Feeling Sorry for Celia (19 page)

You know, what I was thinking is that if you want to TALK about anything we could do it out loud. I mean, in the same room. Using words and that. We could meet whenever you want.

Make sure you tell me if you’re upset about anything in the future, okay, and try not to be too sad. I got you a charm to cheer you up – sorry to copy your idea, but it was such a cool idea. It’s a unicorn flying, if you didn’t notice, because I know you like flying. I know unicorns aren’t supposed to fly but I think wings are a very smart addition and I for one would like to congratulate the manufacturer for thinking of it.

I like unicorns too. So the unicorn with wings is a present from me to you.

Lots of love,

Christina

Dear Christina,

Thank you very very much for your nice letter and the BEAUTIFUL charm. How come your letters keep making me cry these days? I wish I’d told you about Lochie and Saxon earlier, because you always make me feel better.

Thanks for skipping Commerce to write to me too. I’m
skipping Liturgical Dance right now to write to you, but it’s not really a fair exchange. I mean, I can’t think of a single point in my life where I’m going to be in crisis because of not knowing how to dance liturgically. Whereas you are now going to be in crisis every time you go to the supermarket for the rest of your life.

It’s also not dangerous for me to skip Liturgical Dance. I mean, I’m not putting my educational record at risk or anything. Mrs Lawrence takes it and she’s so old she might as well be dead and so short-sighted she thinks of her class as substitute guide dogs. She spends most of the time asking people to tell her what’s happening out the window or down the back of the room or right in front of her nose.

I just read your letter again and I noticed that you haven’t said a single thing about yourself. It’s all about me. Now I feel selfish. You’re a very nice person, you know? So, what’s happening with you, and what about Derek? And what about your cousin, Maddie? And what about your brothers and sisters? Has your baby sister learnt how to walk without tipping sideways yet?

So. Anyway. I still don’t feel exactly ecstatic but I’m not so miserable any more. It was stupid of me to think Saxon would be interested in me – he’s way above my level. He’s like gorgeous or something. Celia’s coming to school but she’s still got this cough that makes people stop halfway through words and stare at her, and makes teachers panic, like, ‘uh oh, what does it say in the teacher’s manual about students dropping dead in the middle of Maths again?’ Saxon spends most of his time looking from Celia to any passers-by and back again, like he’s a scientist who’s just seen that the end of the world is coming and nobody’s
taking any notice. He’s always trying to make sure she’s warm enough and bringing oranges and kiwifruit to school for the vitamin C. Celia just coughs at him and giggles.

I hardly ever see Celia outside school now, because she can’t go out – the doctor says she overdid it when she got back from Coffs, and ‘gallivanted around’ when she wasn’t ready for it yet. Now she’s supposed to sleep all the time, or at least sit around not getting over-excited. This would normally be literally impossible for Celia, because she lives on excitement. But now she doesn’t even seem to care. She’s just listless. When I visit her she drags her quilt around the room and watches MTV. So I don’t visit her very much any more.

I think I should talk to her or something. Maybe even write her a letter? But what would I say? Excuse me, but I liked your boyfriend before you did. Please give him back.

Anyway, it’s more than that – it’s like she’s disappearing. You were so right when you said it was like I’d lost her again. How could she not have noticed that I liked Saxon? How could she not realise how upset I was? The Celia I USED to know would have noticed. I think. Maybe something’s seriously wrong with her. Maybe I should write a letter that just says: ‘Celia? Celia? Hello? Where are you?’

It’d be weird writing a letter to Celia. I’ve known her so long. It’d be like writing a letter to myself.

She should just know.

My mum’s trying to be nice to me because she knows I’m upset. Like, for example, she invited the poetry club to our house last night, instead of going out and leaving me alone. Big step, Mum. I made her a cherry and apricot slice for the club, and you know what, I’m going to put a piece of it
in this letter, because I brought some to school with me for lunch. You will notice that it’s the best cherry and apricot slice you ever tasted, probably.

