Dear Rudy,
I don’t feel much like writing to you today. That’s probably not something I should put in my letter, but it’s the truth. These letters make me feel my feelings; they make me rip them open and poke around and ponder how I got one specific form of trauma or another in a way that I don’t always like.
I’m tired. I’m tired of school and the constant pressure of results, as though every minute not spent studying for final exams is a minute wasted, as though high school is the time for hard work and adulthood is the time for fun and not the other way around. I’m tired of being awake. I’d like to sleep in one of those flotation pods for a week. I’ve never done one and I don’t know which way they would go for me, complete bliss or total nightmare, but I like the idea of them. I feel like disconnecting, like zoning out. I think it’s a rest for my brain, but Dr Lim thinks it’s this big terrible thing and she starts scheduling lots of visits when I talk too much about it. Have you ever felt like that? It’s strange all the things I’ve discovered I want to ask you now that you’re not living in the bedroom next to mine.
Like, have you ever eaten sushi? I thought I wouldn’t like it because it is made of seaweed and seaweed is something I didn’t think I would want to eat, so I never tried it. For years I have lived my life thinking I hated sushi without even trying it. And then Aggie brought some into the shop today for us to share and I tried it and I loved it. I love sushi so much; it’s delicious. I tried raw salmon and snapper and one made with just avocado. She said her dad caught the snapper yesterday; you don’t get much fresher than that. You dip it in soy sauce, which comes in these cute containers shaped like little fish, and you add pickled ginger, which I love, and the whole thing is just a nice little ritual of preparing and eating perfectly bite-sized little portions. You can make it yourself at home like Aggie did, or you can go to a restaurant where little plates of sushi travel around on a miniature train and you just pick off the ones you want to eat. How cool is that? I think sushi is my new favourite food. You’d love it Rudy, you really would.
Tom came into the shop today. He said he needed a present for his mum, but then he left without buying anything so I guess he didn’t find what he was after. He seemed nervous; his energy was jumpy and I had to stop myself from asking him if he was all right too many times. People who are not all right don’t like to be asked if they are all right, or so I’ve picked up. He said he was all right. He said he wanted to talk to me, and then he talked about his work and his family and his girlfriend and the weather, so I guess he got to talk to me like he wanted. Aggie said, ‘There is something up with that guy,’ and when I told her he was your friend she just said, ‘Hmmm.’
I think I’ve maybe only told you about the parts of Aggie that have helped me, because she’s helping me so much. I don’t mean to do that though, I don’t mean to make her sound like she’s a fairy godmother or anything like that. So here are some other things about Aggie I learnt today that I’d like you to know.
She has two sisters—an older sister called Mary and a younger sister called Kirra. All of them are good singers, she says, and they used to perform together at festivals and shows. Mary has a baby now, so she doesn’t sing much except nursery rhymes and lullabies. Aggie says her niece Ava is a lucky girl. Kirra is in her first year of high school so she cares more about boys and parties than singing with her sister, Aggie says. Mary moved out with her husband two years ago, so Aggie and Kirra use her room to get ready in, and Mary still stays there when she comes to visit. I think I’d like a sister the way Aggie tells it. A sister is like a best friend who will never ditch you because you’re quiet or you say the wrong thing.
Aggie used to busk a lot when she first started singing on her own, and she said she made more money doing that than at some of the gigs she has booked. I know I always try to give buskers some coins if I have any, because I think it’s so brave to stand in the middle of the street and make sounds you hope other people will enjoy.
Aggie’s trying to book more shows and maybe even go on tour. I’ve heard her singing around the shop, but I’d really like to see her perform. Her voice is like wind chimes, soft and familiar and blowing in the breeze. She has a lot of friends. There are always people dropping in to say hi. I can see why people want to be around her. She’s like the sun drawing people to the beach on a spring morning. She is really proud to be a Quandamooka woman and she is doing what she can to keep her culture alive and thriving.
Maybe I’ve picked the wrong things to tell you; maybe I should talk about what her parents are like or how she wants to drop out of uni, I don’t know. What makes something an important part of someone anyway? Shouldn’t that be their decision and not mine? I wish you could meet Aggie and decide for yourself which things are worth telling other people about her, and which are worth keeping for yourself. I’m not worried about you taking her anymore, she feels like she is my friend for real now.
Dee says I talk about Aggie like she’s perfect, and I don’t mean to do that. She’s just really good at being who she is, and she doesn’t seem to wonder about that at all. I wonder all the time. I wonder if I like the things I like, or dislike the things I dislike. I wonder if I have attributes that others would tell people about me, or if I’m so busy trying not to be embarrassed or have an outburst that I just soak up everyone else’s attributes hoping they will work for me. I don’t have any idea what people see when they see me, I guess because I don’t know what I see when I see myself. Does any of this make sense, Rudy? It’d be really good if we could talk about this in person, you know.
Love, Erin