by Kay Kerr
In the full-length mirror I saw the extent of the damage, and I thought about how upset Mum would be, and all of the work that went into tonight, and I locked myself in a cubicle to breathe. I don’t know how much time passed, but Dee and Jessica Rabbit found me in the end, and said it was time to go.
‘What a douche nozzle,’ Jessica Rabbit said when she heard how Mitch had been acting all night, and that at least made me laugh. She hugged me, which I hated, but I liked that she was doing something she thought would cheer me up. The bathroom was maybe my favourite part of the night, that or the dancing.
I finally came out and found Mitch and then something I could not believe came out of my mouth: ‘Don’t come to the afterparty,’ I said. I told him I didn’t want him there because I wanted to enjoy what was left of my night.
His face wrinkled, and then smoothed out in a split second. He bailed without another word.
It wasn’t an outburst, because I didn’t feel bad about it, and my stomach and my mind were clear, but the truth did come out in a way I couldn’t control. Maybe it was a positive outburst, if there is such a thing. Maybe I am learning to control my brain a bit better. Maybe the letters are working, Rudy. If my outbursts are about myself and making a choice I need to make, I wouldn’t dread them so much.
‘I’m proud of you, Brain. He’s turned out to be a real loser,’ Dee said. And when I saw Mitch getting into a taxi as we got onto the bus back to school, I was happy he was gone. I hope that’s it, that that’s our breakup and I don’t have to talk to him again.
The afterparty was walking distance from the school, but I didn’t stay that long, because I was exhausted in all of my senses. I’m sure your formal afterparty was just the same. People got drunk, people made out, someone threw up, the police were called, we all went home. I haven’t drunk since around this time last year, so I didn’t really partake in any of the stuff that comes with it.
I usually would drink more than I should, I guess because I’ve learnt that I only have two settings when it comes to alcohol—nothing or blackout drunk. When I drink I drink quickly and to get as drunk as possible. The first sip of vodka is liquid courage. It makes me feel like a fun person who knows how to make small talk. I guess my mind decides that if a little bit gives me a little courage, then a lot would give me a lot of courage, right? But really, even though drinking eases my social anxiety in the moment, it makes my outbursts worse.
The next day, or days, depending on how silly I’ve acted, are spent in a bad place, a pit of self-loathing so deep I often felt the need to try to acclimatise, believing my life is to be lived at that low level, in the bottom of the pit for the rest of my days. I am a pit girl and at best I’ll have some scraps of food thrown down by pitying passers-by every other day. Sure it is dank, but who needs sunlight anyway? I don’t even have to do something actually embarrassing like vomit or fall over. I feel embarrassed about talking too much, or having stronger opinions than I normally would. I feel embarrassed for not being myself, and for thinking it’s fun. I feel embarrassed for dancing, or laughing too loud, or talking to someone I wouldn’t normally talk to. All of that embarrassment is exhausting, by the way. It occupies all the space in my mind and I feel weighed-down and lethargic.
I poured ginger beer into a plastic cup and pretended it was mixed with vodka. Freckle Ben took a sip and declared it was ‘dynamite’, but maybe he was too drunk to realise there was nothing in it. Or maybe he was just trying to be liked. People do weird things when they are trying to be liked, me especially.
The thing with Mitch put me in a funny mood too. Sad doesn’t seem quite right. I was on alert. I know he will be angry and harsh the next time we talk, but also I don’t care. Dee thought I was upset, so she was extra nice to me for the whole party, and I was upset, but not for the reasons she thought. I was upset I had chosen the kind of partner who would get so drunk before my ‘big night’, upset I had taken someone to the school formal who wouldn’t even dance with me, and upset at how weak I have been in staying with him just because I didn’t want the confrontation of a breakup.
So that’s it, Rudy. That was formal. I can’t say I’ve had a breakthrough, but tonight felt like a mini breakthrough—let’s call it a rehearsal breakthrough, and I know what I have to do next. I have to make sure the breakup is real and I have to write the letter I need to write. The real letter. I just really don’t want to do it. I guess I’ve given you a play-by-play because I wanted so badly for you to be here. Even if you came back tomorrow you’d still have missed a big milestone for me, my formal, and that’s never going to be okay.
