Letters from the Inside (18 page)

It’s a true story and I swear Manna, you’d love it. You ought to try and get a copy.

Hope this arrives by Christmas. If so, have a really good time, OK? Get into the grog, pig out on the food, make Adam crawl for everything he gets, and think of me.

Happy Christmas.

Love,

Tracey

December 21

Dear Trace,

Got your letter a few minutes ago — funny it was so like mine. I’m glad you liked talking — like I said, it seemed such a massive risk. But I still smile when I think about it. And thanks for what you said about my voice.

Think I told you most of my news on the phone. We’re having a party for Rebecca New Year’s Eve, a farewell. It’s at Angelo Bouras’ — he’s been with Becca for quite a while. In fact he’ll be cut to ribbons when she leaves.

Cheryl, Mai Huynh and I went round the seconds shops yesterday. I got this great outfit at Battle of the Sexes: you can get some good stuff there, but it’s still expensive. Buying that, plus all the Christmas shopping, has cleaned me out — hope I score some cash for Chrissie. And I’m still hoping to get a job mail-sorting in January, but Katrina said they don’t confirm it till about two days before you start. Dad’s working a late on Christmas Day, so well go to Midnight Mass Christmas Eve and have Christmas dinner early: about 11.30 or 12. It’ll only be like half a Christmas Day really. But it should be fun. All the rellies are coming over Boxing Day, including the lovely Uncle Kevin and Aunty Sophie, and Justin the Dentist. I’m hoping Adam will come too, meet the in-laws, ha ha. Or if he can’t come here I’ll try to go there, although the way my parents are about family reunions, if I do go I’ll probably never be allowed back home again.

That’s a joke by the way.

I gotta tell you too that Steve’s getting so weird even Mum and Dad are having to face the fact. They’re talking about his seeing a shrink, but no-one’s talking about it to him yet. He spends most of his time in his room reading gun magazines, and when he talks to anyone it’s only a mutter, or it’s some riveting comment about a new Canadian howitzer that disembowels babies or something. He used to have this mate Tim, but when I asked about Tim the other day he went sick at me and told me to shut my fucking mouth, and said I’d been talking to Tim about him and how it was Tim’s fault he was going to fail Year 12. It was weird. I think he’s heading for the drop zone. What really scares me is that he’s got this .22 and a shotgun that Grandpa left him. He uses them for rabbit-shooting, although he hasn’t been for a while. But he spends a lot of time cleaning the guns and taking them apart.

I wish Mum and Dad would take them off him. I think they’re illegal anyway — aren’t you meant to have a licence?

Anyway I’d hate to be in a McDonalds if he walks in one day.

So, this’ll be the last letter from me before Christmas. That’s if it gets there in time. It should though — Katrina was saying how they have extra deliveries before Christmas, and two on Christmas Eve. Trace, I know Garrett on Christmas Day isn’t likely to be the happiest place on the planet but I hope it’s a good day anyway. Hope my parcel gets there too. Lots and lots of love and hugs, for a good Christmas and even better New Year,

Your friend,

Manna

PS: Mum just came home, and she said to say Merry Christmas to you too. She paid the postage on the parcel, and she said she snuck some chocolate in.

Dec 25

Dear Manna,

I’m not very good at thanking people but maybe that’s one of the things I need to learn. So here goes. Thanks for the presents — I can keep everything. The pen’s fantastic — so good. I’ll have to guard it with my life here, I swear. And the soap smells so great I don’t want to use it — I’ll keep it just for the smell. And they let me have the chocolate — I told you this is the best day for sleazing. Please tell your Mum thanks from me. And also, thanks for the Christmas letter, which came yesterday. And finally, thank you for being such a good friend all year. I didn’t know what I was getting when your first letter came, but it’s really been something.

To tell you the truth, I hate being in anyone’s debt. I hate it. But if I’ve got to owe anyone favours, I’d just as rather it was you. And one day maybe I’ll get the chance to pay you back — I hope so.

The bad news is that Miss Gruber’s been transferred, to Abbotsville I think. She came round Saturday to say goodbye. She was quite burned-off that they gave her no warning, but that’s the way they seem to do it round here.

