Dear Miffy (7 page)

Dear Miff,

I haven't written to you in so long. No fucking wonder, I've been too fucked in the head to pick up a pen. This fucking ward's a crazy place all right, but not as bad as I thought it would be. Some of the kids are all right. It's only some of the adults who are really psycho.

They're all so shit scared of me, though. I don't know what it is, being in this thing maybe. Or maybe someone told them about me. Or maybe it's just me: that's the kind of person I am, a monster. Little kids scream and run when they see me. That'd figure. Why wouldn't they? Anyway, whatever it is, no-one comes near me. It's strange that: I can't get used to being a monster, but I go with it, I'm not going to fight it, if that's how they want it then fuck them, let them see me that way.

Turns out I'm not even meant to be here because it's minimum security; well, it's no security really, but I guess they think I'm safe. Anyway Hilary, the social worker, reckons it's some great big deal getting me in, like I'm meant to be grateful! Grateful! Oh yeah, I'm fucking grateful. I'll be writing a thank you letter to the Department, no worries. Thank you for putting me in the nuthouse, really good of you, thanks a lot.

There's this girl here, reminds me of you a bit, Miff, talks like you, posh accent and all that. When she does talk, which is about once a week. We've got that in common. She's nice looking but I don't think she's going to be dropping round to see me too often.

Just listening to them all talking about each other, which is like their favourite hobby, their full-time occupation, they reckon her dad was some real rich cunt, real famous, in the papers and all that, only now he's in the slammer, so it's fair up his bum.

That's where your dad should be.

This place is pretty fucking slack you know. It's a lot better than the facility. You don't have to do anything if you don't want, especially me, because they're scared of me. And the food's all right, not bad anyway. Like tonight it was chicken Kiev and cherry pie and you could have any flavour ice-cream you wanted. Hell of a lot better than at my uncle and aunt's, that's for sure. My aunt was the worst fucking cook. She only knew three recipes: pizza, lasagne and spaghetti bolognaise. And she's not even Italian. Geez, I got sick of pizza. Most of the time she didn't cook it anyway, just got takeaway.

They try to teach you all this shit here like conflict resolution, ‘alternatives to violence'. I don't know about that stuff. I'm not that interested.

Something this kid here was saying though, this crazy girl called Jacqui, made me think. Just about the way my life was, way back. When my parents was together. I'd forgotten a lot of that shit. I don't think I really wanted to remember it, to tell you the truth. Man, they was bad times. All this fighting and screaming and shit, and then my little brother dying, poor little bugger. At least he got out of life the easy way. I wonder what he'd think now if he saw me like this. Guess he wouldn't think I was much of a brother, would he? Little brothers are meant to look up to their older brothers, aren't they? Hope he doesn't know what happened, wherever he is.

You hear these kids talk, it's like they're from another planet. Most of them are real posh, go to private schools, stuff like that. I don't think they've got much in common with me. They think they've got problems, fucking hell, they must be joking. They don't know when they're well off.

To them a big problem is having a zit, like they need six months' counselling if they have a fucking zit, that's how sad their lives are.

Oh, not all of them, I guess. Some of them are pretty fucked up.

To hear the way they go on, though, you'd think there's a competition to be the most fucked in the head. Like they're always trying to prove that they're more fucked up than the next person. Can you believe it? I'm the most fucked-up one here and I'm not happy about it, I don't want to win any medals.

I'm not happy, Miff, and that's the truth. But the truth is that I'm not going to be happy anywhere. That's a real problem.

T.

Dear Miff,

Geez, the months have rolled on, haven't they? I must have been having a hell of a lot of fun, because the time has flown like a Calibra turbo. Didn't have nothing to do tonight, so thought I'd bring you up to date on my life.

