by John Marsden
Mum: ‘Well what do you want us to do then?’
Me: ‘I just thought you should know.’
Mum: ‘Well I’m glad you did. I’m glad you told us. And it says a lot for you that you’ve been loyal to this girl.’ (Sorry Trace.) ‘But naturally we’re worried about how it’s come about. It doesn’t sound like she’s been too honest with you.’
Me: ‘No she wasn’t at first. I think she is now.’
Dad’s been sitting there for a while, not saying anything. Now he suddenly stirs into action, like he’s made a big decision. ‘Mandy, none of the kids know this, but maybe I ought to tell you.’
Me (scared): ‘Tell me what?’
Dad: ‘When I was a kid I got put in one of those places for six weeks. I was only 15, but I’d been truanting a lot, and I’d been warned a few times. Then I got caught knocking off bikes and selling them. So in I went.’
At this point Mandy falls to the ground in a dead faint. No she doesn’t, but it’s only her amazing self-control that saves her. My dad in a kind of Garrett? Or Ruxton, I should say? This is about the most amazing thing that’s ever happened in our family.
Anyway, as time goes on the full story comes out. He went to a training farm in the country for his six weeks. It was probably mild compared to your A Block but he said it was horrible and he hated every minute of it. He said he only got one letter a week, from his mum, and letters mean so much in those places that if I’m the only one writing to you, I’d better keep writing. But he also said that some of the people in there are hopeless cases and he doesn’t want to make me a suspicious type of person, but I should be careful.
So, there it is. I’ve always tried to be honest with you and so I swear that this is a true and honest account of our conversation, for better or for worse.
Mandy
November 29
I didn’t send that stuff from Saturday yet, ’cos I figured there’d be a letter from you about now, and there it was today.
Look, I’m sorry about saying Garrett sounded interesting. Did I really say that? That wasn’t one of my best efforts. And I’d like to lend you Adam for a while but they might confiscate him — I guess he’s a perishable, like a food item. Good enough to eat. But I will send you a Chrissie pressie.
The mighty Mum’s Army softball team’s back in action, with a few new members. We had training this afternoon. Sheez, what a squad. We’ve got this new pitcher, Louisa, when she walks on the field it tilts in her direction. Awesome. Only trouble is she pitches ten balls for every strike. We’ve entered D Grade this season — that’s the lowest — but I don’t think we’ll rewrite any record books.
The only other big news is that Rebecca’s leaving. She lives with her mum, and her mum’s a primary teacher, and she’s been transferred to Salter’s Wall. They’re leaving after Christmas. Funny, I think I’ll miss Rebecca. As a friend, she’s like Louisa as a pitcher, ten balls for every strike. Still, she’s been around so long now. Ml be strange without her.
I gotta go. Thanks for your letter. Parts of it were quite stunning actually. I’m nervous about how you’ll react to the stuff with my parents, but I’m determined to send it.
Lots of love,
Mandy
Dec 3
Dear Mandy,
God I get sick of starting every letter the same way. So boring. But I’m in such a bad mood. Or maybe good and bad. I’m sick, got a middle ear infection and general flu and stuff. Got put in Med Unit yesterday, am still here, and writing this sitting in bed. So I feel lousy. But you do get looked after better here, especially times like now, when they’re not busy. Matron says I’m run down, gotta look after myself. She hasn’t told me how though. I went on sick parade Saturday, with a sore ear and they poked around in it and said it was OK. Then when I woke up Sunday morning there was blood all over my pillow. It gave me a hell of a shock. And I felt generally crook. So that’s how I ended up in here.
The good news is that the food’s better, you get to watch a lot of TV, and some of the staff are half-way human.
Thanks for your letter. You know, you’re the most reliable person I’ve ever met. Not that I’ve met you. I don’t mind about your telling your parents — they sound cool. That’s amazing about your father. Remember ages ago I was telling you how Roy Lugarno, out of Dust and Ashes, had been in Ruxton? Seems like people do survive. There is life after death.
