Letters from the Inside (15 page)

So, there it is. I’ve always tried to be honest with you and so I swear that this is a true and honest account of our conversation, for better or for worse.

Mandy

November 29

I didn’t send that stuff from Saturday yet, ’cos I figured there’d be a letter from you about now, and there it was today.

Look, I’m sorry about saying Garrett sounded interesting. Did I really say that? That wasn’t one of my best efforts. And I’d like to lend you Adam for a while but they might confiscate him — I guess he’s a perishable, like a food item. Good enough to eat. But I will send you a Chrissie pressie.

The mighty Mum’s Army softball team’s back in action, with a few new members. We had training this afternoon. Sheez, what a squad. We’ve got this new pitcher, Louisa, when she walks on the field it tilts in her direction. Awesome. Only trouble is she pitches ten balls for every strike. We’ve entered D Grade this season — that’s the lowest — but I don’t think we’ll rewrite any record books.

The only other big news is that Rebecca’s leaving. She lives with her mum, and her mum’s a primary teacher, and she’s been transferred to Salter’s Wall. They’re leaving after Christmas. Funny, I think I’ll miss Rebecca. As a friend, she’s like Louisa as a pitcher, ten balls for every strike. Still, she’s been around so long now. Ml be strange without her.

I gotta go. Thanks for your letter. Parts of it were quite stunning actually. I’m nervous about how you’ll react to the stuff with my parents, but I’m determined to send it.

Lots of love,

           
Mandy

Dec 3

Dear Mandy,

God I get sick of starting every letter the same way. So boring. But I’m in such a bad mood. Or maybe good and bad. I’m sick, got a middle ear infection and general flu and stuff. Got put in Med Unit yesterday, am still here, and writing this sitting in bed. So I feel lousy. But you do get looked after better here, especially times like now, when they’re not busy. Matron says I’m run down, gotta look after myself. She hasn’t told me how though. I went on sick parade Saturday, with a sore ear and they poked around in it and said it was OK. Then when I woke up Sunday morning there was blood all over my pillow. It gave me a hell of a shock. And I felt generally crook. So that’s how I ended up in here.

The good news is that the food’s better, you get to watch a lot of TV, and some of the staff are half-way human.

Thanks for your letter. You know, you’re the most reliable person I’ve ever met. Not that I’ve met you. I don’t mind about your telling your parents — they sound cool. That’s amazing about your father. Remember ages ago I was telling you how Roy Lugarno, out of Dust and Ashes, had been in Ruxton? Seems like people do survive. There is life after death.

You see Manna I don’t think I’ll survive this place, either this place or Macquarie. I try to imagine myself walking out free, in the open air, but even though I think I’ve got a good imagination there’s no picture when I press that particular button. I think I’ll the in here, I often think that.

Oh well, better not rave on. Sorry this is a short letter, by our standards anyway, but I do feel shitty. I don’t know whether I want to get out of Med Unit or not. I don’t think I do. Hope A Block’s holding together without me. Anita’ll be happy anyway. Matter of fact I imagine most people will be.

See you.

     From your sickening mate,

                         
Trace

Dec 6

Dear Manna,

That was pretty nice of you. I got the biggest shock. That’s the first phone message I’ve had in Garrett, not counting the one Mrs Neumann may or may not have had. How’d you find the number? I think it’s right at the front under Government Departments. Everyone says that people outside can never find it.

There’s a lot of rules about phone messages that I didn’t bother to tell you, because I didn’t think you’d be needing to know. It’s meant to be only your parents, and only messages of information, like ‘We can’t come this weekend.’ For birthdays they sometimes bend the rules. But I suppose because I’m sick they let this one through. Also because it was Miss Gruber (the hack you spoke to), and she’s nicer than most of them. I asked her what you sounded like and that surprised her, ’cos I haven’t been talking to hacks much. But she said you sounded nice and that you were worried and everything. I mean, I’m not dying; in fact I’m much better.

But thanks, OK?

I’m still in Med Unit, as you’ve probably figured out. If I’d been the bitch I usually am they’d have sent me back by now, but I’m being a try-hard at the moment, helping make beds and wash dishes and sort linen. Sunshine’s my middle name. So they love me here and they’ll probably adopt me and keep me forever.

