by Sandy McKay
Dear Missing Persons Department,
I am trying to track down a person by the name of Miranda Morrison. She was last seen six and a half years ago wearing blue pyjamas with yellow ducks on them and driving a white car. My brother Matt was only four when she left and I was nine. Anyway, now I’m fifteen and I would really like to get in touch again and would appreciate your assistance.
Yours sincerely,
Johanna Morrison
Dear Miranda,
I am writing to
Dear Mandy,
Remember me?
Dear Mum,
How are you these days? I know we haven’t seen each other in a while but I’ve been thinking about you loads. I thought you might like to know how I’m doing. Actually, things aren’t so hot at the moment. Nothing I can’t deal with.
Well, to be honest,
Dearest Mother,
I am writing from the local nutfarm.
Dear Mum,
Well here I am at a camp for gifted and talented students.
We are here to get special help because the education system has been failing us. There’s been stuff in the paper about it lately, you may have noticed. ‘Special needs’ works both ways these days and sometimes it’s just as hard being bright as being thick.
Anyway, I know we haven’t seen each other in a while but I thought you might like to know what’s been happening in my life over the past few years. (More on that later.)
We are doing general knowledge at the moment. We have to know the answers to really difficult questions like: What does U.S.S.R. stand for? And what New Zealand scientist was one of the fathers of nuclear physics?
(Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and Ernest Rutherford, in case you were wondering.)
It was Dad’s idea for me to come here. To tell the truth I reckon he just wanted some time out. He gets pretty stressed these days. (Probably comes from living with his ‘gifted and talented’ offspring!)
Actually, I bet he and Matt prefer it when I’m not around. It’ll be just like flatting with no female in the house (apart from our cat, Sushi, that is). Matt is pretty cute for a brother. I mean, he can be annoying sometimes but overall he’s pretty cool. We get along mostly. His one annoying thing is creepy crawlies. He’s always finding little insects and stuff and putting them in jars with holes in the lid, where they usually end up dying of suffocation. His latest craze is worms. He tried to make a worm farm the other day by digging some worms out of the garden and putting them in a shoebox with his plastic farm toys. Cute, huh?
Anyway, you can’t go anywhere without him finding something to bring home – like some old sheep bone, or a piece of driftwood, or a smelly old mussel shell that ends up stinking out his bedroom. Perhaps he should be an archaeologist when he grows up.
I have no idea what I should be. Sometimes I think just growing up will be a mission. One thing I’d like to do is travel. My best friend Issy and I fancy backpacking. Whenever we go past a backpacking place we say ‘that’ll be us one day’ (with dreadlocks and Jesus sandals!). Then, after we’re done with backpacking we’ll probably get barmaiding jobs in London, meet famous rock stars and live happily ever after. Either that or come back here and be hairdressers. No, actually, scrap the hairdressing (I’ve done my dash with that for now) – Issy can be a scientist and I can be a famous writer.
Neither of us wants to get married and have kids, that’s for sure. Bor-ing!
It’s very quiet at this camp. A bit slack actually, because I’m not allowed visitors yet, which makes it difficult and sometimes lonely. Some of the others are a bit strange but I guess that’s what happens when you’re gifted and talented.
Anyway, I’ve prattled on enough.
I hope you are well.
Love from,
Your daughter Jo
Noticeboard:
Learn meditation.
Iyengar Yoga classes available on CD.
Feeling Angry?
Admit your feelings.
Work out WHY you are angry.
Find some form of immediate release (exercise, pillow bashing etc.).
Express your feelings to a trusted friend.
If something needs to be said, say it!
Dear Mum,
I’ve been in this place for nearly two weeks and it’s hard work. It’s not easy being gifted and talented. In fact, some might see it as a handicap. We do a lot of group work. Our therapist teacher likes to give us things to work on. She’s into stuff like positive thinking and having goals and taking things one day at a time. Her favourite saying is ‘Even the longest journey begins with the smallest step’. Pretty obvious when you think about it. Her other favourite saying is something to do with weeds just being flowers in the wrong place. I think she must be into gardening.
Some of the kids have had pretty interesting lives, which is probably why they’ve ended up here. There’s a guy called Leon who is really nice. He’s into ‘old school’ music. Bob Dylan is his all-time favourite. I told him we used to have his Greatest Hits. There’s a stack of vinyl records in the cupboard at home but we don’t have a turntable any more. Dad used to play this song by James Taylor, called ‘Fire and Rain’. And there was another one called ‘Time in a Bottle’. What a sad voice that guy’s got. (James Taylor, I mean.) I quite like him as well.
We still have some of your gear at home, like clothes and that. Once I found a box of sewing stuff with patterns and fabric. Unfortunately I’m not that good at sewing. I made a skirt when I was in Year Eight but I put the zip in upside down and the waistband inside out. My friend Issy’s mum (who has just recently been promoted to school principal) had to fix it up.
Ingrid, Tegan, Kara, Caroline and Leon are the people in my group.
