As far as you are concerned, we no longer exist.
As far as we are concerned, you no longer exist.
Please destroy this letter.
Yours contemptuously,
The Secret and Mysterious Association of Secret and Mysterious People
Dear Elizabeth,
There is nothing romantic about you.
We think that a tiny part of you was actually happy that your dog had died.
Because you thought that would make Saxon Walker go all googly over you, didn’t you? You actually thought he might take you in his arms and hug you, and you thought he might cry with you, for you and for your dog and you thought he might ask you out to try and cheer you up.
And you thought he might hug you again when you went out, didn’t you, and you thought you might look beautiful with tears on your lashes and your eyes glinting, and a terrible, beautiful sadness on your face.
And you thought he would be swept away by you, and that he would kiss the tears from around your eyes, and kiss your forehead to comfort you, and hold your elbows gently, and kiss the tears on your cheeks, and then his mouth would find your mouth and kiss you over and over.
You thought all that didn’t you, and you were glad that your dog had died weren’t you?
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
We want nothing to do with you.
The Young Romance Association
Dear Elizabeth,
We told you so.
COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION
Wallpaper your bedroom in black, Elizabeth;
Close the curtains, pull down the blind, turn off your light, and Turn up your stereo loud, Elizabeth
louder,
louder,
louder,
We see no point in you, Elizabeth,
We think you ought to be dead.
We don’t see why you bother existing at all.
Sincerely.
The Association of Teenagers
PART
five
Dear Elizabeth,
I’m incredibly sorry about your dog dying.
From
A stranger
Dear Elizabeth,
Look, we’ve just had word that you found an anonymous note in your bag when you got home from school today. Could you confirm this for us? Give us a sign by opening your window at midnight tonight and mooing at the stars.
We don’t want to raise your hopes or anything, but anonymous notes are really the essence of who we are. Anonymous notes chime the bells in haunted towers, curl the creeping vines on gateways, rust the locks, toss the shadows, weave the spiderwebs, breathe the nightmares! Anonymous notes are right where it’s at!
We are therefore pleased to make a provisional offer of membership in our society. Our offer is only provisional because we don’t trust you.
Yours single-eyebrow-raisedly,
The Secret and Mysterious Association of Secret and
Mysterious People
Elizabeth,
That anonymous note you got today? I bet it was from some old woman who overheard you telling your friends about your dead dog.
After she wrote the note she dropped dead too.
Best wishes,
COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION
Dear Elizabeth,
Another thing.
You’re a waste of space.
How come you don’t just drop dead yourself?
All the best,
COLD HARD TRUTH ASSOCIATION
Dear Elizabeth,
Your hair looks really shocking today. What’s with that weird fringe curling in two opposite directions like curtains opening on a stage? You want to make a kind of centrepiece of your forehead, Liz? Is that the effect you’re trying for? How about throwing in a spotlight for the zit on your forehead, huh?
I can’t believe you went to school looking like that.
Maybe you should give us a call some time?
The Director,
International Department of Hairpieces, Toupees and Wigs
Dear Elizabeth,
No! Of course you shouldn’t do any homework! Are you out of your mind? What have you got anyway? Maths! NEVER do Maths homework Nobody checks! And Mr Valcino writes up solutions to the tricky ones on the board at the start of the lesson! So it’s a WASTE OF TIME to try and work them out yourself
You weren’t actually thinking of starting work on that Music assignment were you? ! Ha!! Excuse us a minute while we chortle hysterically. Have you got this far without figuring out what Term Assignments mean? They’re just JOKING when they say work on it all term! What they mean is stay up all night the night before it’s due! You crazy kid, you!
Good God, child, you have absolutely NO homework.
Fond regards,
The Society of People who are Definitely Going to Fail High School (and Most Probably Life as Well!)
