Dear Rudy,
I thought I had two more days, but it turns out today was the day. I hate the feeling of working towards a particular time or date and then suddenly having the thing happen ahead of schedule. It’s disorientating. It puts me in a spin. It was like the time Dad flew to New Zealand for that funeral. We got all ready to pick him up at 7 pm and just when we were about to leave for the airport, Mum checked the flight information and found out he’d landed early. He was already there, waiting for us, and we were an hour away. I hated that. That’s what Tom did today bringing it all up; he put me in a spin. To be fair, he was in more than a spin himself when he rocked up this afternoon, soaking wet from the rain like he’d run here all the way from Wellington Point. I didn’t actually get a chance to ask him if that’s what he did.
I’m trying to remember the first time I met Tom, like the first time he came over after school. It must have been when you were in year eight, because I know you were hanging out together a lot from really early on. He was quieter than Damo and Matt, but just as much of a charmer. What did Mum call him? Her adopted son, or something like that. I got the feeling she would have swapped him for me if she’d had the chance. He always cleared his plate and washed up after himself. I was barely functioning on any level then. I’m sure Mum will feel the same about Tom after today. He had himself so worked up over something so small, like Amy and her working late. Still, I haven’t worked up the courage to tell Mum why he came round. I will, but maybe I’ll wait a week or so. She has enough on.
The thing is, Rudy, as soon as I write it down, it’s done. This whole thing. And I’m not really ready to give it up. I want to hold onto the last little thing I have. I’m squeezing it so tight, like I’ll squeeze the life right out of it. But it doesn’t matter, because your life was gone before I started squeezing. Before I realised you were something I had needed to hold tight. So it’s out now and I guess I’ve got to face it.
Tom thought he had a bombshell on his hands. He couldn’t get it out and his voice was shaking. He was supposed to have been with you that night. He stopped returning your messages and calls, went for a Tinder hookup and never bothered to get back to you until it was too late. By the time he texted you back, you were gone. Tom is broken with it, the guilt of not showing up, the guilt of imagining you alone in that dark water. He is sure it wouldn’t have happened if he’d been with you, or if he’d just returned your calls. Just about everyone who knew you could feel that way about something though; I know I certainly have.
I like to think if I’d been there I would have been able to help somehow, to prevent the thing that has already happened that no one can prevent now no matter how hard they think about it. But there isn’t a universe that exists in which I would have been there with you. Not one.
Tom wanted forgiveness today I think; he wanted me to say ‘it’s okay.’ I didn’t say that. I didn’t say much. I don’t want him to nosedive his own life because of this one thing, but I don’t want him to go on living like normal after it either. I want him to learn. I want everyone to learn. I want them to care more. I want them to care for each other more. It was an electric shock, hearing him say the words, ‘I should have been there the night Rudy died.’ I can’t describe the noise that came out of my mouth when he said it, but it was somewhere between a scream and a hiccup. I can’t quite believe it even happened, but then I’ve spent too long not quite believing the things that happened actually happened, so I need to get my head out of my arse, don’t I. I can hear you saying those words to me, giving me that exact advice as though the reason for the advice hasn’t cancelled out any chance of you being around to give it to me.
I am tired and I don’t know if I did the right thing with Tom today. I should have done more. I’ll have to tell Mum and Dad. I don’t think they will react too badly, unless they’re in a space where they want someone to blame. Mum was obsessed with finding people to blame at the start. The boat owner, for leaving the keys in the boat, the water police, for taking so long to respond to the report of a stolen boat, your teachers, for letting you disengage. The list was long. If Tom had told us this last year, right after it happened, I could hear Mum telling Aunt Cath, ‘Rudy shouldn’t have been alone. His friend left him.’ She would have taken comfort in that.
I think it’s because deep down she feels as though she is the one to blame. She was giving you a hard time about your future and you lost your shit, threw a carrot at her face and left the house. That was the last time she saw you. She holds it against herself. Hell, she holds it against carrots and futures and kitchens. Dad won’t say a lot. He never does. I think this has to be my last letter, Rudy. There doesn’t seem like much point in going on.
I love you. I miss you.
Erin