Please Don't Hug Me
Page 18
The back deck overlooked the pool, and beyond that was a fence and then bushland. There were plenty of dark corners in the yard for drunken fumbling and illegal substance-taking. By 10 pm the deck was full, the music was blaring and most people were at least half-cut. I thought I should probably talk to Mitch at least once. I’d seen him walking out towards the back fence so I made my way there.
I felt a bit wobbly but the sight that appeared before me couldn’t have been clearer. Two huge bare arse cheeks high in the sky, pale and cratered like the moon, but instead of orbiting the earth they were thrusting up and down in the undergrowth. I could hear murmurs and strange noises, but the three vodkas I’d downed so quickly meant I was a little slow to realise there was someone under those bare arse cheeks. Jutting out from either side were limbs like grasshopper legs. My vision sharpened and I realised Pointy Kathy was under Mitch.
I starting laughing as my mind caught up to what my eyes were seeing. Mitch looked over his shoulder and panicked. Then he was hopping around trying to get his legs back into his jeans. He fell over into the bushes and Pointy Kathy pulled down her dress and fixed her hair. She smirked her smirk and walked back towards the house. I wanted to ask her why she had done it, but she was gone too quickly. Pointy Kathy had always made fun of Mitch, and of me for dating him. She didn’t like him, so why was she fucking him?
It took less than a minute for Mitch to get angry, which is a record even for him. He threw insults at me and I couldn’t bring myself to say anything back. If he was trying to hurt my feelings he should have tried harder, because my cringe list, even on a good day, was more creative than the things he said.
I guess the whole party stopped to watch the spectacle of Mitch yelling and me laughing like a crazy person. He screamed at me to ‘stop fucking laughing’, and his face was red with anger. It was clear that I was hurting his ego. When I couldn’t stop laughing, he starting calling me an ‘autistic freak’, which was new. If he, or anyone, had said that even a couple of months ago I would have wanted the earth to swallow me up. Most of my classmates don’t even know I’m autistic, and Mitch knows that. He was using it to hurt me, telling everyone that there’s something wrong with me, not him. I’m not going to see these people anymore though, and I don’t care. I just left him there in his toxic anger and went home.
While I was waiting for an Uber I realised that I hate parties. I hate them. I hate the noise and the lights and the crowds and the fights and the smell of cigarettes and weed.
So why have I been looking forward to Schoolies so much when it’s one giant party?
I got home to three more comments on my post about hugging. I’ve got to reply to them all. It might sound weird, but that’s my idea of a good party.
Love, Erin
20 November
Dear Rudy,
Last night was the biggest Schoolies night on record. More than 30,000 school-leavers were at the Gold Coast, on Cavill Ave. I’m not there. I’m not at home either. I’m not anywhere really; I’m on the move. I didn’t sleep all of last night, thinking about why I’ve been looking forward all year to something I know I wouldn’t enjoy. It’s the strangest thing. Our whole year level has been talking about Schoolies like it was the most incredible event ever, so I thought it must be too. I didn’t give myself the option to think anything else. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt this year it’s that I am free to make my own choices. I’m entitled to it in the same way you were, even in that irresponsible choice you made when you took the boat that night.
I never even packed my bag. I think maybe my mind had cottoned on before I’d realised what’s what. I called Dee at 7 am, which I thought was a good time because it wasn’t too early but I was still giving her enough notice to organise a lift with someone else. She was surprised to hear from me.
‘We’re not supposed to leave for another four hours, Brain. What’s up?’ she asked.
I told her I wasn’t going. She asked if I was all right and if I needed donuts. I told her I was and I didn’t.
I told her. ‘Schoolies is not for me. The noise and the crowds and the smells and the lights. It’s not my kind of thing,’ I said.
She said it was okay that I didn’t go. I knew that already, but it felt nice to hear her say it. Dee will have a good time without me, and I’ll have a much better week not being there. I don’t know why it took me so long to realise it, but just because something is ‘what you do’, it doesn’t mean it’s what I do. What a simple thing, but it’s more freeing than anything else I’ve ever learned.
Now that I’m finished at school and you are gone and Mitch is dumped and I’ve got Dee and Aggie, I’m starting to believe that maybe I’m okay. Maybe it’s okay to have brain wires that make you fidgety and bad at eye contact, as long as you tell the truth and don’t hurt the people you love and say sorry if you do and do something nice for your friends when they’re sad. It might not sound like a lot, but it is.
You were always a big presence, but I feel closer to you now than I did when you were alive. It’s because of these letters, I think. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I’m going to keep writing to you when I need to.
Dee has shown me that you don’t need to be the same as someone to be close to them, and she’s taught me a lot about being good to the people you care about. I think she really is going to travel the world, and I have a feeling we mightn’t see each other for a long time, but that’s okay. She is doing her Dee thing, and I’m going to do my Erin thing here and at university. Not because I have to—because I want to.
And Aggie. It’s hard to explain a person like her on paper, because paper is flat and doesn’t have the kinds of shapes and dimensions I need to build a proper description. But being with Aggie makes me feel that even if I am not happy with the person I am, there is scope to build and improve. She is so good at being herself she makes me better at being me. A friend isn’t just who they are to you, but who you are and who you feel you can be when you’re with them.
Aggie has just pulled up; I can hear her music coming from her car. We’re going op-shopping, and then maybe out for some sushi for lunch. It’s not a lot. It’s definitely not a penthouse at the Gold Coast. It’s not even the most ‘exciting’ thing I’ve done all week. But when I’m with Aggie I feel genuine—that may not sound like much, but trust me when I say it is everything.
Rest easy, Rudy.