Dear Elizabeth,
Oh, good idea. No, look don’t bother doing any training today. It’s FAR better to lie on a couch eating an entire packet of Tim Tarns and drinking a bottle of Coke than to attempt to rekindle a fading, failing, never-got-off-the-ground career as a distance runner! Think about how much time you lost when you had that flu! Think about how much more time you lost rescuing the delightfully grateful Celia. Think about how stupid it is running alone now that Saxon’s decided to drop out.
It’s cross-training day today anyway! Cross-training doesn’t really count! How can SWIMMING LAPS actually contribute to RUNNING a half marathon?? Work it out! Swimming – running – swimming – running – uh, like completely different things or something? Like, one’s in WATER and one’s on GROUND or something?
Watch TV instead! Watch Wheel of Fortune! Choose a participant and shout encouragement from the couch. ‘Go Mary-Anne. Come on, Mary-Anne.’ Guess what prize they’re going to pick! You can get the same high from watching the wheel spin just past Bankrupt as you can from running 20ks! And you won’t he nearly so sweaty!
Yours ever,
The Society of High School Runners Who Aren’t Very Good At Long Distance Running hut Would Be if they Just Trained
ELIZABETH!!!
OVER HERE! ON THE FRIDGE!
THERE’S A SPECIAL TREAT FOR YOU INSIDE THIS FRIDGE. JUSTBEHIND THIS DOOR JUST ON THE TOP SHELF.
IT’S A STRAWBERRY MANGO! AND THEY’RE NOT EVEN IN SEASON!
YOU CAN TAKE IT TO SCHOOL WITH YOU IF YOU LIKE. I’M NOTSURE HOW YOU’LL EAT IT THOUGH.
THOSE THINGS CAN BE REALLY MESSY.
AS ANOTHER TREAT I HAVE DECIDED TO STAY HOME TONIGHT INSTEAD OF GOING TO POETRY CLUB.
THE POETRY CLUB WILL COME HERE.
IF YOU FELT LIKE MAKING A CAKE OR A SLICE FOR THEM THISAFTERNOON, PLEASE FEEL FREE. IN FACT, I HAVE LEFT A RECIPE FOR A CHERRY AND APRICOT SLICE ON THE BENCH, AND IN THE CUPBOARD YOU WILL FIND SPECIALLY PURCHASED CHERRIES, APRICOTS, WALNUTS AND CONDENSED MILK! JUSTAS THE RECIPE REQUIRES!
BUT ONLY IF YOU FEEL UP TO IT.
LOTS OF LOVE,
YOUR MUM
Dear Elizabeth,
My God. I cannot believe that you actually thought that was too unimportant to tell me about. Your dog died and the boy you were in love with asked your best friend out. And that’s just nothing. Good Christ, Elizabeth Clarry.
Hello? Are you there?
Look, one tiny aspect of that story would have been serious enough. Even if your dog had just sprained his little paw. Even if Celia had done a sexy eyebrow thing at Saxon. As it is – I can’t believe it. You’re so incredibly brave. If those things had happened to me, I’d have been buying myself a six-pack of Pollywaffles and moving in to the treehouse out the back.
This is so serious that I’m skipping Commerce to write to you and that is one major sacrifice. Do you realise we’re doing Skills for Product Differentiation at the Supermarket today? How am I ever going to be able to choose between Kraft Slices and Coon Mature Cheddar when I’m a housewife with a trolley full of kids at Franklins? You want to tell me
that?
No but seriously, Elizabeth, that was the saddest story I ever read. You are so brave. Your dog dying. Jesus, I cried myself to sleep for about three years when Josie (my lab— kelpie cross) died. Here is a very top-secret secret, and swear to me you won’t tell anybody, but I was MUCH more upset about my dog dying than about my grandma dying. You remember I told you that my sister Renee saved my grand-ma’s life by dialling triple 0 last year? Well, she only saved it for another month because then she had a massive heart attack and died anyway.