Actually I’m still feeling lousy. I hate being sick, it’s so depressing.

I just read your message again, and you know Manna, I fucking love you. Not like a lemon or anything. I just do.

Hey your softball team sound like they need a bit of confidence. You gotta start the season thinking Grand Final. I’m not just spinning on here: in my past life, before I came back as a slag, I won a few things. High-jumping, mostly. I cleared 1.53 when I was 13. If the walls in this place were a fraction lower I’d flop right over them. The broken glass would be a worry though.

OK, end of transmission. Sayonara,

Trace

December 6

Dear Tracey,

Well, just spent half an hour fighting my way through the Garrett telephone system. It’s worse than ringing Mum at work. In fact it was unbelievable. Anyway, I finally got through to a lady who sounded OK (sorry if she’s the biggest bitch in the place) and she said she’d bend the rules and make sure you got the message. We had a good goss actually. She kept saying how she wasn’t allowed to discuss ‘the girls’ then she’d spend five minutes talking about you. I hope she doesn’t get into trouble.

She said you’d been ‘very difficult’, but you were ‘much nicer lately’. Sounds like you’re the big improver Trace. Way to go.

Anyway, hope you’re over the flu. I hate being sick — I become a vegetable when I am — want to crawl under the bed and stay there till I get better. Like my dog. When I was 11 I had rubella so badly, then the day before I was due to go back to school I said to Mum: ‘What are these little red spots on me, Mum?’ It was chickenpox. This year the worst thing’s been period pains — I’ve had some tough days.

I’d like to get glandular fever, like Rebecca. It seems like such a slack disease. You lie around doing nothing, all day every day.

Tomorrow’s when Steve and Adam finish their school careers. Historic moment. I’m happy for Adam ’cos he’s escaping at last (he’s been hanging out for it for so long); jealous, ’cos it’s him, not me; scared, about what’ll happen to our relationship; and sad, ’cos I know I won’t see as much of him next year. As for Steve, I don’t have any feelings. I honestly can’t see how he could possibly get much. And no employer would want him — they can breed their own rats. So if he doesn’t get into a course and he can’t get a job, what’s going to happen? He’s going to hang around here all day, that’s what. Think I might tunnel into Garrett and share a room with you.

He even said the other day that he might repeat Year 12, but Mum and Dad jumped on that fast.

He’s so pathetic. You almost feel sorry for him. There’s heaps of parties on this weekend — you can imagine — and he sits around talking about what a rage it’s going to be, and how he’s going to get wasted, but I know he hasn’t got an invitation to any of them, except an official one that everyone’s invited to.

We had softball training again tonight. I often seem to write to you on Thursdays. In fact I hardly plan to do homework on Thursdays, I’m so busy writing these letters. Anyway training went better. For me it sure did — I hit the sweetest shot I’ve ever hit — it went a kilometre beyond second base. It felt magic. But what worries me is, if I do that against Louisa (she’s our new pitcher), what could a good batter do? For example, the batters in all the teams we play against this season.

Wonder if it’s too late to switch to ten-pin bowling?

Listen, if you could spend a perfect day, how would you spend it? Cheryl asked me that. I think for me it’d be to sit on top of this mountain we did a school hike to last year, and read books and eat chocolate all day, with no interruptions. Mt Cobbler it was. No matter what direction you looked, you couldn’t see any evidence of humans, except one huge area that the loggers had bulldozed so they could fish out their logs. It made me sick to see it, when everything else was so beautiful. I’ve been a lot more careful with timber and paper since then. Maybe we should write shorter letters. Maybe I better finish this one before going on to a new page.

Take lots of care Trace,

                 Your mate,

                         
Mandy

Dec 10

Dear Mandy,

Well, I’m out of Med Unit, back to normal life. Normal? Ha! Life? Ha! Didn’t go to any classes or anything today, couldn’t be bothered. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to so I did nothing. No, that’s not true, I did do something. I smoked — half a packet. Doesn’t leave much for the rest of the week.

You know how in movies everyone breaks out of these places? I honestly don’t see how they could. Hacks are up above, watching all the time. Tunnels aren’t the go — don’t want to wreck my fingernails. The only way I can think of is to smash a window, grab some glass, hold it to a hack’s throat and invite her to lead me to the front gate. I’d do it too. Hello to any hacks reading this.