I don't know where to start, but. It's pretty boring for me, writing down stuff I already know. One day I ought to send all these fucking letters, God knows where. God knows where you are, where you're living. Maybe you're not even living. Maybe you're dead. I never thought about that before. I just scared the shit out of myself thinking about it then. I don't want you to be dead, Miff, I want you to be safe, to be OK, to have forgotten all about me and how I wrecked your life. I know you and your mum had fights all the time and you used to say you hated her, but I don't think you hated her too much. It's just the way a lot of kids talk, you know what I mean? It don't mean a lot sometimes. Sure it was different for me, with my mum pissing off and all, but your mum was OK, just trying to do the right thing by you, even if she was a snob and all that.

I been thinking about my mum a bit lately. You know, wondering where she is. Thinking I might even try to find her. Don't know why. Don't owe her nothing. She sure cleaned us out when she left. Geez, I'll never forget that day till I'm dead and rotting. I never thought she'd leave. I mean they had fights and stuff but everyone's parents are like that, they always fight, don't they? And I thought things had been getting better, shows what a great bloody judge I am. They hadn't had a real full-on fight for a few weeks but I guess she was just getting ready for the midnight flit. Midday flit in her case. Don't know how she could have done it, but—not because of me or me dad, Christ, anyone would want to piss off on us, we were no bloody prizes, that's for sure—but me little brother, Owen, he was only a year old. I don't know how she could have pissed off on him, I reckon that was a bit rough. But the thing that was a real shocker, this is really rank, she took all his toys. Every bloody one. I mean, I come home from school and she'd cleaned the place out. I walked into his room, it was always the first thing I did when I got home from school, and I just couldn't believe it, it were totally bare, just Owen lying in his cot crying, like he knew something was wrong. Bloody lucky he still had his cot if you ask me.

I stood there like an idiot, looking around, trying to work out what was going on. I thought we'd been burgled. I still didn't wake up to what had happened till Dad got home, a few minutes after. He took one look and he knew. He went berserk. She'd taken everything: the cooking things, the video, the lightglobes, the dunny paper. Can you believe it? The dunny paper. Even this little bunny I'd bought Owen for his first birthday, she took that. Plus all his clothes. Dad reckoned she was probably pregnant to some other bloke and she wanted the stuff for the new kid. But she had no right to take the rabbit, I mean it wasn't hers. It really gives me the shits to think of some other kid playing with Owen's bunny.

No wonder the poor little bugger died: no mum and no bunny and no rattle and no rubber cat that squeaked when you pressed its tail. No wonder he didn't feel like hanging around. I mean that day she took off, she just left him there in his little cot, not giving a shit whether he'd be all right or not. Lucky me and me dad weren't late home for once.

So I don't know why I'd want to spend three seconds of my time thinking about me mum or wanting to find her. But something in me just won't let go of the idea. I been thinking about her night and day, to tell you the truth. More than the bit that I said at the start of the letter. I sort of think she'll be able to fix everything up for me somehow, wave some fucking wand.

I wouldn't have a clue where to start looking, but. I mean maybe she's dead, too. Maybe everyone's dead.

I wish I was. Is there something wrong when your main ambition in life is to be dead? I don't think the people here would think that was a very good ambition. Every day when I wake up I don't want to get out of bed because I know it's going to take so much effort to stop from killing myself.

Oh yeah, did I tell you? I'm not in the Psych Ward any more. It's no big deal, some patients complained and then some high-up person said I wasn't allowed to be there because there was no security. That's what they reckon anyway.

It didn't matter, I don't care, it wasn't working out. I didn't co-operate with all their shit. It's no good for me. I don't deserve it.

When I left your house that terrible day, after doing that terrible thing, I nearly went to a shrink. I thought I'd find one and tell him what I'd done and then he'd sort of explain to me why it wasn't my fault, and he'd sort of look after me and stop the cops coming for me, or if they did come he'd stop them from hurting me. You know what I mean? I never did go to one, of course. Wouldn't have known where to start looking, but it wouldn't have helped anyway.