Love, Erin
9 September
Dear Rudy,
Yeah, that last letter was pretty angry. Funnily enough, I’m not sorry. Why should I be sorry for my anger? It has just as much right to exist as my more palatable emotions. I don’t care if you don’t agree. Sometimes there is strength in quietness, and sometimes I need to be loud.
Did Mum visit you today? She was dressed like that might be something she was going to do. She didn’t say anything, but I don’t think she’d mention it to me if she was. She doesn’t want Ollie and me to go, and I’m not sure if that’s because she’s protecting us or because she likes to go alone. The only way I know she visits is because I can hear her talking to Dad from my bedroom at night if the TV isn’t on. The TV is usually on.
So I’ve been thinking, Rudy, it’s pretty weird that I don’t know if you’ve ever had a relationship. That seems like something a sibling should know. I know you had girls in your life, because I bumped into a few of them on midnight bathroom visits, but you never brought anyone home in daylight hours. I have wondered if that was a reflection on our family, or on me, and I’ve wondered if it says something about you that I couldn’t quite figure out. You were never exactly one to volunteer any dating insight and I never asked. If you were here right now I’d ask you about breaking up with someone.
That’s because I learned today that breaking up with someone is not something I’m very good at. I’m so bad at it, in fact, that Mitch didn’t even realise I was breaking up with him, so it seems we’re still together. I tried, but somehow I didn’t get the result I wanted. It was like I had called up the phone company to cancel my plan and the person on the other end had convinced me to sign on for another twelve months instead. I invited Mitch to come for a walk with me to the point, because I thought that was a good place to get some privacy. I didn’t want to go to a restaurant, because then if I got the breakup done and the food was still on its way or we hadn’t finished eating, it would be horribly awkward and no fun for either of us.
We sat on the pier for a few minutes, looking out over the water to Stradbroke Island. Minjerribah. It looks like it’s right there but it’s actually pretty far away.
I started out with the whole ‘we need to talk’ line, which I think is pretty classic. I clasped my hands and looked at his nose because it was as close I could come to looking at his eyes. He nodded his head and didn’t say anything. I told him I’d liked having him as a boyfriend and that he is a good person. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I want to believe it, so I said it to try it out. I wasn’t getting much of a response, so I said that our relationship wasn’t good for me. That seemed to get his attention, because he asked if I was dumping him. I wouldn’t have used that word, but I agreed that was the basic gist of things. He wasn’t having it. He said, ‘Relationships aren’t always easy. Sometimes they are hard work and that doesn’t mean they aren’t working. It just means they need work.’ I don’t think he was necessarily wrong about that, but he was missing my point.
I tried to tell him I didn’t think there is any work that would make it right. It went back and forth like things tend to do for us, like this:
Mitch: ‘We haven’t even tried, so how could you know?’
Me: ‘I think I just know it, in my gut.’
Mitch: ‘Is it because of formal? Because I ripped your dress? It was an accident and
you know I feel bad about it.’
Me: ‘It isn’t because of that, but it’s not not because of that either.’
Mitch: ‘That doesn’t make sense.’
Me: ‘It makes sense to me.’
Mitch: ‘I’ve always looked out for you, Erin, I’ve accepted you even when you’ve yelled at me for ridiculous things like chewing too loud or clipping my nails.’
Me: ‘I know you have and I’m thankful for that.’
Mitch: ‘Are you sure this isn’t one of those things you are feeling because of how your mind works?’
Me: ‘I’m pretty sure.’
Mitch: ‘How do you know though, you’re always changing your mind.’
Me: ‘I don’t know. I have a strong feeling.’
