And that’s the biggest waste of time of them all because not one single person in my class does Maths homework.
Anyway, it would be so easy to make these kind of people do stuff more quickly. E.g. You could say to them: ‘HURRY UP.’
You could hire a team of huge men with voices that sound like they need to clear their throat, plus a team of scraggy little women with shrieking voices (my History teacher would be an example), and you could get these people just to run around behind the slow people, shouting, ‘GO FASTER, HURRY UP, TOO SLOW.’
You could get some weight-lifting muscle-man leaning over my Maths teacher’s shoulder, going ‘get a bloody move on, you moron’.
I shouldn’t have talked about weight-lifting. Now I’m thinking about Derek’s body again.
But anyway, so I’m not having a baby and I’ve got a career sorted out, so I feel much better.
Oh and guess what? Maddie’s coma-boy woke up. But guess what else? Maddie’s already in love with somebody else – it’s that first guy who she’s been in love with all along. You know she started going out with coma-boy so she could make his friend jealous? So the friend came to the hospital to visit coma-boy while Maddie was there, singing lullabies for him. And the friend tells Maddie she’s got the most beautiful lullaby voice he ever encountered. So coma-boy wakes up, and Maddie tells him she’s leaving him for his best friend. Nice. It’s amazing he didn’t fall back into a coma. She hadn’t even got the best friend yet, but that’s her style: she just announces she’s going to get someone and she does. I guess him liking her singing voice is a pretty big start because man, she’s got the worst singing voice.
OKAY, I have to go. I almost said ‘see you soon’ just men, but I guess I won’t. We should meet some time though, don’t you reckon?
Love from Christina
Dear Christina,
I just finished reading all the letters that you sent while I was away. My English teacher collected them for me and labelled them and everything. DON’T WORRY. He didn’t read them. The envelopes were sealed up properly. I checked.
I am so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so sorry that I wasn’t here when you were going through all that stuff.
I feel really guilty. I hate myself. I’m so glad that you feel better now, and you’re not pregnant and everything. And you’ve got a career. Management consultant. That sounds cool.
But you and Derek broke up and I can’t believe it. You sound like you’re coping well, but I bet you’re really sad. Do you think there’s any chance of getting back together? Are you okay?
Getting your letters was the best thing that happened to me all day. I waited till I got home to read them, so that I’d have something to look forward to. Then I read them lying on my bed and eating a raspberry pop-tart. I hope that’s all right.
Something happened to me but I don’t really feel like talking about it. For one thing I’m always talking about myself instead of about you, and now I feel guilty and I hate myself because I wasn’t here when you needed me.
I was rescuing Celia.
And maybe I should have left her right where she was.
Anyway, I think I might go watch TV. I’m sorry I don’t feel like writing any more. I feel kind of drained of energy – like I’ve hit the wall. (That’s marathon talk – it happens when your muscles can’t take in any more oxygen and you feel like you’re about to die.)
But I got you this charm at the shops today, to try and make you feel better about stuff. I’ve got a feeling you’re not the type of person to have a charm bracelet but this one’s kind of funny, it’s not like a star or a princess or anything. It’s got a really cute face, don’t you reckon?
Also here’s some raspberry that I accidentally got on the letter (eating my third raspberry pop-tart today), but it’s kind of pretty:
Anyway.
Write soon,
Love from Elizabeth
Dear Elizabeth,
What happened to you?
Tell me.
Don’t be stupid – you do not always talk about yourself, you walrus-head. I always talk about myself. You’re a fantastic letter-listener and you sent me a charm that I love and I put it on a piece of string around my neck, and it’s very very cute. THANK YOU. And you always say the right thing in your letters and you always guess how I’m feeling.
Like about Derek. It’s true that I’m just kind of pretending not to mind that we’ve broken up. I don’t have any idea if we’re going to get back together again. Sometimes I think there’s no way possible, and it’s like we’re strangers who never spoke to each other before. But other times I think for sure we will, and we know everything about each other, and it’s just stupid that we’re not together now.
Sometimes I think, well I wasn’t planning on marrying him anyway, so maybe I should just try meeting someone new, and it even seems kind of exciting. Other times I see him coming towards me across the art room, and I forget we’ve broken up and I think he’s going to give me a big gorilla hug because he’s got that weird smile on his face that he gets when he’s going to give me a big gorilla hug. But then he walks straight past me, and he’s just smiling in his gorilla hug way at the ‘WASH ALL PAINT PALETTES BEFORE YOU LEAVE’ sign on the wall.
Anyway, I want to send this right away so you get it today, because I’m worried about you. What happened to you? How come you said you should have left Celia where she was? Did Celia do something bad to you?
But if you really don’t feel like talking about it, that’s fine, you don’t have to. But maybe it’ll make you feel better. And DEFINITELY DON’T keep quiet about it just because you feel guilty.
You haven’t got anything to feel guilty about.
Write soon.
Love from Christina
Dear Christina,
Your letter made me cry. Because you’re the nicest person in the world I think, maybe.