Instead of going to a shrink I ran as far and as fast as I could. God, I ran. I don't know how far I travelled. Million miles it felt like. I thought I was being chased or something. It would have been an hour before I stopped. Wish I'd been trying out for the Olympics or something, reckon I would have made it for sure. By the time I stopped I was a cot case. My legs wouldn't hold me up. Just buckled under me, got cramps or something. I felt all dizzy and my chest was killing me. I was down by the river, you know that bike path? I tried to walk along that a bit but my legs were useless and I ended up rolling down the hill, under some little bridge where they run the pipes across the river, I think it is. I got so thirsty I nearly drank from the river, but then I saw a tap along the way so I got water out of that.

I didn't know what to do, Miff. I knew I couldn't go to my uncle and aunt's and I knew I couldn't go back to school the next day. I knew I couldn't go back to school ever again. I couldn't think straight, to tell you the truth. I knew I was in deep shit but I didn't seem able to sit down and work it out. I actually went to sleep for a bit. When I woke up, geez, I was so stiff I could hardly move. My legs really hurt. Maybe they knew what was coming. It was about six o'clock and I was hungry as hell. I went down to a 7 Eleven, and tried that trick you taught me—you know, the two-for-one, where you take one of something to the counter and ask where the other size is, or the peppermint flavour, or the one with nuts, and after they show you and they're walking back to the counter, you put the first one in your pocket, and then you've got two.

Sure you've had to pay for one but you're still better off than if you paid for them both.

So I scored two packets of chocolate-chip cookies, one with hazelnuts, one without. I knew they were filling—I'd had them before. I had them for breakfast quite a lot when I was living with me dad. Then I went back down the river. I felt a bit better after I'd had something to eat. I started walking, didn't know where, just anywhere. I thought I'd better not go back home because my uncle would kill me if the cops had been there. If they'd found his dope plants, Christ, he would have killed me for sure.

So I walked and walked, or limped and limped, that'd be more like it. I was looking in people's windows, trying to see what was happening in the houses. Like, this house, the kids were being told to get to bed, and they were trying to get out of it, you could just tell that's what was happening. This place, the lady was talking on the phone. Next one was these young blokes, looked pretty wild, they were just getting into their first slab of the night, I reckon. I was trying to guess what goes on in people's houses, you know what I mean? Like, up front, everyone's so nice and la-di-da, oh yeah, we're such a happy little family, no problems here, no way. But when they go inside and shut the door, I reckon that's when the shit starts to fly. I reckon they're all fucked; never seen any that weren't. And there was one place I passed where they were having a full-on domestic, yelling and screaming. It made me feel sick. I just got the hell out of there.

After a while I started seeing things I knew, and I worked out where I was. It was them shops, Tozers and all them, in Carrington Road, I don't know what the suburb's called. ‘Shit,' I thought, ‘I did run a long way.' I stood in front of Retravision for a while, watching the TV. The news was on and I thought I might be on it but I didn't see nothing. Not as important as I thought I was.

I was trying to think where to go, and I couldn't think of anything much. Like, all my friends, I was thinking maybe I could crash their places, but I didn't know if I'd get them in trouble. Like, I knew I'd hurt your mum real bad and I knew it was serious this time, like I was really up the creek, I couldn't just rock up to a mate's place and say, ‘G'day, thought I'd crash here for a few nights,' like I done lots of times when I'd had a fight with me old man or me uncle.

Then I thought maybe I could become a bum like the old alcos, and sleep in the parks and all that shit, but I thought ‘Nah, too cold at nights, and them old blokes always look like they haven't had a shave or nothing, I don't want to look like that.'

Then I thought about the trains.

I was near Becker's Point by then, see, that big train station, with the interstates, and that's what made me think of it. I guess I was thinking about me dad, how he reckoned he'd shot through to Queensland and suddenly it seemed like a good idea. I had this feeling that if I could get up there to Queensland and just lie on the beaches in the sun and sleep and sleep—I was so fucking tired, I felt like I wanted to sleep forever—then everything'd be OK. I'd be in this, like, dream world, where no-one could get me and nothing'd go wrong.