So I was upset and all, and cried at the funeral, and it was awful around the house (although we had a lot of butterfly cupcakes, which everyone seemed to bring after the funeral), and my mum went really peculiar. But really, my grandma was always losing her temper and shouting at Robbo, which only makes him worse, or going mad on my mum for the kind of gardening gloves she chooses, or telling me that I’m getting nice and fat. Thanks Grandma. Whereas my dog never once shouted at Robbo or complained about Mum’s gardening gloves or told me that I’m fat. My dog was perfectly happy with everything about our family and just sat around smiling.
The fact is, my dog was nicer than my grandma.
God, I shouldn’t have told you that. You’re going to think I’m a cold and callous witch.
Oh well, too late.
Also, it’s so sad about Saxon. It sounded like it was really going to work out, and he seemed pretty cool. And then Celia just being excited about Saxon asking her out. God, Elizabeth, that must have been like losing Celia again. I guess she didn’t realise anything about how you felt about Saxon, or else she wouldn’t have been so insensitive. (Still, I don’t want to say anything because I know she’s a good friend, but seriously, what was she thinking?)
So what’s happening now with you and Celia and Saxon? Are you hanging out together or is it unbearable? Is Celia coming to school or is she still sick? And does everyone think she’s a goddess or something because she joined the circus?
You know, what I was thinking is that if you want to TALK about anything we could do it out loud. I mean, in the same room. Using words and that. We could meet whenever you want.
Make sure you tell me if you’re upset about anything in the future, okay, and try not to be too sad. I got you a charm to cheer you up – sorry to copy your idea, but it was such a cool idea. It’s a unicorn flying, if you didn’t notice, because I know you like flying. I know unicorns aren’t supposed to fly but I think wings are a very smart addition and I for one would like to congratulate the manufacturer for thinking of it.
I like unicorns too. So the unicorn with wings is a present from me to you.
Lots of love,
Christina
Dear Christina,
Thank you very very much for your nice letter and the BEAUTIFUL charm. How come your letters keep making me cry these days? I wish I’d told you about Lochie and Saxon earlier, because you always make me feel better.
Thanks for skipping Commerce to write to me too. I’m skipping Liturgical Dance right now to write to you, but it’s not really a fair exchange. I mean, I can’t think of a single point in my life where I’m going to be in crisis because of not knowing how to dance liturgically. Whereas you are now going to be in crisis every time you go to the supermarket for the rest of your life.
It’s also not dangerous for me to skip Liturgical Dance. I mean, I’m not putting my educational record at risk or anything. Mrs Lawrence takes it and she’s so old she might as well be dead and so short-sighted she thinks of her class as substitute guide dogs. She spends most of the time asking people to tell her what’s happening out the window or down the back of the room or right in front of her nose.
I just read your letter again and I noticed that you haven’t said a single thing about yourself. It’s all about me. Now I feel selfish. You’re a very nice person, you know? So, what’s happening with you, and what about Derek? And what about your cousin, Maddie? And what about your brothers and sisters? Has your baby sister learnt how to walk without tipping sideways yet?
So. Anyway. I still don’t feel exactly ecstatic but I’m not so miserable any more. It was stupid of me to think Saxon would be interested in me – he’s way above my level. He’s like gorgeous or something. Celia’s coming to school but she’s still got this cough that makes people stop halfway through words and stare at her, and makes teachers panic, like, ‘uh oh, what does it say in the teacher’s manual about students dropping dead in the middle of Maths again?’ Saxon spends most of his time looking from Celia to any passers-by and back again, like he’s a scientist who’s just seen that the end of the world is coming and nobody’s taking any notice. He’s always trying to make sure she’s warm enough and bringing oranges and kiwifruit to school for the vitamin C. Celia just coughs at him and giggles.
I hardly ever see Celia outside school now, because she can’t go out – the doctor says she overdid it when she got back from Coffs, and ‘gallivanted around’ when she wasn’t ready for it yet. Now she’s supposed to sleep all the time, or at least sit around not getting over-excited. This would normally be literally impossible for Celia, because she lives on excitement. But now she doesn’t even seem to care. She’s just listless. When I visit her she drags her quilt around the room and watches MTV. So I don’t visit her very much any more.