I could go on and on—the conversation sure did, but basically he didn’t believe I could be sure about it, and then he even accused me of wanting to be single for Schoolies so I could sleep around. Ha! I wanted to laugh at that, but I could tell by the look on his face that laughing would not have gone down well. He said we’ve both been stressed, and that he’d decided we should take some time to reassess. He said we’d talk again when I was feeling calmer. I was feeling very calm.
And then I remembered where we were sitting, and I looked down at the shallow water and my truth dissolved somewhere among the rocks. Why did I take Mitch to this spot to break up with him? It was self-destructive of me to put myself right there at the place where it had happened.
When we got home Mitch hugged me and said he would call me soon. I wanted to yell after him ‘you’re dumped’ but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do.
I’ve been having a quiet day since then. I listened to some Neil Young and I’ve been reading Persuasion again. It’s my comfort blanket. I can curl up inside Anne’s mind and enjoy her thoughts as a break from my own. I can live through her turmoil from the comfort of my bed. She is fallible and beautiful and I love her love story with Wentworth. Persuasion is my favourite Austen without question.
I probably read for four hours straight. Mum popped her head around the door in that way she does that she thinks is light and casual but really she’s worried about how long I’ve been in there on my own. She offered me food and tea and everything else she could think of, but I said I was fine. She brought me tea anyway and I drank it. I’m not ready to tell her about the breakup that wasn’t quite a breakup just yet.
Sometimes I forget that other people have been through things that are similar, maybe even exactly the same, as what’s happening to me. I’m sure someone has had a shit boyfriend and has needed to break up with him but has put it off because they’re afraid of losing someone who has become part of the furniture of their life. I’m sure someone has been afraid of their best friend leaving the country and losing another person who knows them well. I’m sure someone has even felt all of those things while reading Persuasion and listening to Neil Young and drinking tea. Well, maybe.
The thing I hate most about this brain of mine is how alone it makes me feel. Maybe I should join a club or a chat room or a social group of people like me, but I don’t think people like me would want to meet socially —it’s kind of against our nature. We’d all get in a room and not make eye contact or talk to each other, or we wouldn’t go and we’d get really stressed about skipping it. (That was a joke, I don’t really know anyone else like me so I have no idea what they’d be like.) And maybe every seventeen-year-old feels like this, or every girl feels like this, or every person in Cleveland, or every single person regardless of their age, gender, location or brain wiring. Maybe I’m chalking up every bad thing about me to the way my brain works, as if the control group I’m comparing myself to has no problems whatsoever. I know that’s not true, because I know Dee has problems and Aggie has problems and Mitch certainly does. Mum and Dad have problems, some together and some of their own, and of course you’ve got yours too. I just don’t really know how to talk to anyone about theirs or mine, or how we might be alike. And I don’t like sharing my problems because I only want to talk about them when I’m feeling up to it, and once I tell other people I can’t control when they’ll bring them up again.
I wish I’d talked to you more about how it feels being on the spectrum, and how alone it makes me feel sometimes. I’m sure you would have had some good things to say. You’ve always worn the things that make you different like a badge of honour, like they’re the things that have shaped you and made you the person you are. I’d like to wear mine like that, I think. Or at least acknowledge them a little more to the people I care about.
I’m exhausted and rambling. This letter definitely isn’t my best. It’s not even in the top ten. At least I’m not screaming at you in all caps, though, right?
Love you, bro.
Erin
10 September
Dear Rudy,
Do you think I’m good? I mean as a person. I think you’re good, mostly. No, entirely. I mean, you’ve made some questionable choices, haven’t you. Like that time you shaved your whole head except for the fringe at the front. But that was a joke. The questionable things you’ve done, I would say, are more to do with how you’ve treated Mum and Dad. I don’t say that to make you feel bad, by the way. I’m starting to understand I don’t control the way anyone else feels any more than they control me. But I mean, Mum and Dad put up with a lot from you, didn’t they. In a lot of different ways. There was the regular run-of-the-mill mischief: toilet-papering houses and staying out too late and getting drunk and stealing their alcohol. But there was the other stuff too. The stuff we don’t talk about.
