T minus one year, ten months, two weeks, one day

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
Whoa. Seriously. Just… whoa.
I’m glad you had a loving home to go to for those years.
Makes me feel a bit daft for complaining about my lot.
I may have said something to that effect at dinner, letting them know I appreciate the fact that I’m the screw-up in the kin.
I’m glad you were honest with me.
Dan
P.S. Yeah, that would be it. And… Naughty boy!

From: A. Jeffers
To: J. Zeer
Are you fucking mad? Well, obviously, but… what the hell is the point dredging up the past? It’s done with! Jesus!
And the wedding is a fortnight off and I don’t give a damn about it any more.
I need sugar.
A.

He punched the wall. It hurt like hell. But it made him feel better, so he did it again. What right did Alan have to try to control anything? What did it matter to him if someone else knew? Oh, of course, that was it. He wanted to be the only one who knew the truth, so he could hold it over Jim when the time came. He wanted to be the only one Jim could turn to, and now he was feeling threatened in his position as best friend, and that was just fucking stupid.
And what the hell was with that last line? “You need sugar?” he snarled, and slammed one hand against the wall again, more sound and fury than actual damage. “What the hell do you think I need?” he continued, then stopped. Glared. Realised that he was doing all this in an empty room and generally being a complete idiot. “I need booze,” he answered himself in a contemplative voice, and left in search of it.

T minus one year, ten months, two weeks

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
I home.
My home, I mean, not home where I was visiting.
Things are still a little awkward with Casey, but the re-union was all that could be expected. So I’m slightly less sexually frustrated as well, which always helps.
I didn’t realise you were interested in Lucy-loo, my dear – I thought you were only seventy percent straight? She’s all right – nothing particularly special, but nice. Kind of medium all over, if you see what I mean. Brown-ish hair, pale skin… Good nail varnish. Bronze stuff, quite classy.
You might as well just fuck the tutor, though, because how the hell are you going to get with the pen-pal?
Don’t answer that, man, I don’t want to know what nefarious schemes you got cooking.
Mom was being her usual over-attentive self while I was there. It’s so good to have the peace to cook for myself. And Casey, of course. God. While I was home, I got an evening to myself, made dinner… realised I’d automatically made two portions. I’m so damn domesticated it’s untrue. But… I tell you now. If he doesn’t agree to be with me, permanently, I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know if I can live without him.
Melodrama aside… Honestly. I love him too much.
Sam

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs R.A. Keller
Hello Gran,
I got a letter from a friend who commented that they were glad I had had a loving home to go to, back then. And I realised that while I thanked you for looking after us, I hadn’t realised… well, the extent of it. I hadn’t realised how much love there was in that house. I’m so damn grateful for it. I’m so damn grateful for you.
I love you, Gran, and I never told you that often enough.
Life here is trundling merrily along, and it’s generally boring, but then that’s the way life goes. I probably spend far too much time in my room reading, but that’s the way I am, so if they don’t like it they can go stuff themselves.
Did you enjoy your visit from Sam? Did he tell you about Casey? I don’t want to be a gossip, but… hell with it. He asked Casey to marry him, and Casey refused. They’re still together, but Sam’s hurt by the rejection, Casey’s… I don’t know, but part of the reason for him going home was to get a little time apart without feeling guilty about it. I want to help, but I don’t think I can. All I can do is offer my support.
I really, truly, exceedingly hope that they work it out. They’re so good for each other. And I hate seeing my relaxed little brother so upset… well, not seeing, but I can just imagine that he was sitting talking to you with both feet pressed to the floor, slumped a little but not leaning against the chair back, going into classic “I’m upset but I’ll be damned if I’ll tell you about it” Sam-mode. And I’m not there to slide in behind him.
Shit. Hate feeling helpless about it.
I bet seeing you made him feel better – even if he doesn’t realise it, the way I didn’t until it was pointed out to me, the aura of love and home that comes with you is most definitely an amazing thing.
So thank you, Gran, for being you and for being there for us when we needed it and when we didn’t.
All my love,
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: A. Jeffers
It’s my past to bring up and I’ll do it if I want to. Repression doesn’t always help.
Jesus, Alan, would you just trust me to know what I’m doing once in a while? Dan, remember? The one that’s crazy to start with? And I told her the effect it had on my life, not exactly what happened, and I’m not going to, because that never goes in writing again, agreed? He never hurt us and that’s what matters in this context.
Good luck at the wedding, friend, pass on my renewed congratulations to the happy couple, get pissed and pull a bridesmaid.
Jim