You’d like Ingrid. She looks like Britney Spears. And she’s a runner. In fact, she might be going to the Commonwealth Games if she gets selected. She has her own coach and everything. Tegan is horse mad and never stops yakking.
We all get on pretty well, most of the time.
Your daughter,
Jo
Dear Issy,
These are the suckarse rules.
If you weigh less than 43 kilograms you are allowed to do bugger all. You’re not allowed visitors. You’re not allowed in the common room. You are not even allowed to wash your hair – so you lie here feeling (and smelling) like stink. And no one is allowed to talk to you, not even the nurses!
You are not supposed to write letters either, which is why this is not actually a real letter but just a figment of your imagination.
My Contract
This contract has been designed to help me stop vomiting, maintain my potassium levels and reach a discharge weight of 50 kilograms.
Currently I am vomiting several times a day. My potassiums level are low and I weigh 42 kilograms.
I agree to be on special unit until I reach a goal weight of 45 kilograms. A nurse will be with me during this time. This nurse may talk to me, help me with my records/contracted activities etc., but nothing else that can be considered a privilege. I realise this is in my best interest.
I agree to be on total bed rest (bed baths and bedpans, no walks) until my weight increases. I will work towards the privilege of being allowed off my bed. While I am on bed rest I can listen to my radio, read books and magazines, talk to a special nurse and complete records. I understand that bed rest will enable me to conserve energy and restore some body weight as well as controlling my vomiting behaviour. I understand it is for my own good.
For every twenty-four hours that I don’t vomit I will do a negotiated activity: e.g. Watch Shortland Street, make a phone call, write a letter, etc.
Signed,
Johanna Morrison
Dear Jo,
Thanks for that poem. I especially loved the line about being ‘one of life’s go-getters’. Very inspirational. I have never thought of myself like that before and am tempted to show it to Meredith who is more convinced I’m one of life’s couch potat
oes. I know you probably only put it in to rhyme with ‘letters’ but it was a nice idea.
I have been thinking about writing a poem for you but I’m not that good at poetry. I could give it a try though…
Dear Issy,
One bad poet in the friendship is enough, Issy.
Hey, guess what? I did it. I started writing to Mum.
Dear Jo,
Wow! Jo. Your mum? Really?!
Hey, it must feel pretty strange after all these years. Well … I don’t know how I’d feel … if my mum walked out like that. I don’t know if …
Anyway, speaking of mothers, mine has gone up to Christchurch for a school principals’ conference. Can you imagine it? A hotel full of bossy boots, all telling each other what to do! Of course, she’s left us her usual seventeen-page instruction manual on how to survive without her.
I’m sure she wasn’t that bad before she got the principal’s job. Was she? She forgets we are all grown-ups now. I mean Dad’s been a grown-up ever since she’s known him (I bet he even popped out of Nan’s tummy with an Adam’s apple and a bald patch) and Kate is seventeen this year and Meredith is coming up twenty in September!!
Most girls are flatting at her age. And she would be too if she wasn’t responsible for half the country’s student debt. Trust her to go in for dentistry, which is about the most expensive thing you can study. So it looks like she’ll be around the house for ages yet, which is a pity because it would be nice with just Kate and me for a change. (Kate is a lot more easygoing and not on my back all the time.) Siblingwise, three is not a good number and I reckon people should only be allowed to procreate in multiples of two. Kate and I are fine until Meredith comes home and then she and Kate take sides and I end up feeling on the outer.
Meredith has recently become a fitness freak and just because she spends half her life pounding a treadmill she thinks I should do the same. I told her I don’t need to get on some boring treadmill when I’ve got tennis and she just snorts at me. And I say, what’s wrong with playing tennis and she says, well, nothing, if you actually make an effort to run after the ball. So I say, hey, just because I don’t stress about everything doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it. And she says, but that’s the problem, Issy, you’ll never get anywhere in life by trying to enjoy things. Does that make any sense to you, Jo? Because it makes none to me at all. (She is so uptight, that girl, and God knows what she’ll be like as a dentist. I pity her poor victims, er, I mean patients!)
School news. Hmmnnn … there’s an inter-school coming up next month and I’m supposed to be in the tennis team but Mariah Peters is challenging me for the number four spot so I might not make it. Actually, I am thinking about defaulting because it won’t be any fun without you anyway. But don’t tell Meredith or I’ll never hear the end of it. (Silly me, trying to enjoy myself again.)
Oh, and guess what else. How could I forget? The most important thing: the date for the Senior Formal was announced in assembly. So you have to get yourself home by April 26 because you absolutely can’t miss the formal. No way.
Anyway … better get this posted. I’m making pancakes for dinner (not a vegetable in sight!). Also, I’ve got a book review due in tomorrow and I haven’t made it past chapter three yet.
Sometimes I wish I were in there with you, Jo. It must be like a vacation, with no homework to do or meals to cook. No parents breathing down your neck and laying down the law either. Make the most of it.
Luv,
Issy
P.S. How’s the weight going? How much have you put on so far?