But I want to talk about it. It was drugs, wasn’t it. That’s the thing no one wants to mention. The people calling around to our house late at night to ‘visit’ you, then leaving after ten minutes, like that wasn’t a completely strange thing to do. I don’t know if you were dealing or just sharing what you had with your friends. Is there a difference? I’m not sure. But it wasn’t good. And it’s how you ended up where you are. I wonder if you’ve reflected on that.
Goodness doesn’t get the credit it deserves. I’ve been thinking about this all afternoon. People are rewarded for being confident and loud and funny and smart and independent and persistent, but not really that much for being good. I was telling Aggie at work today about the time Mum and Dad took in Dana to stay with us. I hated it because I got headlice and she talked too much. You gave up your room without even complaining, but I complained all the time, about having to share the TV and about how she didn’t even know you had to brush your teeth twice a day. I wasn’t rude to her, but I could have been nicer. I told Aggie about how Mum cried when Dana left, and how Dad just kept saying, ‘We tried.’ Aggie said, ‘Your parents are good people, which makes sense.’ That’s all she said about it.
And they are, I suppose. I’ve never given much thought to it. I guess I had been rewarding people for being confident and loud and funny and smart and independent and persistent, but not really that much for being good. I don’t want to do that anymore. I’m grateful our parents are good people. I’ve never considered what our lives would be like if they weren’t. If they yelled and swore and hit us like Dana’s mum, or went to jail like her dad. It seems so outrageous to me that people can treat their kids like that, but it’s only because I’m looking out from my comfortable life, isn’t it. To Dana that might have been normal. I wonder what she thought when she saw our lives. Maybe she thought we were spoiled or rich or something. Or maybe just lucky.
Mitch hasn’t called since we went to the point, but I don’t mind. I’m still trying to figure out how to break up with him without using the word ‘dumped’ because that reminds me of rubbish and also of poo.
I saw Aggie sing tonight. I should have told you that first because it’s the most exciting thing that’s happened! For all the times you tried to drag me along to see the bands you liked, it just took me finding someone I actually wanted to hear. Dee came with me because it was at a bar in town, and the doo
r lady is a friend of Aggie’s so we didn’t have to show ID, she just said we couldn’t have anything to drink. I didn’t want to have anything to drink anyway, because then I wouldn’t remember everything and I wanted to remember everything. So pretty much the exact opposite of the state you liked to be in to watch bands. We caught the train and Dee had some vodka and cordial in a soft-drink bottle, but I just bought a coffee.
The bar was dark and the floor was sticky. There were illuminated signs on all of the walls, and there was a tiny stage at the back. The girl behind the bar was very pretty, and she looked angry, but she smiled whenever someone handed her money so I guess she knew what she was doing. I didn’t see Aggie until she walked onto the stage and picked up her guitar. She was shining all over, from her pointed silver boots to her eyelids and her cheeks.
Have you ever seen someone doing something, and you just know that is the thing they should always be doing? Like when David Attenborough went to Africa and made a documentary and it showed a pride of lionesses hunting a buck. David Attenborough should always be making documentaries about animals, and lionesses should always be hunting together. His voice is perfect for talking about wildlife, and the way the animals’ bodies moved and their eyes were relaxed and zeroed in on their prey. Lionesses are made to hunt, it’s in their design and their blood, like documentary-making is in David Attenborough’s. And singing and playing the guitar is in Aggie’s. That’s what it felt like watching her tonight.
She moved with the music, and she wasn’t thinking about what her face looked like because she made some faces that weren’t pretty, but they were strong and that was what mattered. In some parts her voice broke, and in others it shook. It wasn’t perfect—it was better than that. She was alive and she was real. When she gave me a little wave between songs some people turned around to see who she was waving at and I felt like it was me on that stage for a second. Of course, I wouldn’t want to be on stage, but you know what I mean. At least, I hope you do, Rudy. I hope you’ve had at least one moment in your life where you’ve seen someone do exactly what they should be doing, or even better, maybe you’ve felt like you’re doing exactly what you should be doing, if only for a minute or two.