T minus one year, ten months, one week, six days

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
Dan,
Didn’t mean to make you feel bad, but you did ask.
Can we drop the topic, though? I have this whole thing with father-issues and residual loyalties and whatever. And it probably affects me more through being the reason for my time with Gran than through anything inherent in the situation itself.
That said, “loving home” – thank you for writing that, though I doubt you realised what it means to me. I never noticed before. I truly never did, and I feel so ashamed of that. But it was. It really was.
Being the screw-up can be fun, can’t it? I remember at my third school, I fell in with a crowd of fairly up-tight studious folk who kept on trying to be liberal and cool and totally unflappable. And I would join them in the morning and complain about the hangover I had from whatever I’d been doing the night before or boast about the hangover I had from whoever I’d been doing the night before, and just watch them, watch the way their eyes would flicker shocked but their mouths would mumble something accepting… so funny. Of course, then I had to stress out about the testing and that changed their view of me somewhat, but… yeah.
I’m usually the normal one. That’s OK too. It’s nice having people rely on you.
You be honest with me too, OK?
Have you been cutting lately, or wanting to, or not at all?
And how’s the grand job hunt going?
Jim
P.S. Like you’ve never?

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Hi, Jim
It’s… ack. You’re allowed to write to me. I like you writing to me. Your letter is the high point of the week for me. But I feel guilty that you’re writing to me but not to Gran, because she loves getting your letters too, no matter how short they are or how imperfect they may be. And I try to talk to her, but I have to look after the other patients, and I’m not really family or anything and I don’t have the background and the memories that you have.
Oh lord. I didn’t tell you about her responses to that letter of yours. She was happy about it. To the lemons, she nodded, the book, she nodded again and looked at her bookshelf (I think she meant she got a new copy), the bathroom she smiled.
She forgives you, she’s not mad, she loves you, and the only way she’ll give up on you is if you give up on her, all right?
Write to her again, Jim. Don’t bother waiting for replies. Just keep writing.
Lucy

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
I’m not interested in Lucy. I just want to have some kind of picture of her in my head when I’m reading her letters – it’s a little disconcerting because the way we write feels like talking to each other, then in my head I’m sitting having a discussion with a toally faceless person. Or a female version of me, which is even worse. But she’s good, yeah? Gran likes her and everything?
Ah. Yeah. Ended up on a bit of a spiel about you to Gran, since Lucy commented you seem quiet and that is so not your usual M.O. Sorry ‘bout that.
Oh yeah – “fuck the tutor” – I already did that and remember how it turned out? And it’s not like I’m hugely desperate for marks. Shame.
Love you wanna help you but can’t do anything long-distance except say good luck and I hope you work it out.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: L. Lockridge
Hey Lucy!
Great minds think alike, huh? I just got your letter, and I wrote to Gran two days back.
My letter is “the high point of the week”? I dread to think what the rest of the time’s like for you – really, Lucy, if life is shit then you can tell me. I know I said I liked you being happy but I can cope with you not better than I can cope with you hiding it from me. Thought I was your friend. Or possibly adopted-cousin-ish-type-thing.
I feel really guilty about ending this now! But I don’t know what to say…
Made rock buns for the corridor again. Did a big batch, ate about ten all by myself. I may still be at student-level cookery, but I can bake like nobody’s business. I should make bread some day soon, come to think of it.
What about you – cooking, baking, nothing? For all I feel close to you, I don’t know you very well. But I guess that goes the other way, so:
Cats, blue, sausages, autumn, Iceland, whisky, sunsets, sea, coffee (but I’ve given up since the only company I didn’t boycott got bought out – oh yeah, left-wing socialist leanings, “social conscience” yadda yadda)
How’s that for a start?
Jim

