Grief Girl (22 page)

October 23, 1986

I'
ve got to keep busy.

1:00 p.m.: Mum and Dad were leaving for the cemetery at exactly this time three years ago.

7:00 p.m.: No, this is too much. Even after three years! What is wrong with me?

Trent and I watch
The Wizard of Oz
and I try to forget.

November 24, 1986

D
on't think about it. Don't think about it.

1:00 p.m.: Three years ago today, Chris came and got me from school.

Just keep smiling. The day will be over soon.

December 1986

T
his is it.

It's the last day of school, and we're clearing out our lockers.

No more five a.m. wake-up study sessions, no more religious debates with Mrs. C-J, no more green and white uniforms, no more therapy sessions with pseudo-counselor Merril, no more assemblies, no more laughs with my friends during lunch…

I've studied hard and gotten good grades, and now it's time to get my reward. But before all that, it's time to be a brainless idiot one last time in the traditional end-of-school egg and flour fight with Narwee Boys' High. The teachers don't like it but figure it's pretty harmless and it would be more work to try and stop us.

It's eleven-thirty a.m. and the boys are already throwing eggs at the school windows.

Being the educated girls that we are, Julie and I have four dozen eggs and several bags of flour in my car ready to go. We run to the parking lot, dodging eggs. One splats on my car's passenger window just as Julie slams the door shut.

We drive down the backstreets behind school. Julie has a carton of eggs in her lap and a bag of flour at her feet. We're speeding past boys in trucks already covered in flour. Ha! So some girls are out here with us. All right!

We're invincible, doing forty miles an hour in reverse as a car full of boys heads our way. I swerve and they miss us, and we're off again.

“I'm a maniac, maniac,”
I sing in true
Flashdance
style as Julie yells out the window. We're carefree and careless; nothing can touch us.

School's over and we made it. Nothing matters but eggs and flour, flour and eggs…and then: “Shit, it's one-thirty!” Julie shrieks. “The final assembly starts soon!”

I accelerate to sixty miles an hour to get back in time.

“Do I have any egg in my hair?” I ask as we speed back into the school parking lot.

“A little bit, but you can hardly tell.”

We hop out of my white car. Dripping with egg yolks, it looks like one big scramble.

Covered in egg and flour, Julie and I walk into the assembly hall. It's filled with parents and teachers and other students covered in flour.

We sit with Julie's parents and run up onstage when our names are called. I thought it would be horrible to not have Mum and Dad here, but it seems that maybe I'm getting used to their not being around, because I'm not feeling too bad.

So, it's time to say goodbye to the teachers we like, and see you later to our friends, who we will see later, and get back into my car and drive away.

No more getting ready for the future—the future is here.

My new life starts now.

         

I've only been out of school a few weeks and I have a job. My dream job. Well, my number two dream job, after acting. But as Mum used to say, a person must eat, and most actors don't, apparently. They can't afford to. Maybe that's why they're all so skinny. Anyway, I don't want to act anymore. I can't, for some reason.

I'm going to be a journalist for the biggest newspaper company in Australia. I passed an entrance exam that News Limited gives to prospective candidates, and they hired me. I'm going to be working in their big offices in the center of Sydney, writing for the
Australian,
the
Daily Telegraph,
and more.

I can't afford to go to college like most of my friends, but now I'm thinking that this is even better. Maybe things do happen for a reason. If I work really hard, I have a chance to make enough money for all of us.

         

It's the day of Tracy and Chris's wedding.

We're outside at a restaurant by the water. It's beautiful. It's nothing like the one Tracy worked at (thankfully, she quit).

Chris is wearing a white tuxedo. I'm in my black satin bridesmaid dress, walking in front of Trent and Tracy, who today looks like she belongs in the rich Beverly Hills. It's the beautiful, before-the-accident Tracy. Trent is walking her down the aisle.

When the celebrant asks who gives Tracy away, I look down and smile at Trent, who is so proud in his little white tuxedo with a red rose in the lapel. I nudge him and he answers, “I do.”

All the guests smile and make that
awww
sound you hear when someone as cute as Trent says something sweet. Grandma starts her usual dramatic crying, and Auntie Connie walks over to quiet her down.

It's a beautiful wedding and it goes off without a hitch—until they read the telegrams. There's one from Mum and Dad saying they wish they could be here. Tracy and I stare at each other, wondering what the hell is going on. Then Chris's mum smiles at us and we realize it's her doing. We're furious. We were trying to leave Mum and Dad out of this and just enjoy the day.

The music starts and we dance and try and forget about it, and then it's time to say goodbye.

We all stand in a circle to kiss them as they go off in their white limo. When Tracy gets to Trent, she grabs him and starts crying.

“Come on, Tracy,” I say gently.

