by Kay Kerr
Clothing
Sleepwear
Accessories
Sale.
And the two people on shift share the roles of cash register, change rooms and floor duty. Manic Panic Caroline, the manager, had three different colours in her hair and she says she changes it every week. Manic Panic is the hair dye she uses, but the nickname also kind of suits her energy. She doesn’t seem as intense as Great White Molly about approaching customers, but she feels just as strongly about up-selling. At Robins we have to ask if customers want to buy a necklace or some bracelets, even if they have already browsed the accessories wall or are only there to buy pyjamas for their mum. Why? I can hear your answer in my mind: ‘capitalism’. And you’re right. But does it ever work? I know if I was going to the shop to buy new pajamas for Mum I wouldn’t be leaving with a bracelet as well—that’s absurd.
I’ve seen ads for a reality show about addictions, and I know people can be shopping addicts, so maybe they are the ones we are aiming these bracelets at. But the likelihood of a shopping addict coming in to Robins on a quiet Saturday afternoon has got to be pretty low, right? The cash register is a hundred years old and the screen decides what moments it wants to work, and what moments it would rather glitch out for a bit. I get that. I relate better to the cash register than I do to Manic Panic Caroline or any of the customers I served today. I will be better when I work my first shift with Aggie.
Remember your first shift at Coles? You brought home flowers for Mum, a newspaper for Dad and chocolate for Ollie and me. That was the nicest thing. Even if I could have afforded to do something similar (I couldn’t), there is nothing at Robins for Dad or Ollie. Still, I was inspired by your gesture, so I bought a necklace on sale for Mum. It was five bucks, and a little bit ugly, but she cried about it anyway. She really doesn’t need a lot to make her happy.
I’m going to try to do more of that. Be more like you, in some ways anyway. You made kindness look easy. It feels hard for me to think of things that people will appreciate. I am so good at getting things wrong. Thanks Rudy, for the inspiration.
Love, Erin
24 August
Dear Rudy,
I miss you driving me to school, even though I know you hated doing it—you always told Mum she’s the parent, not you. But then you were usually the one to pick me up from school if I’d had an outburst, even if Mum wasn’t at work, so maybe you didn’t hate driving me as much as you’d let on. Driving has always been kind of your thing, hasn’t it. You had your music and your journey and your space. I liked that you’d let me run a little late—Mum is fanatical about getting me there on time. ‘We’re not paying for you to miss school,’ she says. I can sometimes stretch her out, remembering something I need to do just as I’m walking out the door. Some recent rememberings have included:
‘Be there in a second, I just need to strip my sheets for the wash.’
‘I’m coming, just need to put my laptop on charge.’
‘I think I left my hair straightener on.’
‘My lunch is on the bench.’
‘Please, just give me five more minutes, I want to reread a page of my textbook before my exam.’
It’s hard because I don’t want to be early, and there is only one minute on the clock that is on time and everything else is late. Mum’s work moved offices this year so now she’s just around the corner from school and it’s very convenient. Our drives are the most time we ever spend talking, me babbling about Real Housewives or what Harry Potter would be like as an adult, while Mum navigates the fifteen roundabouts between our house and the school. Fifteen! There must be more roundabouts in this little suburb than in most major capital cities. Someone at school said Cowgirl Glenda the driving instructor won’t pass you on your test unless you have driven around at least ten, including the monster threelaner in the centre of town. Did you have to go around it? I know you passed first time.
I think Mum and I can talk in the car because we’re not facing each other, and there are other things going on. It takes the pressure off the conversation, and it means we can both just say what we are feeling. Ordinarily Mum doesn’t really have a problem with that, but I do.
I haven’t always been a late person, and I hate being late, but it’s better than arriving before Dee and having to sit and wait in the toilets until the first bell rings. She gets there right on the bell because her bus comes from furthest away. I usually wait in a toilet cubicle staring at my phone until I hear it. It’s slightly less uncomfortable than having to talk to other people in my home group who mingle around at the lockers chatting before the bell. Dr Lim says it’s something I can learn, a ‘learned behaviour’, but I don’t seem to be any better now than when I first learned to talk.
I’m not really ‘out’ as autistic and I wonder sometimes if that’s a good or bad thing. The people who went to primary school with me know, and my teachers know. It’s just not something I bring up in conversation. Sometimes I think it would be easier if everyone knew that some things are really easy for me but others are really hard. But then I think, it’s no one else’s business and I don’t owe anyone an apology or an explanation. Everyone has their stuff, and people don’t seem to want to talk about theirs so why should I be the only one? And then sometimes I wonder if I should even have this diagnosis, because it makes it seem like ‘normal’ people are on one side of the room and ‘abnormal’ people are over the other, when really it’s more of a whole range of different brains than a binary thing. I’m rambling now but you know what I mean. A label is fine in the hands of the person wearing it, it’s when someone else takes it and uses it without understanding what it actually means I wonder if it’s really so good at all.
I found Dee sitting on my locker, scrolling through her phone and looking exasperated. I’d always wished our school lockers were more like the ones on Riverdale, tall and personalised inside with photos and stickers, but they’re still these short ugly little things that have been around forever and hardly fit a few books. Dee could barely contain her glee as she told me what happened on the weekend. You’d think she had won the lottery or something.