T minus one year, ten months, six days

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Hey, Jim,
Didn’t mean to make you nervous about writing to me as well – it was supposed to be a compliment, or something.
Life is not shit, it’s just incredibly boring and routine and monotonous and any synonyms you care to add. And, yeah, with Gran being Gran I guess I’m a cousin of some sort. Which means you now have three close friendly family members. Does that feel good?
OK, breathless list alert: cooking, cats, green, chocolate, winter, (if this is favourite country – I’m assuming it’s not birthplace or something weird like that) Thailand, vodka, sunsets, sea, tea, apathetic but nominally leftie.
It’s OK for a start.
For more, I think we’ll have to go beyond one word answers, but we already have the happy places. So what are the worst places? That is… right, OK, make that phobias. Spiders and other bugs. Occasional flashes of agoraphobia. And I’m scared of being a failure, scared of dying in one of these homes, alone and unloved, scared of forgetting who I am and turning myself into my parents moulding myself to be just what everyone wants me to be so I end up being nothing like what anyone actually needs.
I have a tendency to babble when I get emotional and clam up in public situations. I like working with old people but I’m scared of growing old myself and sometimes I find myself avoiding looking at them for fear I’ll recognise myself in fifty years time. Hey, that’s a thing! I don’t even know how old you are!
Twenty-three here. One metre sixty-three, not telling you kilos, on days off wear jeans and a T to do practically anything. Light make-up for work, none for home, sometimes excessively glammed-up for going out, though I don’t do that as often as I did in school with all my friends which still wasn’t more than once a week or so. Beige hair, light skin, undefinable eyes (really, they’re like sludgy-green-grey-blue-hazel-ish-but-not-quite), good teeth.
Now feel like a horse.
Gran’s responses: she was upset that you were upset and very touched by your professions of love. She said it three times, “love,” looking pointedly at the letter and at me and then the letter again. Sam didn’t tell her about Casey, which she was a little pissed off about (and now I understand what that look on his face was when he let go for a moment) but she still smiles whenever she thinks about him visiting.
It’s obvious he loves her too. I wish I could see the three of you all together, it must be beautiful. I said as much to Gran, and she nodded – I think she might show me some pictures from way back when. But that was kiddy stuff, and… you get what I’m saying? Or am I just talking nonsense again?
Huh. I have actual work to do.
Lucy

Jim set down the letter, and smiled peacefully. He did enjoy hearing from her, despite the fact they had never met. That she had now given him something of a description definitely helped with his mental processes. He could almost picture her sitting down on her break, still in her uniform, a mug of tea on the table and a pen caught between her lips as she figured out what to write next. It was a nice picture – a friendly picture, and he fixed it in his mind as firmly as he could. It was probably totally inaccurate, but that hardly mattered, since he was stuck in the colony. Yes, she was a nice girl, and obviously loving, the way she looked after Gran… He smiled.

From: Mrs M. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
Son,
Despite what you seem to think, I am not an inveterate matchmaker, and even if I were you boys would have frustrated my hopes beyond all patience long ago. That said, if she’s a nice girl, why not?
Your mother,
Mary K. Zeer

T minus one year, ten months, four days

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs M. Zeer
Mom,
Because I’m in a colony and Sam’s gay. Remember?
Ack. I like writing to her, and she’s adopted Gran, all right? That’s it.
That’s all.
How is it that I always feel defensive even when you’re not accusing me of anything?
I’m sorry, I should just leave this now.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: L. Lockridge
Lucy,
How you doin’?
Am twenty-five, and haven’t you seen me when I was visiting Gran? I’m sure I remember… whatever. Tall-ish, dark-ish, not exactly handsome but not too bad.
Yawn…
Can’t think, sorry. Brain freeze.
Fears: turning into my father. That’s about it.
Thank you for your lovely long letter and I wish I could reply in the same fashion but I just have nothing in my head right now. Sorry.
Jim