You see Manna I don’t think I’ll survive this place, either this place or Macquarie. I try to imagine myself walking out free, in the open air, but even though I think I’ve got a good imagination there’s no picture when I press that particular button. I think I’ll the in here, I often think that.
Oh well, better not rave on. Sorry this is a short letter, by our standards anyway, but I do feel shitty. I don’t know whether I want to get out of Med Unit or not. I don’t think I do. Hope A Block’s holding together without me. Anita’ll be happy anyway. Matter of fact I imagine most people will be.
See you.
From your sickening mate,
Trace
Dec 6
Dear Manna,
That was pretty nice of you. I got the biggest shock. That’s the first phone message I’ve had in Garrett, not counting the one Mrs Neumann may or may not have had. How’d you find the number? I think it’s right at the front under Government Departments. Everyone says that people outside can never find it.
There’s a lot of rules about phone messages that I didn’t bother to tell you, because I didn’t think you’d be needing to know. It’s meant to be only your parents, and only messages of information, like ‘We can’t come this weekend.’ For birthdays they sometimes bend the rules. But I suppose because I’m sick they let this one through. Also because it was Miss Gruber (the hack you spoke to), and she’s nicer than most of them. I asked her what you sounded like and that surprised her, ’cos I haven’t been talking to hacks much. But she said you sounded nice and that you were worried and everything. I mean, I’m not dying; in fact I’m much better.
But thanks, OK?
I’m still in Med Unit, as you’ve probably figured out. If I’d been the bitch I usually am they’d have sent me back by now, but I’m being a try-hard at the moment, helping make beds and wash dishes and sort linen. Sunshine’s my middle name. So they love me here and they’ll probably adopt me and keep me forever.
Actually I’m still feeling lousy. I hate being sick, it’s so depressing.
I just read your message again, and you know Manna, I fucking love you. Not like a lemon or anything. I just do.
Hey your softball team sound like they need a bit of confidence. You gotta start the season thinking Grand Final. I’m not just spinning on here: in my past life, before I came back as a slag, I won a few things. High-jumping, mostly. I cleared 1.53 when I was 13. If the walls in this place were a fraction lower I’d flop right over them. The broken glass would be a worry though.
OK, end of transmission. Sayonara,
Trace
December 6
Dear Tracey,
Well, just spent half an hour fighting my way through the Garrett telephone system. It’s worse than ringing Mum at work. In fact it was unbelievable. Anyway, I finally got through to a lady who sounded OK (sorry if she’s the biggest bitch in the place) and she said she’d bend the rules and make sure you got the message. We had a good goss actually. She kept saying how she wasn’t allowed to discuss ‘the girls’ then she’d spend five minutes talking about you. I hope she doesn’t get into trouble.
She said you’d been ‘very difficult’, but you were ‘much nicer lately’. Sounds like you’re the big improver Trace. Way to go.
Anyway, hope you’re over the flu. I hate being sick — I become a vegetable when I am — want to crawl under the bed and stay there till I get better. Like my dog. When I was 11 I had rubella so badly, then the day before I was due to go back to school I said to Mum: ‘What are these little red spots on me, Mum?’ It was chickenpox. This year the wo
rst thing’s been period pains — I’ve had some tough days.
I’d like to get glandular fever, like Rebecca. It seems like such a slack disease. You lie around doing nothing, all day every day.
Tomorrow’s when Steve and Adam finish their school careers. Historic moment. I’m happy for Adam ’cos he’s escaping at last (he’s been hanging out for it for so long); jealous, ’cos it’s him, not me; scared, about what’ll happen to our relationship; and sad, ’cos I know I won’t see as much of him next year. As for Steve, I don’t have any feelings. I honestly can’t see how he could possibly get much. And no employer would want him — they can breed their own rats. So if he doesn’t get into a course and he can’t get a job, what’s going to happen? He’s going to hang around here all day, that’s what. Think I might tunnel into Garrett and share a room with you.
He even said the other day that he might repeat Year 12, but Mum and Dad jumped on that fast.