‘You will never guess what happened at Freckle Ben’s party. You freaking missed out. Pointy Kathy got so wasted she spewed in Freckle Ben’s parents’ bed and then slept in her own spew. How gross is that? And from little miss stick-up-her-arse herself. Anyway Freckle Ben posted the pictures online and then Pointy Kathy’s mum said she was going to call the police. Imagine dobbing to your mum because you made a dick of yourself. That’s the last I heard, but shit is going to go down at lunch. Kathy is fuming. I think she might actually knock him out, she’s that mad.’
I found it a bit confusing, because Dee was so friendly with Pointy Kathy a couple of days ago. It’s hard to keep up with the friendships in the group, especially when no one talks about stuff openly. It’s all group texts with one person excluded, and catching up and ‘forgetting’ to invite certain people. I’m not usually on group texts, and Dee is the only one who invites me to things. At least I know where I stand. Dee told me not to be late to lunch, because she thought Pointy Kathy was going to ‘straight up kick Freckle Ben in the balls’.
And with a nifty little bounce, she was off the locker and on her way to class. Dee sounds like a Jessica these days, and she is spending a lot of time with them on weekends. I don’t know if I like how happy she seemed about Pointy Kathy, even though I don’t like Pointy Kathy. I have been the topic of Monday morning gossip before and it destroyed my life for months. Dee knows that. I don’t mean it like I’m morally superior and she is a jerk either, because she’s a much better person than I am most days. I just think she’s talking about it because the Jessicas are talking about it and I don’t think that’s the right reason to do it.
When we emerged from double maths I felt like I always do after that class, like we’re mole-people seeing sunlight for the first time, because it’s so bright after being in the C-block dungeons for two hours. Remember th
e C-block classrooms? They smell gross, like damp towels that have been left in a gym bag or something. Even though I said I don’t like the gossip, I still went to check out the drama at the quadrangle. I don’t know why. It seemed someone had already called ‘action’ and the performance was underway. It went down quite similarly to Dee’s prediction actually, but nobody’s balls were kicked. Pointy Kathy slapped Freckle Ben across the cheek, threatened him with calling the police and stood over him as he deleted the photos from Facebook, Instagram and his phone. Practically the entire year level, and half the rest of the school, sat around pretending to talk, while they watched the action unfold. The tuckshop ladies continued serving pork rib rolls. It was in no way a victory for Pointy Kathy, but it was as close as she would get until the next weekend rolled around and it was somebody else’s turn to be embarrassed by inappropriate drunken behaviour.
Afterwards, Dee told me about why she was sick the other day. She’s got a lot going on at home. She said her mum was all set to do it, to leave, bags packed and everything, and then her mum’s boyfriend got home. I asked if that meant they are still there.
She nodded. ‘He grabbed the bags and pulled out all our stuff, and threw it back into our rooms in a really aggro way. He was yelling about us having nowhere to go, and Mum was hysterical. She was crying, I was crying, it was a shit show. So yeah, we’re still there. Mum should never have moved us in with him. He’s right. We’ve got nowhere. For now anyway, I mean, I’m out of there next year for sure. I’m going to backpack around Europe, or America, I haven’t decided yet.’
That was news to me. We’ve been planning to live together in Brisbane and go to uni for as long as I can remember. When I reminded her of that she said her results are probably not going to be good enough. My mind has been circling around and around ever since. She must have been able to tell I was panicking, because she said she’ll just wait and see how she goes. I offered to help her study, or to proofread her assignments, but she didn’t seem that keen. I don’t even know if she wants us to live together anymore, and I wonder if it’s because of what I said about the milk.
I told her I got a job. I never know how to change the subject in conversations so I usually just say something new when I think of it. She seemed really excited, until I mentioned that it’s at Robins.
‘Where my nan shops? That Robins?’
I don’t know where her nan shops. I’ve never even met her nan. She hates her nan. She didn’t seem to want to be reminded of that.
‘Yeah, well, it’s a nana shop. Could you really not find anywhere else that would hire you? You were doing so great at Surf Zone.’
‘Until the poo,’ I reminded her.
‘Okay, yes, until the poo. But that wasn’t your fault, you just handled it badly. You should have scooped it up with a plastic bag.’
So that answered my question about how someone else would have handled it. I can’t see you picking up someone else’s shit, though, Rudy.
I tried to tell Dee about Aggie and how great she is, but she just told me not to tell Pointy Kathy about Robins.
I’m not planning to. Today was one of those nothing days, a day I won’t remember, and it feels like there are so many of them at the moment. On the bus home I sat up the front. I know you loved the back seat before you got your licence and started driving but I can’t be bothered fighting my way down there when our house is only four stops away. Behind me the rabble was like an entire zoo of animals in one single enclosure, if all the animals were given caffeine or something.
