Dear Rudy,
I’ve decided I’ve got six more days of writing you letters like this. It’s a new rule. That brings us right up to the day. One year on. Six days. That’s nothing. That’s less time than you spent doing your vow of silence in year seven to protest against the rise in tuckshop prices. You’ve always been an activist, haven’t you. I want to fill these six days with complete nonsense, I want to tell you about the dreams I’m having and the lunch I eat and the silly things Ollie comes out with. I want things to be normal. And I don’t mean normal as in ‘normal’, like, the thing I am not. I mean our normal. I want to watch serial-killer shows with you and argue over what really happened. I want you to tell me I’m being dramatic and I want Mum to tell us to stop arguing. I want to swap you my extra chop for your extra mashed potato. I miss our normal in a way I didn’t think would be possible.
School was as normal as could be expected today, although people are starting to act pretty weird around me again. Not as weird as they did last year when it all happened, but close enough to make me want to wag school for the rest of the month. Mrs Walsh said I could have extra time on the exam prep quiz, but she did it in such an exaggerated way it made me feel like she wanted to be seen as being considerate, rather than actually being it. Mr Sharp put his hand on my shoulder at the start of the day and made a big deal of telling me he was there to talk if I needed anything, and it was so over the top it sounded like he was offering me drugs. I considered testing how far he was willing to go with the offer, but I couldn’t think of anything I wanted to ask for. I should have tried asking him for money. I wish I’d thought of that at the time.
Dee is treating me like I’m made of glass. She is doing her best, and she is doing enough. I just wish things were different and she didn’t feel like she had to do that. She is shielding me from the pointier parts of Pointy Kathy, though, and that’s about the only part of this I’m enjoying. Pointy Kathy made a comment about my hair today, I guess because it’s long and flat and not really something I style or do anything with, and Dee looked her straight in the eyes and said, ‘Fuck off, Kathy. You don’t always have to be such a raging bitch, you know.’ I can’t imagine having the guts to say that to Pointy Kathy, but Dee is made of stronger stuff, I suppose. She was incredible.
Anyway, I feel like closing my eyes now and giving my brain a rest. I will try to write to you again tomorrow.
Love, Erin