Letters From the Inside

by John Marsden

  Love (I think),

  Mandy

  POSTCARD

  June 29

  I’m not giving up. One week of term left — I’ll haunt you these holidays. Just tell me the truth, please.

  M.

  July 3

  Stop hassling me. Leave me alone. Can’t you take a hint? And don’t send any more postcards. People here read them.

  July 6

  Tracey, what do you mean ‘people here read them’? Where are you for Christ’s sake? For that matter, who are you?

  School finished today, but I’ll be here all holidays. Just me and Stevie Wonder. I’ve got enough to be scared about, without you sending weird messages. That ‘people here read them’ freaked me right out.

  Are you in trouble? If we’re friends, then we can tell each other anything, can’t we?

  Anyway, I need to keep writing to you. Our letters have been good for me. They help keep me going.

  Please write.

  Love, Mandy

  July 13

  Dear Trace,

  It’s a week since my last letter and still no answer. At first I thought I’d start sending you postcards with strange messages, to force you to write. But I read all your letters again today, and I’ve decided that I’ve got to keep trusting you, no matter what.

  I’ve got to trust someone. George Vlahovic dumped me at the beginning of the holidays, after an interesting few weeks; Cheryl’s gone to Red Point with her family for a fortnight; Rebecca keeps secrets like Henry VIII kept wives (see, I’ve learnt some History this year); Katrina’s never home, Maria’s working in her parents’ shop. . . it doesn’t leave much. I’ve tried to talk to Mum and Dad again, not just about Steve, about everything. Well it was Mum I tried to talk to mainly. And she tried, she really did, but she was tired and the things she said weren’t much help. I told her about George for example, and she was saying, ‘Well you’re too young for a serious relationship,’ and ‘I know it seems like the end of the world at your age, but you do get over it.’

  Hell, maybe she’s right.

  You know even writing that paragraph has made me feel better! I’d like to get this going again.

  Love,

  Mandy

  July 18

  Mandy, I’m sorry I’ve let you down but there’s nothing I can do about it. You wouldn’t understand — and you wouldn’t want to know, believe me. Let’s forget the whole thing, OK?

  Tracey

  July 20

  Come on Trace, give me a bit of credit. You know, looking back, I trusted you from the start and I don’t think you ever trusted me at all. Try me now — you might be surprised.

  M.

  July 30

  Dear Trace,

  Well no-one can say I don’t try. I’ve thought of five thousand reasons why all this might have happened but I don’t have a clue.

  Third term’s started. There’s so much work. Trouble is, all the students want to be slack, because they know they’ve got to work hard next year, but all the teachers want us to start now.

  What school do you go to? You could be at Prescott High under another name I suppose, but somehow I don’t think so.

  What mark did you get for the essay about your grandmother? That part was real, wasn’t it? I can tell. Hope you got a big juicy A.

  In your last real letter you asked what my parents do. Well, my mother’s a reference librarian at the State Library and my father’s a wardsman at St Francis’ Hospital, which is only about one k away from here.

  And you asked whether I like country music. Well I don’t much, although a couple of them are OK.

  Hope you’re OK but I’m not too sure that you are. Something tells me you’re in bad shape. I care a lot about what happens to you. So, take care.

  Love,

  Mandy

  August 1

  Mandy,

  OK wise guy, you asked for it, you want to keep snooping around my life I’ll tell you the truth but you’re not going to like it. You heard of Garrett? Well if you haven’t I’ll tell you. It’s a maximum security place, where they put you if you’re bad, and if you’re worse than bad they put you in A Block, and that’s where I am and that’s where I’ve been for eleven months and that’s where they’re going to try to keep me for a long time yet, but not if I have any say they won’t. So now fuck off and get out of my life.

  Aug 10

  Well, that sure worked didn’t it? Thought it would. Now you know why I never told you in the first place. So thanks for proving me right.

  August 15

  Tracey, that’s not fair. I’ve started about ten letters since you finally wrote, but I couldn’t finish any. None of them seemed right. I don’t know if this’ll finish in the rubbish tin like the others. I don’t have a clue what to say. Your letter blew me away. I admit that. But at least now I can guess why you put the ad in, and I can see why you didn’t tell the truth about where you were.

  I looked up Garrett in a telephone directory and a street directory and I’ve been trying to find out a bit about it. But it’s not easy.

  I honestly don’t know what to write. I think all I can do is send this off and hope you’ll answer. And I really hope you do.

  See you,

  Mandy

  Aug 19

  I don’t know what to write either. I only put the ad in as a joke, one day when I was sitting round with nothing to do (like every day). I never meant it to end up like this.

  Keep writing if you want. But don’t expect much back. I wouldn’t know what to say.

  Tracey

  August 24

  Dear Tracey,

  Thanks for writing back. I’m still in a state of shock, I admit, but something makes me keep writing. I’m curious about you of course — don’t be offended — it’s just that I thought I was getting to know you and now I find I don’t know you at all. And I do feel ripped-off, because there I was pouring my heart out to you, and now I wonder if you’ve been laughing at me and showing my letters to your mates so they could all share the joke.