P.P.S. You’d have laughed in Science today. We’ve started on genetics. Mr T. says ‘Can anyone explain the concept of sex determination?’ So Danny Snell puts up his hand and says ‘Is that like when someone’s real determined to have sex, Sir?’ Ha ha. Everyone cracks up.
Then, later on, Mr T. is doing a chromosome diagram and we have to work out if this cell is male or genetically abnormal. So Rebecca Short calls out, ‘Do you think there’s any difference, Sir?’
Even Mr T. had to laugh, though I could tell by the way he kept his back to us that he was trying really hard not to.
Dear Issy,
Yeah. Ha ha. Good one. And three cheers for Rebecca Short.
Shit, I’d forgotten about the school formal. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a glass bubble floating about in a fog.
Yesterday I spent most of the day in my room watching Charlotte trap a wasp. That was the sum total of my activity. (Unlike Charlotte who has so knackered herself that I haven’t seen her move since.)
I found an article in the National Geographic about spiders, which I have pinned on my wall. Not exactly Robbie Williams but at least it covers a few cracks and gives me something to read. Like a project, kind of. I have now identified Charlotte as a brown spider. I must say I’m quite glad to have a roommate. I don’t know if the cleaner’s so fussed though. She nearly freaked out when she saw the photographs and she obviously hasn’t spotted the real spider yet, which proves what a slackarse cleaner she must be.
Luv,
Jo
P.S. You must think I’ve gone nuts talking about a spider like that. Well, join the club!
Noticeboard:
‘Let me be weightless and empty and light, then maybe I’ll find peace tonight.’ F.C.
Dear Issy,
Good news. The doctor says I am allowed a visitor. Canyou come this Saturday? Visiting hours are two till eight. Would your dad drive you, do you think? Oh, and, can you please bring some laxatives? Sorry, but I promised Caroline I’d ask. She says you should tell the chemist that you’re really bunged up and need something strong. (The ones with senna work best, apparently.)
Can’t wait to see you again,
Luv,
Jo
Dear Jo,
Great news that you’re allowed visitors. Does that mean you’ve put on weight? Are you sure it’s me you want to see because if you’re only allowed one visitor wouldn’t it be better to have your dad? Which reminds me …
The other day Kate and I bumped into your dad in the supermarket. (We were stocking up on junk food for when Mum’s away.) Your dad had a trolley full of baked beans and Jellimeat and was heading down the potato chip aisle. Anyway, he didn’t look good, Jo. In fact, he looked pretty bad. He says you won’t see him or even answer his letters. I didn’t tell him you were allowed a visitor because he obviously didn’t know. He is really worried about you, Jo.
Luv,
Issy
P.S. Also, I bombed out with the laxatives. The chemist shop man seemed awfully suspicious when I asked for them and he insisted on selling me fifty grams of dried prunes instead. Should I bring those?
Hi Jo,
It’s Dad. How’s it going?
Cracker weather lately. There’s even been some talk of a drought. I’m not surprised because touch rugby’s only been cancelled once all season, which has to be some kind of record – especially after last year.
Matt and I miss you heaps, Jo. The doctor says you’re still pretty crook. I’d love to come and visit but if you don’t want to see me then we’ll have to make do with letters. Matt says he’ll write when he gets around to it. You know what it’s like trying to get that boy to sit still. Mrs Jordan reckons he’s got ants in his pants. He had the school sports last week and Mr Campbell gave me the afternoon off so I could go watch. Not a bad wee hurdler, your brother, and he did quite well in long jump too.
Must take after his big sister, huh.
Mrs Jordan sends her love. She came over with a batch of shortbread last night. I told her there was no need but she seems to like a worthy cause. Oh well, better get off to bed. I’ll have to let the cat out first. Which reminds me, Sushi is fretting big time and she’s gone right off her Jellimeat since you left.
Be good, Jo.
Lots of love,
Dad
Dear Issy,
Thank you so, so, so, so much for coming on Saturday. It was great to see you and good fo
r you to see what this place is like. What did you think? It’s not too bad, I guess, although the décor could do with a bit of a make-over. I know it’s hard trying to talk in the lounge with everyone listening, which is probably why you were so quiet. What did you think of Leon? Did you notice his amazing green eyes?
Anyway, it bucked me up no end having you here and I felt almost human again by the time you left. I can’t believe I didn’t take you down to my room. You should have asked. I could have introduced you to Charlotte. Sorry, I’m just not thinking straight these days.
I hope your dad didn’t mind coming all that way.
Luv,
Jo
P.S. Thanks for the prunes.
Advertisement on chemist shop window:
Lose weight. Gain control. Lose weight.
Gain control. Lose weight. Gain control.
Lose weight. Gain control. Lose weight.
Gain control. Lose weight. Gain control.
Ask your chemist …
Dear Jo,
It was great seeing you on Saturday, too. I’m sorry I was so quiet. To be honest, Jo, it was more of a shock than I realised. I had no idea how thin you’d got. I feel so bad. And guilty. You must have been like that before you went into hospital. So how could I not have noticed?!! My best friend turns into a skeleton right under my nose. I knew you’d lost weight, but … well, you were always wearing that baggy black top and …
