Dear Rudy,
Wow, today was a good day. The kind of day where I only miss you in small ways. I finally got to redo my driving test, and there was no Cowgirl Glenda or confusing instructions or anything. I had a good feeling as soon as I got to the Transport Department with Mum, because my instructor was an old man named Paul, who had kind eyes and kind words. And he didn’t yell at me at all, not even once. He was skinny and tall like Dad, but with more wrinkles and less hair. Old Paul gave really good instructions and told me when to turn with plenty of time to change lanes.
We drove to the point for three-point turns and then around the giant roundabout. The plants in the middle were still looking a bit flat from where I had driven over them last month, but if Old Paul knew about that he didn’t say anything, and he told me to take the second exit, which meant going around the roundabout and continuing straight ahead. After that we went to the car park at the swimming pool and I did a parallel park and Old Paul said it was perfect. I kept my hands on the steering wheel at 10 and 2 like I was supposed to and stayed at the speed limit and when we got back to the Transport Department Old Paul said I’d passed. So I’ve got my licence. It feels better than owning a horse.
Mum was so excited she clapped and gave me a hug with her whole body. I had to have my photo taken for my licence, which I had forgotten about, and my hair was messy and my face was flushed, but I don’t care because I’ve got my licence and I can drive anywhere I like now. Mum said I could drive her car when she’s not using it, as long as I make sure to fill it up with petrol when the gauge gets down to half.
When we got home, Dad knew I’d passed before I’d even told him, I guess because he could see it on my face. Mum was busy making a chicken stir-fry for me because it’s my favourite. While Mum was cooking and Dad was sitting in the kitchen talking to her about work that needed to be done in the garden, Ollie and I had a really good game of Spiderman and Batman open a restaurant. We came up with silly names for the dishes they served, like Spider soup and Bat pie. Oliver told me I should get a Batmobile for my first car, and I told him maybe I would.
‘Remember when Rudy got his licence,’ Oliver asked, and everyone looked down at their plates. I don’t know if you ever knew how worried Mum and Dad had been, when you disappeared like that. You were gone for two days and I don’t think they slept for either of them. They left the outside light on at night, and when the next-door neighbour’s cat made a noise in the bush outside, Mum went out with a torch, looking for you. She saw the cat, and she knew it wasn’t you, but she kept looking anyway. Then you just walked into the kitchen like nothing had happened, and put on some toast.
I can still remember it, sometime around when your medication appeared in the cabinet, and you wouldn’t tell Mum and Dad where you had been, even when Dad yelled and Mum cried and they grounded you for a month. I knew you’d tell me. You always told me things. And when you recounted the adventures you’d had in the city with Amy and her friends it sounded like the most grown-up thing I’d ever heard. Eating at a 24-hour pancake place, watching the sun come up, climbing to the top of the Story Bridge to check out the view. I was in awe. I spent a lot of time being in awe of you. I kind of feel ripped-off about that, actually. I never got to experience the time when my big brother stopped being my big brother who can jump off roofs in rollerblades and started being a person who you might like to spend time with now and then. A friend.
When you finished telling me all about that I remember I told you about my sessions with Dr Lim and you said something else that seemed small but was actually a big thing. You said my brain was a ‘limited edition’ and not to try to change it. And then you told me to get the hell out of your room. So I’m working on not trying to change it, Rudy, and I’m staying the hell out of your room.
Love, Erin