  I don’t think you would, mind you, because I still think I know you a bit, but it’s a matter of trust I guess.

  So what’s the true story?

  I thought I’d bring you up to date with what’s happening in my life, but it’s harder now. It seems so insignificant compared to the kind of life you must have. And it’s so long since I wrote you a ‘proper’ letter, I can’t remember what I told you. I think I was still with George then. That does seem a long time ago. Anyway, he dropped me a while back, no special reason, we’re still good mates, blah blah blah.

  So, what can I write that’s going to interest you? I don’t know any more. I’ve got the same problem as you — I don’t know what to say either.

  I hope you write again but.

  Mandy

  Aug 28

  Dear Mandy,

  Don’t you understand? The reason I put the ad in? I wanted to know what a real life was like. I wanted to know what normal people do. That’s why I liked your letters. That’s what I want you to write about. I wanted you to write about your family and school and all that shit. I wanted you to be normal, the world’s most normal person. That’s why I hated hearing about your brother, because when you started talking about him, and the fights and everything, you were sounding like me or anyone else here. And I didn’t want that. Twenty-four hours a day is enough.

  So that’s all you have to write about. It’s easy for you.

  And I don’t show your letters to anyone, although I don’t blame you for wondering. And I don’t laugh at them. In my twelve months (nearly) yours (and the other ones from the ad) are the only letters I’ve had.

  You asked a while back about my Nanna essay. Well, seeing you asked, I’ll tell you: it got an A+ and the teacher said she was going to enter it in a competition. See, I can do some things. And not everything I told you was bullshit.

  Have you told Cheryl and them about me? About being in Garrett I mean?

&nbs
p; Tracey

  August 31

  Dear Tracey,

  Sheez, instead of not knowing what to say, this time I don’t know where to start.

  Congratulations about your essay. That’s great. I’m not surprised though, ’cos you do write well. Am I allowed to see it?

  But why do you keep saying you don’t know what to write about? Write about yourself. Write about Garrett. You think I’m not burning up to know more about you? Just what is true in what you told me before? Like I said, I think I can tell what’s fake and what isn’t, but in some parts it’s not easy. What’s true about your family for instance?

  As for my telling people, well, I told Cheryl that you didn’t go to Prescott High, and I couldn’t get you to answer my letters. That’s when she said you might be some psycho. But I haven’t told her you’re in Garrett. I was too freaked-out by it all. She keeps asking me, but I tell her I haven’t heard. I’ll have to say something eventually but at the moment I don’t seem to want to, I don’t know why.

  I haven’t told anyone else. I’m still hanging around with Cheryl, but not so much with Rebecca or Maria. I’m good mates with a girl called Naomi Barker, plus a new girl called Mai Huynh, from Vietnam. As you may have guessed, this is a bit of a multi-cultural school — 28 different languages or something, including heaps of Vietnamese, but Mai’s the only Vietnamese I’ve got to know well. She’s sweet, but she can be a bit of a suck.

  I suppose my family is sort of normal. I’d never thought of us that way. Except for Steve, but every family has to have one creep. There’s no zoo without a gorilla.

  Am I allowed to ask what you did to get put in Garrett?

  You know, a lot of things are making sense to me now. Why you wouldn’t send me a photo — guess you don’t have any. Why you didn’t ring me up, or send me your phone number. Are you allowed phone calls? Why you have a post-office box. Maybe even why you don’t believe in God.

  How come they don’t censor your letters?

  I can’t believe the way my innocent letter to you, back in February I think it was, has developed into this. Oh well, maybe it was meant to be. Anyway, it’d be good to get a long letter back this time.

  Love,

  Mandy

  Sep 4

  Dear Mandy,

  The one thing I did think when I got sent here was that I wouldn’t have to do schoolwork. And it’s true you don’t have to go to the classes. But there’s nothing else to do, so you go. And when you do, you get more work than at real school. (Not Prescott High, either. Jefferis High was the last, but there’ve been a few.) I don’t normally give a, so I don’t do much, but lately I’ve been trying a bit, for some stupid reason, and it’s too hard. I mean tonight I spent an hour and a half on one problem in Maths and got nowhere. Trouble is, there’s no-one to ask. And then tomorrow the stupid bat’ll tell me I should make an effort. ‘You’ve got brains, Tracey you should use them.’

  Well, suppose I better answer the questions in your letter. But the lights go out in half an hour, so don’t expect any ten-pager.

  You’re right about the photos — I don’t have any of me. This place is pretty strict. You know how you see on TV all these modern Qs with carpets and colour TV and pinnies? There may be some like that somewhere, but I’ve never seen one. Maybe I’m in the wrong state — this girl from Jennings reckons they’re OK there. When you get here you’re given a list of the rules, and what you can keep in your slot. Here it is, if you’re interested:

  H.M. DETENTION CENTRE

  GARRETT

  NOTICE

  Do not deface your cell or other Garrett property.