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
Yes, I asked, and I’m not sorry I did because you obviously needed to tell it to someone who wasn’t there, and if you want to tell me more then write, you bastard! And if you don’t – which, yeah, you say – then don’t. Simple as that.
Being the screw-up is only fun when you choose to be that way. When you can’t help it, and all you want to do is fit in, and you know you never will… that just fucking hurts.
But being normal sucks too. Doesn’t life always?
Ack. Downer. Sorry. But I just had my first day at the job and it sucked big time. Did I tell you what I’m doing? I don’t think I did. I’m being a secretary. Isn’t that just gorgeous? It’s only temporary, it’s just to get some ready cash until I work out what the fuck I’m going to do with my life, but really. It’s not fun.
About the cutting – yeah, I’ve done some, but not much more than breaking the skin, though it’s been fairly frequent. And I always want to do more. Deeper or more numerous, whatever. It just… you know. The only time I’m not bored is when I get pissed off, and when I’m bored I need something to do and my brain turns to the blades and when I’m pissed off I need to let it out somehow and oh look! blades! I know, I need to re-wire my brain, but it’s not like I’m hurting anyone. And it’s cheaper than drinking myself into oblivion every night.
Peace and love,
Dan
P.S. But everybody knows I’m a slut.

T minus one year, ten months, three days

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
Freak. Yeah, life always sucks, but that job cannot be helping. Work out what you want to do and just go for it. Doesn’t matter what anyone thinks.
I want to drop the topic.
Could you please find some other coping mechanism? You say you’re not hurting anyone, but isn’t the whole point that you’re hurting yourself? And excessive alcohol is just another form of self-abuse.
OK, sanctimoniousness over.
Jim
P.S. I think the term is “in my sexual prime”.

From: A. Jeffers
To: J. Zeer
Wedding went off OK.
Didn’t need to pull a bridesmaid – girlfriend, remember?
Need to sleep for about a month to recover, though.
Alan

T minus one year, ten months, one day

From: Mrs M. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
You’re probably right. But I, of course, am actually interested in what my beloved child has to say for himself.
Your mother,
Mary K. Zeer

From: J. Zeer
To: A. Jeffers
Good to hear. But we need to quit with the one-line messages.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs. R.A. Keller
Gran,
I thought I would report an incident that may or may not amuse you.
I was in the library today, and I overheard two people in the… hey, what’s the word? In among the books… the only thing I can think of is aisle, and I know that’s wrong… anyway, they were on the other side of a set of shelves, and I was just browsing quietly, so they didn’t know I was there.
But there I was, all quiet, when suddenly the first thing I hear said is, “Capital, my dear fellow! And I am delighted, I can tell you!”
Do you know what it is yet? How about I follow that up with, “I did not know that you yourself had been pledging things with the old woman”?
Yes, they were acting out Dostoyevsky. It was really rather surreal. The guy reading Razoumikhin was far the better of the pair, and I told him so when I saw them walking out – not being nasty to the other, just saying. I think he thought I was hitting on him. Which I might have done in another situation, but this was a genuine compliment, a “well done keep doing stuff like that maybe you should try performing because I’m sure you’d do well though oops, colony, what do you do for a living again?” Aargh. I don’t mind my future being restricted, but when I think about the artistic talent that could be smothered because we are slotted neatly into roles… let’s just say I don’t feel good about it.
Much love,
Jim

T minus one year, nine months, three weeks, two days

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Why do you have to care about me? Really? Why do I have to feel like I’m letting you down every time I do… anything, really? I’m a grown woman and I’m my own woman, and I don’t owe you anything.
Aargh. Fucking evil supervisor bitch hates me. And there’s so little talent in this town that I haven’t already fucked.
Dan

From: A. Jeffers
To: J. Zeer
Quit it yourself, fucker. A.

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
Sorry, Dan. J.

