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 door 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.
I think Aggie might have given Dee that moment too, if her reaction was anything to go by. Dee was like an oversaturated version of herself. She was more Dee than I’ve seen her before. She talked so animatedly about travelling the world, like it was exactly what she needed to be doing, so I know she felt what I felt too. If music is Aggie’s thing, and travelling is Dee’s, I want to figure out what mine is, and I want to let Aggie know how she makes other people want to figure out their own things just by doing hers.
But it’s hard not to think about you, Rudy, when something like this happens, and what your thing might be, and how you were always an oversaturated version of yourself even without trying. So that’s what I’m thinking about tonight, and it’s making it hard to sleep. I’ll sign off anyway though, because I suppose I should try.
Goodnight.
Love, Erin