Love, Erin
6 January
Dear Rudy,
You’ve been on my mind these last few days, so I thought I’d drop you a line. I think it was New Years Eve that made me think of you. Your favourite night. Ha, of course, because it’s the biggest party. You always said it had ‘less pressure’ than Christmas, and you could be right: less Aunt Cath. She wasn’t so bad this Christmas, you know. She only insulted Mum like three times, and she even gave Ollie and me presents. I got stressed for a little while when we first got there, because Cath asked a lot of questions and we were late and the living room was hot. Instead of having an outburst though, I just let myself flick my wrists like I used to when I was smaller, and I didn’t care what anyone thought. Everyone stared, but no one said anything, and my head stopped being fuzzy really quickly. It felt good.
But you know what, this letter isn’t about me. I know: shock horror! It’s about you. We miss you, of course. And I still have to stop myself from imagining what things would be like if you hadn’t died. It would be better, obviously. But you did die, and we are still here, so we are getting through it and making life good again without you. Ollie is super grown up, and probably going to be the prime minister one day, I swear. He is so good at convincing people to do exactly what he wants. Mum and Dad are okay, they still fight but they also say sorry and they seem to be talking to each other more too. Cath is Cath. Amy comes around a lot. She even popped in on Boxing Day, after she spent Christmas with her mum. She’s changed her hair and she seems to be doing all right. She’s lighter or somethin
g.
I’ve got ten followers on my blog now, which is pretty incredible seeing as I just write about how I feel and my life and stuff. Finishing school might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s no more quadrangle and talk of weekend parties and food-sharing politics and no more Jessicas or Kathys or Bens. I think that’s why I’m able to flick my wrists in front of people now, and why I can write about what it’s like to be autistic. I’ve stopped worrying so much about what other people think and letting that shape me. I’m focusing on being the most authentic version of myself as possible, even if that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I am figuring out what I really like, and what I really don’t like. I’m moving forward. I’m going to an Invasion Day rally with Aggie later this month instead of the annual barbecue at Jessica Rabbit’s that I’ve always hated. I am thinking about how I want to live and how I can make that happen. That feels like a good start.
Thank you, Rudy, for listening in this whole letter-writing process, and mostly for being the kind of person that lived a life so big and whole and full of love that even after you’ve died, it still feels like you’re supporting me. Thank you.
Love, Erin
Acknowledgments
This was a personal journey that would not have come together without the help of so many people.
To my fabulous agent Danielle Binks, of Jacinta di Mase Management, thank you. You have held my hand through every step of this process and I’m beyond grateful for your friendship, guidance, support, positive energy and encyclopedic knowledge of young adult fiction. Thank you also to Jacinta and the team. To my editor Jane Pearson, thank you for seeing the truth in this story and working so hard to bring it to light. The whole team at Text has been a dream to work with. Thank you to my publicist Jamila, to Shalini and Kate in marketing and Stef in sales and thank you to Jess Horrocks for my gorgeous cover design.
When this book was still a manuscript I wouldn’t tell anyone about, I sought out every opportunity to learn and develop it so it would one day be a real book. I’m thankful to the Children and Young Adult Conference (CYA), the Emerging Writers Festival, Varuna, the Writers’ House and the Queensland Writers Centre for the opportunities provided to me and to all writers.
Online, I’ve found wonderfully supportive people and real friends as part of the #loveOzYA community as well as the #ActuallyAutistic community. If you’re autistic, or a writer or both, these communities will buoy you when things get tough.
Thank you to my sensitivity readers, Rudi and Rhianna, for your time in helping make this book better. And it is so much better because of your work.
I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded by strong girls and women throughout my life. There are too many to mention them all, but thank you Leecee for your friendship, now and when I needed it most. Thank you for leading by example. Thank you Aimee for being my person. Thank you to the friends who have become family and the family I call my friends. Thank you Jen and Katie for standing in as my big sisters, with all the best advice. Thank you to my mum friends, who are kickass, strong, inspirational, whole human beings beyond this role, making it work in a million different ways. You have made this stage of my life the best so far. Thank you Carole for all of the time and care you have gifted me.
To my grandad, Frank, you have been a guiding light. Thank you for being one of my first readers, biggest supporters and the best penpal I could imagine. I love you. Thank you Sean and Tom for a lifetime of support. You are great brothers and even better uncles.
Thank you, Mum and Dad, for loving me with your whole hearts in every imaginable way. Thank you for surrounding me with the best books and a love of reading from such an early age. This book wouldn’t exist without you. I love you both.
Arthur, thank you for believing in this book long before I did. Thank you for your love. There is no one I’d rather spend my days with. Life feels like a dream come true even without this book, because of our little family.
Aggie, you are my world and I pinch myself every day that I get to watch you grow up. You are so wholeheartedly yourself and I hope that you always feel loved, supported and at peace to be who you are. The world had better get ready.
And thank you to anyone reading this book. Readers make the best people.
Kay Kerr is a former journalist and community newspaper editor from Brisbane. She now lives on the Sunshine Coast with her husband and daughter, and works as a freelance writer. Kay was writing the first draft of Please Don’t Hug Me, her first book, when she received her own autism-spectrum diagnosis.
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Copyright © Kay Kerr, 2020
The moral right of Kay Kerr to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
Published by The Text Publishing Company, 2020.
Book design by Jessica Horrocks.
Cover images by Tate Carlson /Alamy Stock Photo and iStock.
Typeset in Sabon 11.25/16.75 by J&M Typesetters.
ISBN: 9781922268051 (paperback)
ISBN: 9781925774825 (ebook)
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of Australia.