I think I should talk to her or something. Maybe even write her a letter? But what would I say? Excuse me, but I liked your boyfriend before you did. Please give him back.
Anyway, it’s more than that – it’s like she’s disappearing. You were so right when you said it was like I’d lost her again. How could she not have noticed that I liked Saxon? How could she not realise how upset I was? The Celia I USED to know would have noticed. I think. Maybe something’s seriously wrong with her. Maybe I should write a letter that just says: ‘Celia? Celia? Hello? Where are you?’
It’d be weird writing a letter to Celia. I’ve known her so long. It’d be like writing a letter to myself.
She should just know.
My mum’s trying to be nice to me because she knows I’m upset. Like, for example, she invited the poetry club to our house last night, instead of going out and leaving me alone. Big step, Mum. I made her a cherry and apricot slice for the club, and you know what, I’m going to put a piece of it in this letter, because I brought some to school with me for lunch. You will notice that it’s the best cherry and apricot slice you ever tasted, probably.
I thought I would just watch TV while the poetry club was there but Mum seemed to think that part of the cheering-me-up strategy was getting me to sit in on the meeting. It turned out that what poetry clubs do each week is make two of the members the leaders. One leader chooses a favourite poem and reads it out, and then they discuss it. The other leader brings a poem written by HERSELF and reads that out and then they all talk about how wonderful and talented that person is.
Remind me never to join a poetry club.
This week it was Mrs Lorenzo’s turn to choose a favourite poem and she chose Walt Whitman, and he’s written the longest poem in living history. It starts off something like, ‘I celebrate myself, and sing myself’ and then it goes on for about three thousand pages celebrating and singing itself. I mean, puhlease. The others had to tell Mrs Lorenzo that they’d heard enough eventually. They said they would read the rest on their own but Mr Rotherham left his copy on the floor under his chair so HE’S not going to read the rest on his own. Then they talked about it for a while and they were especially excited about this one line that goes, ‘Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?’ Because they all feel so proud to be getting at the meaning of poems every Thursday night over carrot cake and cherry and apricot slice.
My dad called in the middle of Mrs Lorenzo’s reading to find out if I wanted to go out with him some time soon, and afterwards Mum kept saying to the others, ‘Well, this is it, see? It’s plain inconsiderateness.’
I don’t understand how Dad was supposed to know she was havin
g a poetry reading that night, so I don’t know what’s so inconsiderate about it.
It was Mrs Koutchavelis’s turn to read out her OWN poem and luckily it was short. It went something like this: ‘I am the answer. I am the question. Ask me my question? Question my answer! Answer my question! I blow, I breathe, I bubble.’ I think she made it up while Mrs Lorenzo was reading out Walt Whitman.
At the end of the poetry readings Mum asked everyone to please think up a slogan for raspberry-flavoured cat food.
Well, I’d better go. I’m so glad I met you through this letter-writing and yeah, I think we should meet in human living form one day too.
Lots of love,
Elizabeth
PS I guess you were only joking when you said you couldn’t tell which was the better out of Coon Mature Cheddar and Kraft slices? I’m not even going to bother with the correct answer, it’s so obvious.
PPS Do you seriously not know? Maybe you shouldn’t skip any more Commerce classes?
PPPS I don’t think you’re a witch for being more upset about your dog dying than your grandma. Sometimes dogs are nicer than people. That’s not your fault. And it would be DISHONEST to be upset about someone who you never really liked.
PPPPS Although I wouldn’t mention it to your mum.
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope you’re not getting happy are you? Not getting a little zip of good cheer as you run along this embankment? You’ve got no reason to be happy, you realise that, don’t you? Say you were ever to meet that Christina? She’d drop you like a bowling ball. She’d be out of there before you could say ilio tibial band syndrome. (A common condition which can be caused by over-training Elizabeth, in case you’d forgotten, and one that you sure aren’t ever going to get since you practically never even TRAIN, let alone over-train.)
Feeling sorry for Celia Page 10