I’m not really doing anything. I’m just lying on my bed and it’s the middle of the night and I haven’t gone to sleep yet. The blind is hanging crookedly and letting moon shadows fall all over the wall.
I can’t do anything except lie on my back, and think all around my empty room, listening to nothing. I would listen to music but it might wake my mum up.
I had such a long, long, long shower. You would go mad at me if you were one of those consultant people that you’re going to turn into. I was so slow and wasteful. I twisted the shower around so it sprayed against the wall and I just leaned there with the water making patterns all around me and sliding down the tiles.
The last few days I’ve been feeling like I can hear people crying everywhere. Behind the shower water I could hear a sound like someone just sobbing and sobbing. I hear it behind everything. Behind the noise of the school bell ringing, or the noise of everyone talking in the canteen, or even the noise of a teacher shouting at someone. Behind my music, behind lawn mowers, behind the television, all I can hear is a sound like somebody crying.
It stops when the music stops, or the lawn mower stops, or when I switch off the TV. Or when I turn off the taps of the shower.
Sometimes, behind the shower and behind the music, and behind the crying, I hear the telephone ringing too.
Sometimes I am so sure that the phone is ringing I turn off the shower and stand there naked listening.
It’s never the telephone. The telephone never rings.
Do you think there’s something wrong with me?
Love from
Elizabeth
PS You asked what happened to me, and I don’t mind telling you, that’s fine. It was nothing really. Nothing important like thinking I’m pregnant or breaking up with a boyfriend. It was just something small and stupid. I’m too embarrassed to tell you because it’s small and stupid. Maybe tomorrow.
Dearest, dearest Elizabeth,
You are crazy.
Not because you’re hearing sounds and everything, I’ve got a feeling that’s normal. I asked my mother about it and she
said she gets exactly the same thing. (I didn’t tell her it was you, I just asked her like hypothetically). That’s the crying sound – my mum gets that too. That’s probably because she’s got hyper-sensitive baby radar switched on, and she’s hearing all the babies in the world whenever they cry. Maybe you’ve got the same thing? Maybe you’re hearing LAUREN cry whenever you hear a crying sound? She’s crying a lot lately because she’s getting a new tooth, so probably that’s it.
But the telephone ringing sound, everybody gets. I do for sure. The whole time I’m working in the florist shop I’m picking up the phone and there’s nobody there. It turns out it was just a bird singing or someone wheeling a rubbish bin round the back of the shop.
It’s because I keep expecting the phone to ring, because I think Derek’s going to call.
But he hasn’t called.
Anyway, you’re still crazy. Because it’s crazy to be too embarrassed to tell me something that has got you upset. God, Derek’s an idiot who can’t stop talking about his muscles and whistling stupid shit – how can it be the biggest thing in the world that we broke up? It’s not. And it’s not important that I thought I was pregnant. It would be important if I was pregnant, but I’m not. Even if I was, that wouldn’t make things that happened to you stupid. Anything that makes you feel unhappy is important and I really want to know, and see if I can help you.
Please stop being crazy.
Lots of love,
Christina
Dear Christina,
Okay, I’ll tell you what happened.
But trust me, it’s just stupid.
Well, Celia and Saxon and I got the train back from Coffs Harbour and it was really cool. We were all getting on so well, and sometimes we read books or magazines, and sometimes we played games like Hangman or Boxes, and sometimes we just talked. We had great conversations, everyone saying funny things and everyone laughing. One time we decided to get food, and Saxon and I insisted that Celia stay sitting while we went and got it for her. Because she’s still not very well, see. We were looking after her, and both of us making sure she was warm and drinking plenty of water and everything.
Saxon and I walked all along the train, right up to the other end looking for somewhere to buy food. He checked that I was okay in the scary bits between the carriages, when the train’s shaking and it feels like the metal bits are going to collapse beneath your feet. That’s how I feel between carriages anyway. And Saxon held open the door for me, and even took my hand sometimes to make sure I was all right.
We got right up to the other end of the train and there was no cafeteria carriage. We had to turn around and go all the way back. We went past Celia really quietly so she wouldn’t know we’d gone in the wrong direction, and she didn’t see us because she was leaning her cheek against the window and watching the banana plantations go by. It turned out that the cafeteria carriage was the very next one down. Like just one carriage in the other direction. For some reason Saxon and I thought this was the most hilarious thing ever to happen. We just stood there wobbling in the cafeteria carriage, laughing and laughing and laughing.
The guy behind the counter waited patiently, and the train bumped a bit, and we kind of fell against each other, and we were rocking, hugging each other, and laughing, and practically crying. No I think actually crying. That’s how much we were laughing.
Then we bought Cokes and sausage rolls and chips (which cost like a million dollars on trains – did you know trains rip you off just like they do at movies with popcorn?) and we took them back to Celia, and we were kind of hiccuping laughter, and our stomachs hurt from laughing.