There was screaming, crying, laughing, punching, spitting, eating, singing, poking, kissing and jumping. It’s a sensory overload that almost gives me a migraine on the twelve-minute trip home. Dr Lim taught me about sensory overload and I realised there was a name for this thing I have always struggled with. It’s why Mum keeps the house nice and quiet. Sound rings in my ears and rattles my brain, and smells become so overpowering they make me feel sick. Lights, even small ones, can feel like strobes, and they set off a warning siren inside my head, shouting ‘Abort! Abort!’ I usually need to lie down for an hour or three after a bad sensory overload. I should try walking home for a more relaxing end to the day, but I’m lazy so I haven’t done that since I started senior school. It’s usually too hot anyway. Thanks, climate change.
Anyway, today I noticed the bus driver was gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, and from what I could see, his face was contorted. I have a feeling this was not where he wanted to be in that moment.
‘Listen here, you’re going to sit down and shut up, or I’ll turn this bus around and nobody is getting home,’ he yelled, without even turning around.
It shocked the group silent, but that only lasted a couple of seconds before the laughter began again. He yelled, ‘If you don’t think I’m serious, just try me.’
A ball of scrunched-up paper came flying from the back of the bus and I watched it, as if in slow motion, as it hit the back of the driver’s head and ricocheted into the stairwell. The driver slammed on the brakes and sent students flying down the aisle. A young kid stood up with a blood nose from smashing his face into a rail. I could see my bus stop less than 100 metres ahead. I asked if I could get off and the bus driver told me I should have thought about that before I ‘acted like an animal on his bus’.
I tried to explain I hadn’t been screaming, crying, laughing, punching, spitting, eating, singing, poking, kissing or jumping, but it was pointless. The driver was turning the bus around and making an example of us. He phoned his bus company to explain what was happening, so by the time we arrived back at school the principal was waiting for us at the front gate. Her arms were folded and she did not look happy. We filed off the bus, and I found a shady spot to sit as we awaited our punishment. In the end it wasn’t that bad. I know if you were there it probably would have been you who threw the paper, but in the end it didn’t matter who did it. Only that we were all there.
The replacement bus and driver arrived nearly an hour later. We’ve all got detention. Somebody dobbed in the paper-ball thrower. It was a year tenner. They’ll probably get suspended. I wish I could have called you for a ride home. I can picture you laughing about the whole thing, slapping the steering wheel and wiping away tears as you asked for more and more detail about the driver’s face. It’s so real in my mind. So real.
Love, Erin
26 August
Dear Rudy,
My least favourite thing that people say about you is that you ‘know how to have a good time’. I get it. You’re the life of the party, the ‘fun’ one. You’ve never been in a hurry to be anywhere or anyone; you’re just in it for the laughs. It’s just that it’s not really an accurate summation of your character. It would be like saying I am good at school. Sure, that’s true, but it’s not the whole picture. Maybe a year ago I would have agreed, I would have said you live your life as though it isn’t that important, but as the year goes on and September is approaching, I’m starting to think maybe that is more about how others view your life than how you feel about it. It’s funny how people’s opinions of you can be so different from how you view yourself, isn’t it.
It must have been hard having all that pressure on you right from the start. It’s like Dad had something to prove with you—you never would have been able to live up to his expectations, even if you’d wanted to. So I guess not wanting to was always going to be the better option. If you automatically lost at Dad’s game, you automatically won at Mum’s, just by being born and being you. She’s had real-life love-heart eyes for you for as long as I can remember, and I get that, I do. I think Ollie and I have the Rudy love-heart eyes too, the big brother variety.
You probably think I’m completely nuts from all the things I’ve told you from the inside of my head in these letters, but some days I do get a break from it all, where I am not watching the clock or making lists or remembering nicknames. Break days come completely by accident—the more I think about them, the harder they are
to find. Usually one comes when the air is fresh and someone talks to me with a soft voice and I don’t have any assignments due. I used to get break days when we’d ride to Amy’s place and go jumping off the jetty with her. I haven’t had a break day at all this year, until today; I had my first proper shift at Robins. And it was nice.
Aggie was there when I arrived, jingling and singing and smiling. She’s happy like Ollie, all shiny and joyous and bright. She was listening to Tash Sultana through the shop speakers, which is something you’d never usually hear in Robins, and hanging up jewellery on the racks. The way our conversation went, it reminded me about how differently people can look at the same things. She has a pretty good handle on love, I think.
‘I’m putting it out there, I’d like a summer love this year,’ she announced, just like that. I asked if she meant a boyfriend and she shook her head.
‘Like a handsome, interesting man who will come into my life, teach me something new about myself, and then leave with a twinkle in his eye. I’m not up for anything serious, but I’d like that.’
I assured her she would find it, because it felt like she would. She asked if I had ‘a love’ and I told her I have a boyfriend called Mitch. Maybe it’s weird that I called him a boyfriend instead of my love. She asked me to tell her about him. I couldn’t think of much to say, so I said he’s searching.
‘That’s an interesting way of looking at it. What about you, are you searching too?’ she said.
‘I’m just trying to find my bearings. So much has changed in the past year and there’s so much more to come.’
‘Change is okay.’
‘Change is really hard for me. I like to know how things are going to go.’