He’s so pathetic. You almost feel sorry for him. There’s heaps of parties on this weekend — you can imagine — and he sits around talking about what a rage it’s going to be, and how he’s going to get wasted, but I know he hasn’t got an invitation to any of them, except an official one that everyone’s invited to.
We had softball training again tonight. I often seem to write to you on Thursdays. In fact I hardly plan to do homework on Thursdays, I’m so busy writing these letters. Anyway training went better. For me it sure did — I hit the sweetest shot I’ve ever hit — it went a kilometre beyond second base. It felt magic. But what worries me is, if I do that against Louisa (she’s our new pitcher), what could a good batter do? For example, the batters in all the teams we play against this season.
Wonder if it’s too late to switch to ten-pin bowling?
Listen, if you could spend a perfect day, how would you spend it? Cheryl asked me that. I think for me it’d be to sit on top of this mountain we did a school hike to last year, and read books and eat chocolate all day, with no interruptions. Mt Cobbler it was. No matter what direction you looked, you couldn’t see any evidence of humans, except one huge area that the loggers had bulldozed so they could fish out their logs. It made me sick to see it, when everything else was so beautiful. I’ve been a lot more careful with timber and paper since then. Maybe we should write shorter letters. Maybe I better finish this one before going on to a new page.
Take lots of care Trace,
Your mate,
Mandy
Dec 10
Dear Mandy,
Well, I’m out of Med Unit, back to normal life. Normal? Ha! Life? Ha! Didn’t go to any classes or anything today, couldn’t be bothered. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to so I did nothing. No, that’s not true, I did do something. I smoked — half a packet. Doesn’t leave much for the rest of the week.
You know how in movies everyone breaks out of these places? I honestly don’t see how they could. Hacks are up above, watching all the time. Tunnels aren’t the go — don’t want to wreck my fingernails. The only way I can think of is to smash a window, grab some glass, hold it to a hack’s throat and invite her to lead me to the front gate. I’d do it too. Hello to any hacks reading this.
I had a good time this morning, carving Anita’s name into a chair in the common room. Set her up nicely. Then I had a good time this afternoon carving my own name into my arm with a big paper clip that I’d sharpened up a bit. Wish I’d sharpened it up more though.
Manna you really give me the shits with some of your questions. I mean, I’ve said all this before but you keep doing it. And that dumb joke about tunnelling in here.
You want to know what my perfect day would be? It’d be to get a machine gun and walk through here spraying the whole place with so much lead they could have a new floor. A lead-lined floor, with red colouring.
You know what my perfect day would be, you didn’t have to ask. To have a mum who you could sit down and talk to about school and boys and stuff, and then you’d muck around with your sister for a while and try on all her clothes, and then you’d give your brother some advice about his girlfriend, then you’d go out and play with your cat in the sun. Just all that sort of shit.
Do you know Sophie didn’t come and see me once when I was in Med Unit? Even though it’s easy to do — you go on sick parade and sneak in while you’re waiting. I went and saw her twice when she had her wisdom teeth out.
I couldn’t sleep last night. Nearly started writing you a letter in the middle of the night.
Sorry I’m in such an off mood.
Tracey
Dec 11
Dear Mandy,
Ignore yesterday’s letter. I’m still as raggy as hell but why should you suffer? I got two days PS last night, for yelling ‘fuck off’ at a hack when she told me to sandpaper yesterday’s graffiti. And someone got into my room and pissed on my bed — probably Anita.
Soph got busted with some bombers this morning so it’s all happening here. Searches everywhere. Dunno how she got them but it’s not hard. Christ, she’s dumb though — she had them in a little plastic pill bottle with her name on it, in case she lost them. Can you believe it? Good bust, Soph.
I gotta see the shrink tomorrow, don’t know why. Should be good for a laugh.
See you,
Trace
Dec 12
Dear Mandy,
Daily letters. Hope you’re grateful. I’ve got nothing much to do at the moment, so thought I might as well write again. Not that there’s anything to write about. School’s stuffed — I haven’t been going to many classes. It’s all slack anyway ’cos it’s the end of year, and most of the tutors are leaving. They can’t take the pace.