  No gambling will be permitted.

  You have been received into this centre either on remand or to serve a term of imprisonment.

  If you consider you have grounds for appeal you may ask to see a legal adviser.

  Articles and books required for educational purposes:

  A cell card listing such articles, and initialled by the Education Officer, must be kept in your cell. An exception is made for items issued by classroom tutors and containing an authorisation slip.

  F.R. Batchelor

  (Director of Prisons)

  Pretty exciting, hey?

  But they let you have some stuff that’s not on the list. Time’s running out. But before the lights go off, I want to say one thing: Don’t ask why I got put in here. Don’t try to find out. If you do, that’ll be the end of any friendship, for a good reason — you won’t want to have anything to do with me.

  You see? It’s never going to be much of a friendship, is it? Because I can’t be honest. If I don’t pretend and act and cover up you’ll realize how off I am. So either we have a friendship that’s half-fake, or I’m honest and we lose it. All that crap you see on posters, like ‘True friends are truthful friends’, it doesn’t work when you give it the acid test.

  Lights out — see ya

  Tracey

  September 10

  Dear Trace,

  Why do your letters take so long to get to me? Last time I asked, you gave me some fake excuse. Is it because they do censor them?

  I’m still spinning round and out. God, Trace, I don’t know what you did. I can’t imagine. It scares me, to tell you the truth. But I’ve got to stick tight to a few things — one of them being that I think you’re OK. All these months of letters, I know a lot of what you said wasn’t true, but you can’t hide yourself completely, and I think, reading between the lines, that you’re an OK person.

  Maybe you did do something really bad. I guess you must have. But I bet you wouldn’t do anything like that now. And there are all kinds of reasons why people do stuff. Maybe you were hanging round with the ‘wrong crowd’, as my mother calls them. (She means anyone with a tat or rad hair). The good old peer group pressure that we get warned about at assembly every second day. Maybe you were off your face, or worse. Doing drugs. I don’t know. This is foreign country to me.

  The counsellor at school told Steve he’d end up in Ruxton if he didn’t watch out.

  Sheez, this term’s been a long one. I suppose winter term always is. Netball’s been good — we won a few games. Finished second last, but still. It seemed like every weekend was raining — wet and cold and windy. I’ve been trying to teach Mai Huynh to play netball but fair dinkum, you’ve never seen anything like it. She’d rather let the ball bounce off her head than catch it. I don’t think girls play much sport in Vietnam. But she’s teaching me table tennis and she’s a star at that. So don’t ask me to explain it.

  That was true about your basketball team, wasn’t it? All that stuff you wrote?

  Went to the movies with Naomi (Barker) and Cheryl yesterday. Nay and I both wanted to see Waiting for You, but Cheryl talked us into going to David’s Diary. She sure likes to get her own way. But David’s Diary was good. It’s about this guy who’s rapt in this girl named Alex, and she’s got an identical twin named Sarah. And the two girls keep swapping on him, ’cos Alex doesn’t like him much anyway. And after a while Sarah decides she’s got the hots for him. Then Alex decides there must be more to him than she realized, so she gets interested too. But now he’s switched to Sarah. . . and so it goes on. It’s sort of a comedy, but a romance too.

  Do you get videos where you are? How much TV can you watch?

  Well, hear from you soon I hope.

  Love,

  Mandy

  Sep 12

  Dear Mandy,

  OK, big-nose, you want answers, let’s get them out of the way. I swear, you ought to be a welfare officer.

  1. They say they do ‘random censoring’ (spot checks) of letters in and out. We have to hand them in unsealed, and the ones we get have been opened. But the hacks (they’re the guards), the ones we talk to, say they don’t bother much, except to look for drugs. Round about Christmas they started reading everything, and there was a full-on riot. So they’re a bit nervous of doing it now.

  2. Of course all the basketball stuff was true. That’s
our big thrill here — if you suck up enough bums you get to play sport once a week (it’s really more like once a fortnight — if you’re lucky) with outside teams. No away games unfortunately, or they’d come back with an empty bus. There’s a gym here and teams from outside come in to play. They’re only adults — no kids our age allowed. Most of them are hacks and their friends and rellies, or Christians, people like that. But basketball’s the best, because that’s the only sport where we’re in a regular comp., with finals and everything. And they always play the finals in here, whether we’re in them or not, ’cos they say we’ve got the best gym. But maybe it’s ’cos they’re sorry for us.

  Trouble is, we might get kicked out of the comp. soon — they reckon we play too rough. But if they want to see rough they ought to come into the yard for five minutes. That’s rough. They expect us to be real thugs, so the moment we brush them with a fingernail they drop to the ground and cry. I gotta go to the next question. This is getting me mad, thinking about it.

  3. I haven’t got that essay about my Nanna at the moment. The teacher’s still got it. But when I get it back — oh I don’t know. I’d be embarrassed to have you read it.

  4. I guess the reason my letters take so long is that they’re slack here about sending them. We take them to breakfast and put them in a box. I don’t know what happens to them then.