I think when the train pulled in to Central Station, and Celia’s mother was standing there holding an enormous sunflower in her hand, I actually felt happier than ever in my life before. My best friend was practically flying off the train to see her mum, and Saxon and I were standing back and looking at each other, kind of like ‘isn’t that nice?’ and feeling proud of ourselves, and carrying Celia’s stuff between us.
Then Celia’s mum gave Saxon and me a big hug too and said, ‘Thank you for bringing my little shooting star home with you’ and we all cried.
Celia’s mum dropped me off at my place first, and we all said, ‘see you on the bus tomorrow’ and I just felt like everything had changed colour in the world. Like this really special feeling of being sunburnt and sandy would stay forever. Like from now on everything would be the three of us in the basket of a hot-air balloon, floating around the clouds together.
I went inside my house and straight away the good feeling went bad.
Straight away I had this sensation like something was wrong.
My mum wasn’t there, but there was a note on the fridge from her, which said, ‘Call me at work. I have something bad to tell you.’
So I called her.
And then I realised what was wrong in the house.
My dog wasn’t there.
It was because he was dead.
I never thought that could happen. I mean, seriously, I never once ever imagined that Lochie could just die. It was because he got hit by a car. My God, I don’t know why I never thought that might happen considering that we live on a really busy road, and bloody semi-trailers go past our place all the time. And Lochie’s favourite hobby was escorting them up the road.
I just thought he was being polite, you know?
It happened a couple of days before I got back, my mum told me, and whoever did it didn’t even stop. Mum found Lochie when she came home from work that day – he’d crawled on his stomach all the way down the street and ripped his stomach open, and left a trail of blood, and he was just lying in our front yard.
I know people’s dogs die all the time, and it’s not like a grandma dying or anything. I mean, you’re supposed to just go, ‘oh well, at least he didn’t get old and sick and arthritic, at least he died when he was still chasing semis down the street.’
But I couldn’t make anything work that night. I couldn’t make my head work or my arms and legs work. I just went dead all over.
Mum came home and made me chicken noodle soup and put me to bed like a little girl.
And the only thing keeping me going was this: I was thinking, ‘I’ll tell Saxon and Celia tomorrow’. Just over and over. ‘I’ll tell Saxon and Celia as soon as I get on the bus.’
So the next morning, I got on the bus and that had turned into a kind of chant in my head, ‘I’ll tell Saxon and Celia’ – and somehow that was going to make everything okay.
They got on at their stop and I’d saved a seat for them behind me.
So I turned around and said hello, and I was thinking in my head, ‘don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry’, and I told them.
They were nice, of course, in a kind of friendly way. Like, ‘oh no, that’s terrible’. But it wasn’t going how I imagined. They were looking at each other and going ‘god, how awful’ and it just wasn’t going to cure me.
Then for some reason I wanted to cry, like my whole head was full of tears, and I wanted to cry and cry, and for them to hug me, and everyone to stare. But I couldn’t cry. It was like I wanted it too much and that was blocking the tears.
Celia and Saxon did their ‘oh, Elizabeth, that’s so awful’ thing for a few minutes. And then Saxon says this: ‘Yeah, I know how you feel, Elizabeth. One of the horses on my dad’s farm had to get shot last year because of an infection. I was just gutted by it. I loved that horse. But we’ve still got other horses at the farm and that makes me feel better. Maybe you should think about getting another dog?’
And Celia says, ‘Well, maybe, but maybe it wasn’t fair having a dog in suburbia anyway? It’s not really where dogs belong.’
And Saxon says, ‘That reminds me, Celia. I want to ask you to come and stay on our farm with me some weekend soon. My parents think it might be good for you to get some country air.’
And Celia says, ‘Sure.’
And they start talking about the farm, and horse-riding, and
sheep and cow manure and leeches.
And they never say another word about my dog.
And Saxon never asks me to go to the farm too. Just Celia.
And when we’re getting off the bus, I say to Saxon, ‘You want to come running with me tonight?’
Saxon says he thinks his knee’s playing up and he doesn’t think he wants to go in the Forest Hill Half Marathon any more, because he thinks we missed too much training up in Coffs Harbour, and plus he has to catch up on his school work (give me a break).
Then, as we’re going into school, Celia whispers to me, ‘He wants me to see a movie with him tonight. Cool, huh?’
So, that’s what happened.
Stupid, isn’t it.
I should go. I have to start making dinner before my mum gets back from work.
Love from
Elizabeth
Dear Elizabeth,
You know, you can take the whole best friend thing too far.
Celia would have been okay without you rescuing her. She’s always okay.
But back here, Christina needed you, and you weren’t here for her.
And Lochie needed you. He was probably lying there in your front garden crying for you, wondering where you were, hour after hour.
And where were you?
Try and think about who your real friends are in the future, huh?
Sincerely,
Best Friends Club
Dear Elizabeth,
Just letting you know we’ve withdrawn your name from our mailing list.
There is nothing remotely secret or mysterious about you. You’re just a dumb teenager who got some crazy ideas about herself.
Feeling sorry for Celia Page 9