Saw the shrink today. She said I should go on a thing called the Anger Control Programme. These names, fair dinkum, they’ve got a name for everything.
I think I control my anger pretty well. I control it so well no-one even knows I’m angry. Until I explode like World War Three, that is. Then they have a fair idea.
I don’t think the shrink thought that was such a hot method though.
The thing is Manna — and don’t dare tell anyone this — I’m kind of caught. Because of what Raz and I did, I know I don’t deserve any sympathy. And if my smokes get knocked off, or a hack gives me PS or NP (no privileges) for something I didn’t do, or I start thinking about all the things I’m missing out on, then yeah, I get mad. I get so mad I want to scream and bite and kick and tear this place to pieces. I want to get on top of that wall and rub myself in the broken glass. But as soon as I start getting mad, a little voice inside me says ‘How can you complain? After what you did? You’ve got no right.’ And so I stop myself. I think ‘No matter how tough I’ve got it, I’m better off than. . .’ I don’t want to finish that sentence but you get the drift.
It gets me confused.
Sorry to keep hitting you with depressing letters. All I seem to be able to do at the moment is write to you. Don’t worry though. I’m cruising.
Catch you later
Trace
December 14
Dear Trace,
Gee the letters are flooding in suddenly. But they don’t add up to too good a picture. You sound like you’re off the rails Trace. What’s happening? Is there anything I can do? I don’t think I’ve ever been this helpless in my life.
It seems so trivial to write about anything here while you’re getting bruised around. Most of what happens in Acacia Park is trivia, except that today we finished school at last. It’s been a long term. I can’t believe I’m heading for Year 11. When I think how scared and envious I was of those big girls on the bus. . . but now I’m there I don’t feel too enormous, and my friends don’t look so old either.
I thought we’d have a wild end-of-year but it was quite flat. I was too tired to celebrate. A few people tried to work up some action but not much happened. There is a party tonight though, at Paul Bazzani’s — think I’ll go when I’ve finished this. Last weekend was fairly wild, with all the Year 12 t
urns. Adam’s been walking around in a coma ever since.
Tomorrow’s our first Softball game. Mum’s Army is playing in a holiday comp., so we can be full on for the big time in February.
Anyway, think I’ll go. My heart’s not in this — I’m too worried about what’s happening with you. I don’t want to tell you what I think you should do — how can I, when you’re the one who has to live in that place? But Trace, please be careful. Can’t you cut back a bit? Tread softly for a while? Let Anita take over if she wants? I know it’s easy for me to say this but I’d hate to see you get into any more trouble.
Take care — be well,
Love,
Mandy
Dec 14
Dear Manna,
Just a note — one of the nurses said she’d post it, so you should get it sooner than usual. Anyway I thought I’d tell you I’m back in Med Unit, not for anything in particular. They just want to keep an eye on me or something. So, hope you’re well and having a good weekend.
Love,
Tracey
December 18
Dear Tracey,
Hope you got my messages — I rang twice, in case one didn’t get through. I’m getting better at the phone system. I’ve found out there’s a direct number to the Med Unit, so it’s easier.
The second time I got that nice one again, Miss Gruber. I thought I’d rung A Block somehow, but she said she was there to take sick parade. We had another goss. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t say much, ’cos I know that’s the way you’d want it. I’m not about to start blabbing to them about you. But you did say she was one of the nicer ones.
Anyway, she asked how I knew you, and I said only through letters, and that we write all the time. And she said ‘Well you must know her well by now.’ And I said ‘Yes, she’s about my best friend I guess.’ And she said ‘Well, she needs her friends.’ And I said ‘How is she?’ and she said ‘Depressed.’ And I said ‘I wish I could help.’ And she said ‘Well, keep writing. If I think of anything more practical, I’ll give you a call.’ So she took my name and number, as well as the message for you. Don’t imagine anything’ll come of it, but at least she seems to care.