“I can't leave him,” she sobs, and Trent pats her head.

“I'll be all right,” he says.

Auntie Connie comes over and hugs them both, and Tracy lets go.

         

Now that Chris and Tracy are married, I think maybe it's time I leave. Time to let them get on with their lives and for me to get on with mine.

April 1987

T
here are twelve of us newbies at the paper, and every day we attend training sessions in things like shorthand and typing. My official title is “copy-person.” When we're not in class, we work different shifts, sitting in a row near the editor's office.

When a journalist or subeditor yells out, “Copy!” one of us jumps and runs to that person's desk to get them coffee, lunch, photos from the photo library, or information from the cuts library, which houses maps, encyclopedias, books, and all the stories that have ever appeared in the paper.

I love it.

Julie and I find an apartment to share. It's tiny, but it's ours. Moving away from Trent was the hardest part, but we're only five minutes away.

But not for long.

“Chris and I have decided to leave,” Tracy tells me. She's come to visit me at my new apartment. I'm sitting at Mum's sewing machine making some serious journalist clothes for my new career. Today I'm hemming a black pinstripe pantsuit.

“I can see why you'd want a nicer house,” I say.

“No, I mean…we're leaving Sydney. We're going to move to Queensland.”

This surprises me. “What? What about Trent?”

“He'll come too.”

I drop the fabric. “What are you talking about? You can't! That's ten hours away.”

“Erin, we'll never get ahead. We'll never be able to afford a place of our own here. It's too expensive…unless we want to live in a dumpy suburb out in woop-woop.”

What she's saying makes sense, but it's not what I want to hear. “But Tracy, can't you hold on? I'm going to start making good money soon.”

She shakes her head. “Erin, that will take years.”

“Not if I work really hard. I—”

“Erin, you were making more at Cookie Man,” Tracy says, and it's true. “It's going to take years before you're making decent money. We can't wait for you to climb up the ladder, and I don't expect you to try and do this for all of us.”

“But—”

Tracy fiddles with her pocketbook and sighs, and I realize how tired she looks. “We have to go, Erin. I need to get away from here.”

“But I don't want you to leave. And please don't take Trent so far away.”

“You can come if you want,” she tells me, looking away.

I have a feeling she's hoping I'll say no.

I don't know what to do. I've got my job and my apartment. Everything I know is here. Tracy tells me that they'll be moving in a month's time. When she tells me that she and Chris only just decided to move, I believe her. Tracy's never been one to make long-term plans.

But I am.

What do I want to do with my life? If I stay here and change my mind, I can always leave my job and move to Queensland. But if I leave my job, move, and realize it was the wrong decision, I'll be stuck.

If I move with them, who knows if I'll find an opportunity like the one I have now at the newspaper? Sure, I'll be there with Trent. But is that enough? I want to give him more.

I don't know what to do. Do I stay or do I go?

         

I stay. After talking it over with Julie and driving myself bonkers thinking about it, I decide that some time apart might be the best thing for me and Tracy. It might even make us closer. I don't want to quit my job. And if it gets to be too much being away from Trent, I can always change my mind.

Before they leave, I call Ronald. It's been months since I've spoken with him. When he answers the phone, I take a deep breath and launch into my request. I'm calling him because I need some money, and any pride I had vanished long ago. I want to take a trip to London. He knows that Tracy is moving and I'm not, and I've got a small kernel of hope in my chest that maybe he'll take pity on me—the one left behind—and be willing to give me enough to pay for my airfare and a few weeks' spending money. I figure I'll start off big, and if it turns out that he'll only give me a few hundred dollars, that's a few hundred more than I started with.

My uncle shocks me. “Hold it right there,” he interrupts happily. “We can take that out of your money.”

Did I just hear right? “Really?” I don't get it. He's always saying no to things much more important than this. What's changed?

“You've been through a lot, Erin. You deserve it.”

“Well, thanks,” I say, caught off guard. “Thanks, Ronald.”

We make a bit of small talk. And then he drops the bomb. “Look, Erin. About your money. I'm in a bit of hot water.”

“What's wrong?” I ask.

“I've done something I shouldn't have. Just between you and me, I borrowed some of your money. Mind you, I had full intentions of paying it back.”

Is he kidding? After all the times we called him, begging for money to help pay our bills, to help keep us going—to buy Trent Christmas presents, for God's sake—he “borrowed” some? What a low-life bastard. Am I really related to this asshole?

I want to yell and scream, but I don't. I've got to act like this isn't a big deal to me so he'll open up more. I want to know everything, every detail. He won't tell me if I start yelling.

The journalist in me takes over. “How much money have you used?” I ask, and grab a notepad and pen.

“I don't know exactly. Probably about…say…twenty thousand dollars.”