T minus one year, nine months, three weeks

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
I confess I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t write more, but I’ll be content with whatever you can give me. You’ll have to forgive me, though – I think I wrote myself out with the last one.
I’m tired. I’ve been working extra shifts lately, and spending too much time with the vids at night. And one of my high school friends was in town last week and she wanted to go out every night because that’s the sort of person she still is and I still haven’t recovered from that.
Gran loved your last letter, though – she was chuckling away at the beginning, got the source at the first quote, looked very serious and nodding quite vigorously to your little riff on potential.
Can I just ask… god, this is awkward… I never got the impression you were gay, but you wrote (in that, which is not my letter, so is kind of none of my business) that you might have hit on him under other circumstances, so… like I said, awkward.
Well, uh… yeah. Can I reiterate – keep writing. To her, or to me… but please.
Lucy

From: J. Zeer
To: A. Jeffers
Fuck you! J.

From: J. Zeer
To: L. Lockridge
Lucy
I’m hardly ever in the mood to write at the moment. I only want to tell things that happen, and nothing ever does that isn’t just “oh, you had to be there” and “oh, you have to know him” and… you see what I mean?
I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.
I still haven’t decorated my room. It’s grey, and bare, and drab, and I sit here every evening losing myself in a book, staying up till three just to finish it because if I stop reading then I have to be in the real world, and I can’t deal with that unless I’m totally exhausted and about to drop straight off to sleep. And I don’t deal well with delayed gratification, in books at least. I have to know what happens. I have to finish reading. I just… get into the paper, in my head, and it’s all right in there because while I feel for them I’m not one of them, I’m not the one being hurt and betrayed and fucked and killed and loved and fought and hated and disappointed and… none of it, none of it is me but it works, in me, I feel the feelings but not for me so then I can leave them behind, I can feel alive without having to live…
I’m not crazy, Lucy, really, I just had a bad day.
I’m not gay either – well, a little, but mostly not. As to the letters, you can read Gran’s, you can tell her about yours, do whatever. I’m always thinking of you when I write to Gran anyway.
Actually, I’m so tired, and so lazy… could you read the part about reading to Gran? She’d appreciate it.
Oh lord. I’ve got the two of you all mixed up in my head right now. This is so sick. So very, very sick.
I’m not crazy. I’m not. Are you convinced?
Jim

T minus one year, nine months, two weeks, six days

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
Hate life… Casey wants to stay the way we are and of course we have to do what Casey wants… argh.
Gran loves Lucy, Lucy is good to Gran, don’t worry about that at all.
I guess you’re allowed to talk about me.
Thanks for your support but it does no fucking good.
Sam

T minus one year, nine months, two weeks, three days

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
Well I’m sorry I’m useless. I’ll just repeat the good luck, shall I?
Though, if it’s hurting you this much – is it really worth it?
Jim

T minus one year, nine months, one week, six days

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
‘s OK. D.

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
So, we approaching monosyllabic? J.

T minus one year, nine months, one week, five days

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
I read it to Gran, but I told her it was my letter and you’d asked me to do that. I told her you said you were lazy. She agreed.
You can’t do that, Jim. Please don’t do that. She loves you. You love her. What’s going on with you that you can’t even bother writing to her?
Lucy

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs R.A. Keller
Gran,
I’m very sorry I haven’t written. It’s just that I have this little thing called work taking up most of my time, since I’m working full-time in the shop – short hours, though – and taking mandatory classes in Navigation and doing the piles of homework that our group leader seems to think are necessary. In the meantime, I’m attempting to socialise, cooking for myself, keeping up with my reading, writing to six different people, keeping up my contributions to various ‘zines, volunteering in the creche three hours a week, helping out my lovely neighbours and oh yeah, occasionally sleeping. I’m a little tired. I don’t always feel up to writing to someone who I feel judges every single word, no matter how unfounded that opinion may be.
So please, Gran, don’t be upset that I’m falling out of touch with you. You’re not the only one. And it’ll hurt me more than it does you.
Jim

T minus one year, nine months, four days

From: A. Jeffers
To: J. Zeer
Nah, did that, remember? A.

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
I can’t give up on Casey. I just… I physically can’t.
But it hurts. It hurts that he doesn’t seem to love me as much as I love him. It hurts when I’m away from him. It hurts when he looks at other people. It hurts when I think about not seeing him. No matter what…
Going out to get drunk.
Sam

T minus one year, nine months, one day

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Yeah. D.