I thought I would just watch TV while the poetry club was there but Mum seemed to think that part of the cheering-me-up strategy was getting me to sit in on the meeting. It turned out that what poetry clubs do each week is make two of the members the leaders. One leader chooses a favourite poem and reads it out, and then they discuss it. The other leader brings a poem written by HERSELF and reads that out and then they all talk about how wonderful and talented that person is.

Remind me never to join a poetry club.

This week it was Mrs Lorenzo’s turn to choose a favourite poem and she chose Walt Whitman, and he’s written the longest poem in living history. It starts off something like, ‘I celebrate myself, and sing myself’ and then it goes on for about three thousand pages celebrating and singing itself. I mean, puhlease. The others had to tell Mrs Lorenzo that they’d heard enough eventually. They said they would read the rest on their own but Mr Rotherham left his copy on the floor under his chair so HE’S not going to read the rest on his own. Then they talked about it for a while and they were especially excited about this one line that goes, ‘Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?’ Because they all feel so proud to be getting at the meaning of poems every Thursday night over carrot cake and cherry and apricot slice.

My dad called in the middle of Mrs Lorenzo’s reading to find out if I wanted to go out with him some time soon, and afterwards Mum kept saying to the others, ‘Well, this is it, see? It’s plain inconsiderateness.’

I don’t understand how Dad was supposed to know she was having a poetry reading that night, so I don’t know what’s so inconsiderate about it.

It was Mrs Koutchavelis’s turn to read out her OWN poem and luckily it was short. It went something like this: ‘I am the answer. I am the question. Ask me my question? Question my answer! Answer my question! I blow, I breathe, I bubble.’ I think she made it up while Mrs Lorenzo was reading out Walt Whitman.

At the end of the poetry readings Mum asked everyone to please think up a slogan for raspberry-flavoured cat food.

Well, I’d better go. I’m so glad I met you through this letter-writing and yeah, I think we should meet in human living form one day too.

Lots of love,

Elizabeth

PS I guess you were only joking when you said you couldn’t tell which was the better out of Coon Mature Cheddar and Kraft slices? I’m not even going to bother with the correct answer, it’s
so
obvious.

PPS Do you seriously not know? Maybe you shouldn’t skip any more Commerce classes?

PPPS I don’t think you’re a witch for being more upset about your dog dying than your grandma. Sometimes dogs are nicer than people. That’s not your fault. And it would be DISHONEST to be upset about someone who you never really liked.

PPPPS Although I wouldn’t mention it to your mum.

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope you’re not getting happy are you? Not getting a little zip of good cheer as you run along this embankment? You’ve got no reason to be happy, you realise that, don’t you? Say you were ever to meet that Christina? She’d drop you like a bowling ball. She’d be out of there before you could say ilio tibial band syndrome. (A common condition which can be caused by over-training Elizabeth, in case you’d forgotten, and one that you sure aren’t ever going to get since you practically never even TRAIN, let alone over-train.)

This has been A Word of Caution from the:

ATTBYDFAAA

(Always Think Twice Before you Do or Feel Anything At All Association)

Dear Elizabeth,

See that long grass up ahead?

Run in that and you’ll run right into a nest of red-bellied black snakes. You realise that, don’t you?

This has been A Supplementary Note from the:

ATTBYDFAAA

Dear Elizabeth,

Please do not run through long grass again. It is a foolishness which we cannot abide.

Sincerely,

Exasperation Inc.

Dear Elizabeth,

I just wanted to say sorry for leaving an anonymous note last
week. Maybe it confused you or scared you or something?

I hope not.

I’m still really really sorry about your dog dying.

A Stranger (who Catches Your Bus)

ELIZABETH!!!!!

IF YOU THINK OFA SLOGAN FOR RASPBERRY-FLAVOURED CATFOOD WHILE YOU’RE EATING BREAKFAST THIS MORNING, RING ME AT WORK AND TELL ME.

TRY REALLY REALLY HARD TO THINK OF ONE!

AND HAVE A NICE DAY AT SCHOOL.

LOVE,

YOUR

MUM