That's the way I thought. Yeah, I know, you don't have to tell me: pretty fucking dumb for a bloke the school file reckoned was a genius or whatever they said.

So anyway, I went on down to the station and sussed it out. Fucking busy place, Miff, you ever been there? Wild. There's the country trains and the interstates, and the suburbans as well. Lots of people. I stood and watched them for a while. It makes you kind of excited seeing all these people coming and going on big trips, all their luggage and their food and their magazines, all these families doing stuff together. Must make you feel important, I reckon; like, for once in your life you're not just doing the same old stuff, going to school, going home, going to school, going down the shops, going home, going to school . . .

For once in your life you're doing something interesting and different, and fun even, maybe.

Watching them all, it made me get pretty fucking depressed though, I got to admit. I was just wishing I had parents who'd do stuff like that, just, you know, family stuff.

I knew I didn't have enough money to go to Queensland but I asked anyway. I got a shock when they said—I can't remember how much exactly but it was fucking expensive. Then I thought, ‘Oh shit, I shouldn't have asked because if the cops come here looking for me they're going to know I'm heading for Queensland.' So that was a big mistake. But I still wanted to go there so I went and looked at the TV screens that give all the info. There wasn't no train to Queensland that I could see but there was one to Davis Harbour, and I knew that was in the right direction, and it was leaving in less than an hour.

It was Platform Four, I think, so I went up and the train was already there but there was hardly no-one on it. I watched for a while to see how it all worked but there didn't seem to be no big problem. No-one was checking the tickets or nothing. I'd already seen a few transit pigs but I wasn't worried about them because I knew they wouldn't be looking for me. They hate the cops and the cops hate them. So I thought, ‘Well, fuck it, I'll just get on and worry about the problems when they come.'

I found a seat in the carriage that had the smallest number of people. I just sat there looking out the window at the tracks. They were pretty fucking boring and pretty fucking ugly. This train came rocking along, didn't stop, and I watched how fucking big and heavy it was. It wouldn't stop for nothing. Anyone got in its way, it'd be like, WHAM, wipe them right out, chuck them straight into nothing, in one split second.

Made me think, I guess.

There was about fifteen minutes before the train went and suddenly all these people were arriving and the carriage was filling up real fast. Made me a bit nervous. Then all of a sudden these two guards were standing there with a lady who had about six little bags. ‘Could I see your ticket thanks, son?' the first guard said.

Well, I didn't know what to do. I thought it'd be too stupid to play the old checking your pockets and saying, ‘Oh dear, I seem to have lost it, how careless of me' trick. So I sat there going red, then suddenly I thought of something and said, ‘My dad's bringing it, he'll be here soon.'

But I'd left it too late, and I knew it sounded real weak, as soon as I said it.

‘Well,' said the guard, ‘you're sitting in this lady's reserved seat, you're in a first-class carriage, and you don't have a ticket. I think you'd better hop off.'

I was still burning red, I hate it when I do that, but I couldn't help myself, and I got up and walked out, feeling like a right fucking loser.

It was like being at your place, Miff. I'd gone into the rich people's world again, where I didn't belong, and right away they'd recognised that I shouldn't be there, and they'd kicked me out. I never belonged in your house, Miff, never fitted into your world. I was a trespasser. I really do think now that you used me as some kind of weapon against your mother. Like, I was the way you spat in her face. You weren't game to do it yourself, so you hired me to do it. Somehow I'm sure of that now.

Maybe I don't love you at all, Miff. Maybe I hate your fucking guts.

So anyway, there I was, standing on the platform, totally shitted off. I'd never even known there was such a thing as first class on trains until those turkeys busted me. Through the window of the carriage I could see them looking at me and one of them was talking on his mobile phone or walkie-talkie or whatever it was. I knew what was going on. I've been dealing with dickheads like them all my life. I started walking away quickly. They'd be talking to the transit pigs for sure, and now I was worried. The transit pigs are among the biggest examples of scum in this universe, but once they come after you they usually get you.