“Twenty thousand dollars?” I blurt out more loudly than I intended. Stay calm, Erin, stay calm.

“Erin, promise me you won't tell anyone. Promise. You can't tell Tracy.”

“I promise.” Yeah, right! “Does Peter know?”

“Erin, please don't tell him…. I've…I've used some money for my business.”

“Business? What business?”

“I've—I've been buying old tractors, refurbishing them, and selling them.”

“So where's that money? The money from the sale of the tractors then?”

“I put it back into the business.”

“Why not just put it back into our trust account?” I ask.

“That's not how business works,” he explains, as if I should know this.

“Well, how's the business that has our money in it doing, then?”

“Well, you know. These things take time.”

“Ronald! How's the business doing?”

There's a long, uncomfortable silence.

“Well?” I prompt.

“Um…it's not so good, actually, but things will get better. I promise.”

“So where the hell is our money?”

He doesn't answer, and I'm getting into a panic.

“And what about the money from the sale of the house? And the life insurance Mum and Dad had? Where is it?”

I can't believe this.

Ronald keeps talking. “Erin, they'll probably throw me in jail. I don't know what to do. God, I'm in a lot of trouble now. I suppose when you dip into the cash box you've got to expect your fingers to get burnt.”

“Is that worse than having your balls cut off?”
I want to ask, but I'm playing it cool.

“A trustee isn't allowed to invest money in his own business schemes to make himself richer,” I say hotly. I might be only eighteen, but I know that much. “You were just supposed to take care of it for us and give it to us when we needed it.” Not that he ever did.

“I'm sorry, Erin, I'm sorry. Please don't tell the lawyers about this.”

My hand is gripping the phone. “So is there any money there for my trip?”

“How much do you need?” he asks.

“A thousand dollars,” I say boldly.

“I could probably manage five hundred.”

I'm seething even more than I was when he told me about his “business.”

“I'll send you a check right away,” he continues.

“Thanks for being so understanding about this, Erin. I'll work it all out. Don't worry.”

Oh, I'm not worried, Ronald, because I'm going to work it all out. I'm going to get it back from you and then come and cut your balls off myself!

I say goodbye, hang up, and put my pencil down.

What the hell am I going to do?

Is it really so bad that Ronald blew our inheritance? It's a pretty horrible way to get money. We wouldn't have it if Mum and Dad didn't die.

What the hell am I thinking? It's the principle of the thing. You don't take money from your dead sister's children. How could he?

How am I going to get it back? Maybe I could write a story for the newspaper:
Uncle Swindles Parentless Children.
There's a lawyer at the paper who handles all the legal stuff for the company. He could give me advice. And I have to tell Tracy at some point.

Retaliating against our deadbeat uncle is one thing we can definitely do as sisters.

         

Tracy, Chris, and Trent are leaving today. They took Trent to say goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa the other day, and now it's my turn.

We didn't have a farewell dinner or anything, because Tracy didn't want to make a big deal out of it.
“Things are still a big deal whether you ignore them or not,”
I want to say, but we've had that conversation before, and I have to accept that we just think differently when it comes to that kind of stuff.

I'm standing on the footpath outside my apartment building waiting for their van to pull up. They traded in the beloved VW Beetle for it. I feel sick to my stomach. I can't believe they're leaving. After all these years of fighting to stay together and generally just fighting, it's coming to an end. Or is this the beginning? Will it be good for us to have time apart? I don't know. I just know I love them so much and can't stand the thought of them leaving. I never thought I'd say that about Tracy after all we've put each other through. I guess blood
is
thicker than water in lots of ways. There's a tie there that just won't break no matter how much it's pulled. So does it really matter that it's going to be stretched for miles and miles?

The van pulls up. Here come my tears. I've got to stop crying—Tracy hates tears.

I manage to dry my eyes before the van stops and Trent jumps out. My heart flops around in my chest. No, he can't leave, he can't. What will I do without him? What will I be without his sweet little smile? He runs to me and I pick him up.

“Oh, Trent, I love you so, so much. You know that, right?” I can't see him through my tears.

“I love you too, Erin,” he says, and puts his head on my shoulder. Now I am sobbing.

Will he forget me? Will he forgive me? Will he miss me? Will he think I'm dead? Does he know enough to care? Am I doing the right thing? Are they?

It's strange, but everything seems so simple all of a sudden.

We're family no matter what. Mum and Dad's not being here can't change that. If anything, their absence makes us feel more like family.

“Bye, Trent. I love you. Bye, Chris.”

And then I look at Tracy, really look at her for the first time this morning.

“Bye, Tracy. I…I…love you.”

And she looks at me and says the same, and I think she means it.

Maybe apart we can finally come together.