Dear James,
I miss you so much. There’s almost nothing in the world I wouldn’t give just to see you today. This is just a horrible place. It’s cold and it’s miserable and I’m lonely and scared. Yesterday was the worst day of my life . . . until today, anyway.
I learned today that the social worker who admitted me is named Mrs Sullivan and I am pretty sure she’s in charge. She is awful, James. The way she speaks to me . . . the things she’s said to me . . . just the sight of her gives me chills already.
There is, thank goodness, another social worker. Her name is Mrs Baxter and in that whole day of tears and confusion yesterday, she was the only person who showed me anything like kindness. She actually hugged me when she was showing me around the place, and she told me that things will be okay. She told me that I just need to keep my chin up.
I’m trying James. God, I’m trying.
They don’t call me Lilly in here. They call me Liliana W. At first, I thought it was because they couldn’t pronounce Wyzlecki, but then I realised that they do this to all of the girls. I’m not sure why they do that, but I do know that I don’t like it. It makes me feel uncomfortable somehow – I mean, even at school, we at least got to keep our last names. Here, there are no uniforms, but other than that one small thing it’s just like I imagine a prison would be . . . so many rules and restrictions, and no one wants to be here.
There are twenty-seven of us confined in the home and we all share a room with at least one other resident. I think I must have lost the room-mate lottery. I’m sharing a room with an aboriginal girl and she’s awful. Her name is Tania J., and although we’ve only had two conversations so far, she’s already made fun of me for my stutter and teased me in front of everyone at dinner. I cried and I ran back to my room, but it was only half an hour later that she joined me, and when she did, she just turned the light off as if I wasn’t even there.
Tania works in the kitchen – she’s actually in charge of the team who cooks our meals. We all have to work. I got assigned to the laundry team, which didn’t sound so bad at first because it meant I’d be away from Tania all day. The thing is, this isn’t a laundry like we had at home; this is a commercial laundry that services the hospital. I could barely bring myself to step inside the room when Mrs Baxter first took me there. Right at the door, I could taste and feel the detergent in the air; it was like a wall of heat and humidity and smell. It’s my job to load and unload the dryers, which I know doesn’t sound all that hard, but they are huge. The wet laundry is so heavy, and then the loads of dry laundry are unbelievably hot but I have to empty them as soon as they finish – there’s no time to let the linen cool down. So I was hot all day, like summer on the farm, on those cloudless days when the air is too still and you dream of even a whisper of a breeze just to take the edge off. The scorching wet air that the dryers blast out is what makes the entire room so uncomfortable and it’s my job to work right there in front of them. In the first few hours, every time I’d bend to pick up a load of washing and strain to raise it high enough for the dryer’s mouth, dots would swim before my eyes and I’d be sure I was going to faint.
I got used to it a little by the end of the day, although I saw myself in the mirror tonight and my face has never been so shiny or so red.
I don’t mean to complain . . . I mean, I can do the work . . . and of course, I will do it, because I don’t really have a choice anyway. And at least it gives me something to do while I wait for you to come. I could almost distract myself with the endless loads of washing and wish away the time until you arrive.
I keep thinking about what Mrs Baxter said, and trying to keep my chin up. It is already really hard to do that, because when I see the residents I can tell that they feel lost too. I wonder where their boyfriends are, and why they didn’t just get married. They can’t all have found themselves caught with bad timing like we did.
Are all of these girls waiting for someone to come get them, like I’m waiting for you?
I can’t wait until you see the way my belly moves. You’ll feel the baby from the outside now, its kicks are so strong, its jabs determined and constant. Today was the first day I really thought about what it all means, and I know that’s silly, but until the secret was out I really was very busy pretending this wasn’t happening at all. As awful as it is here, at least I can start to get used to the fact that I’m about to become a mother. Those bumps and kicks and punches inside me aren’t gas or my imagination – there’s really a whole other person in there. I’ll bet our baby is going to be so cute. How could he not be, with you for his father? I hope he gets your brain and your eyes and your smile. Actually, I hope our baby is just like you, except maybe with my hair because yours is always messy, and mine seems to manage itself just fine.
I love this baby, James. We’re going to make a wonderful family together, you know. Can’t you just see it? We’ll move into one of those little houses on your farm, the ones the shearers usually stay in when they come through. I’ll try to decorate it and set it up for us – as well as I can, anyway. I know we won’t have much money, but we will have each other, and isn’t that all that really matters? I won’t finish high school or make it to university now, but I’ll see our baby’s first smile, and first steps. Isn’t that so much more important than any degree or job?
I can always borrow books from the library and read while our baby sleeps. I can still learn, and now, instead of just teaching children facts and inputting information to their minds, I can mould an entire little person by being a good . . . no, a great mother.
I never really understood what it would be like to be pregnant. I saw Mama have the younger kids, and I watched her grow fat and uncomfortable and cranky. I didn’t realise that she would be feeling a devotion bigger and bolder than anything else in the world. No wonder she was so angry with me yesterday when she found out what we’ve done. She had such big plans for my life; I was going to be the first member of our family to go to university . . . the first of us to get a profession. She must be so disappointed. But you know what, James, as much as I’m starting to get that, I’m equally sure that Mama will come around. Nothing this baby could ever do could make me love it less. And that’s how I know that Mama will eventually see that somehow, this baby will be the best thing that could have happened to me.
I hope I find a way to reach you soon, James. I’m hoping I can get Mrs Baxter alone at some point to ask her if she could post these letters for me, she seems like my best shot at contacting you.
I love you, always and forever.
Lilly