re all comfortable and lazy there, you learn nothing. Sad is where it’s at.’
When I was quiet, she said she was sorry, she didn’t mean the kind of sadness that comes with it being September and everything that means. ‘That’s just something you’re going to have to get through and it will shape you and make you stronger but also it just sucks so bad. When my gran died I was a wreck. That’s the wrong kind of sad. I meant breaking-up-with-Mitch kind of sad. You’ll be sad at the time but happier down the track.’
When I asked if she was sad right now she said, ‘Not really, just enough.’ I like the idea of that. It presents emotions as a kind of alchemy, where the right blend might be able to cure us. I think Mum and Dad brought us up to think of emotions as either ‘good’ or ‘bad’, don’t you? Like being angry or upset was something to be rectified as quickly as possible and with as little fuss as could be managed. ‘Bad’ emotions are especially not okay for girls, I’ve learned—you got away with a lot more anger than I ever did.