So, Chrissy in Garrett’s nearly over. Yes folks, another great one, filled with goodwill and cheer. It wasn’t too bad I suppose. The food was good, and heaps of it. I ate all day. And we could watch TV as much as we wanted, although there wasn’t anything good on. Nothing else happened, just some stupid jokes and games. There was a good fight between two girls: Kylie Patrick and a girl called Turk. I don’t know her real name. The hacks broke it up before there was a result. Turk had torn up some photo of Kylie’s or something.

Sophie’s started singing some Christmas carols from her slot. It’s nice. She hasn’t sung too much since her sentence got extended.

Hey, you’ll like this one. This girl called Kyla was telling me how she went to Med Unit yesterday with flu and congestion and stuff. So the sister put some Vicks in a bowl, put a towel over Kyla’s head and had her inhale the fumes. But after a minute or two Kyla chundered, right in the bowl. Sister was burned off, but she changed the bowl, put more Vicks in, put the towel back on. A couple of minutes later Kyla chundered into it again. So this time, Sister made her keep the towel over her head and inhale the fumes from the Vicks and the vomit. Nice mixture, hey? Made her feel a whole lot better.

Anita just yelled out ‘Anyone know the postcode for Breton?’ ‘Yeah’ someone yelled back, ‘S.U.X.’

You gotta laugh.

Keep singing Soph.

See you, Manna. Hope your Christmas was good. But what you said about Steve, I’d be worried. He sounds like he’s blown his cork. Hope you get the post office job — at least you’ll be away from him more.

Lotsa love,

         
Trace

Dec 26, 3 a.m.

This letter’s not over yet Manna. I just woke up with the worst dream: knives and bullets and blood, and shapes in the dark. Then I found I got my period — a rare event in here. Everyone dries up. So maybe that’s why I had the dream. But I’m not going back to sleep — I don’t want to go through that again. It was bad, a blood bath, bloody bad.

Sorry about the writing but I’m doing this by the light of the security lights outside my slot, with a bit of help from the moon. So it’s not easy.

You know, Manna, I am going to try to change. Hell, I’ve changed a lot already, I think. But I’m going to get out of Maximum S. By the time I leave Macquarie you’ll be proud to know me. I’ll be the first woman Pope. Seriously though, I am going to have a go at it. A Block’s for losers. But you got to help me, OK?

Let me know when I’m being a bigger dickhead than usual. I’ve been on the street so long, I think it’s normal to spit in the gutter. I forget how you’re meant to act. But I’m gonna make it Manna, I really am.

’Night again,

T.

Dec 31

Dear Manna,

New Year’s Eve — another thriller in downtown Garrett. It’s party time again, with lights out at 9.30. I’m almost weak with excitement.

You said you had that party for Rebecca tonight. Hope it goes well. It’s funny how you can fight with someone and hate their guts at times, but they get like a habit, and you miss them when they go. People are always leaving here.

The last time I went to a New Year’s Eve party was at Buckley’s Beach, two years back. Jeez it was a mess. People drinking and fighting and spewing everywhere. On the beach you were up to your ankles in condoms. The pigs came round every few minutes but they didn’t try anything till about two o’clock, when everyone was too wasted to get them, so they had it all their own way. They sure spilt some blood — they had themselves a happy New Year. Raz and I got smart for once and melted into the night. Wise-ass Tracey, that’s me.

We’ve got these workshop things going at the moment. I think because they’re scared we’ll get bored and chew the place down. So you can do drama or dance or meditation, all that kind of stuff. I’m doing writing. There’s only three of us doing it, so you sort of have to go — you’d feel bad if you didn’t. The lady who takes it is quiet but she’s nice. She’s had three books published but I haven’t heard of her. Mary Lim, her name is. Do you know her? I told her about winning the prize for my story and she got quite excited about that.

We do these exercises like describing how a piece of chocolate smells, feels, looks and tastes. I liked that one — in fact I could do it over and over. And we did one where we had to exaggerate everything in a story. They’re quite good. And she seems to like what I write. But the last workshop’s on Thursday, bit of a bummer. I’m going to see if the library’s got any of her books.

Well, I gotta go. You must owe me a few letters by now — you’re getting slack. Guess the mail gets stuffed over Christmas and New Year. Tell Katrina to sort faster.

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot. Happy New Year!

Love,

Trace