Reminiscing

Dear Rebecca,

I just wanted to write to you. It has been so long since I saw you last and a lot has changed. The last time a saw you was probably the most horrific time of my life and I wish it hadn’t tarnished all my other memories of you. I try so often to remember you and me, and how we were before that night.

Do you remember how we use to hide under your doona and cuddle, or how we use to sit on your front lawn and taunt the boys with our playful girly flirtations? Do you remember how I always had short hair and you always had long hair so you called me shortie even though I was so much taller than you? Do you remember how we were both always broke and use to jump up and down like idiots if we found a gold coin on the ground? Do you remember how we use to ache for each other’s touch when you were away at your school and I was away at mine? Do you remember the first day we kissed? Do you remember how you wouldn’t take no for an answer and how quickly I was defeated? God I miss all that stuff. I still remember what you smelled like- shitty Impulse spray! But I loved you anyway. Well in hindsight I call it love but at that time I wouldn’t admit it. I probably loved you more holistically then than I wanted to. You were a lover, and a sister, and a friend and I didn’t know what to make of that.

I also remember when we started to drift apart. How it was nobodies fault but it just happened. And how we were both SO OK with just being friends. It couldn’t have been a more smooth transition. I never felt bad about it and I sincerely believe that you felt the same. You taught me that breaking up could be the start of a really awesome friendship. Not that we ‘broke up’ as such. We just stopped holding each other and starting holding other people.

But more than anything, honey, I remember that night you called me.

I remember your long blonde hair. How you had dyed it red and I told you that you had overdone it. How the next time I saw you it was even redder, stained with your blood. Do you remember how paranoid I was about infections, and hygiene and catching diseases and yet I submersed myself in a bath full of you bodily secretions? I remember you telling me that you were going to do it. How nothing I could do would stop you. That if I tried, my efforts would only achieve making you do it somewhere dark and cold and alone and that we wouldn’t find you for days and that when we did it wouldn’t be pretty. I remember how hot that bath was when I crawled in with you, clothed. I remember how scared I was and how calm you were. I was shaking more than you. I guess you had made up your mind; you were calm and confident that this was what you wanted. I remember how you told me to get into the bath behind you so that ‘when it was done’ I would be able to get out without straining my back. Then I remember how surreal it was to be lying there with a naked cold version of you. How it chilled me to the bone emotionally and physically because the bath was ice cold and blood red. I remember how I turned on my autopilot. I drained the bath, washed your body, cleaned your wounds (which had so little blood in them anyway), dried your body, and combed your hair so gently. Then I remember how I dressed you. I had this fantasy of dressing you so that you would look presentable. But it was so hard and in the end I was a sobbing mess, my face smeared with tears and your blood. You looked a mess too. But it had to be better than when I started. I’ve mentally blacked out telling your parents what happened. I can see myself doing it but it is a blur and in my memory I can’t hear the words I spoke, though I think I remember what I said.

Your life and our friendship is the biggest black hole in my life. It is like a fictional story that I somehow deny existed. And I am sorry for doing that to you. And to your memory. I can’t really cope with what happened and it’s easier for me to think about other things.

You were a very special person in my life. I feel like in death I have to limit my recollection of you to mushy emotional crap but I should really fess up to how much of it was driven by sex. You were a stunner, I perved on you all the time. I loved how even as a young teenager you had the body of a woman, how your breasts nearly burst out of your school dress, how your legs seemed so shapely protruding from you kilt, begging for my hands to explore them. I loved how we explored each other’s bodies and learned to make each other squirm. You were so content to have me on the side and I was so happy that you wanted anything to do with me. I loved how you pulled at my hair and kissed my neck, how you sat on me and would grind against my lap. I loved how you’d pull reckless stunts with me like dancing in the fountains at crown casino. Sexually, you taught me so much about myself. You taught me how masculine I can be. God, the things I wanted to do to you. There were days where that was all I thought about. I took every opportunity that came my way. I loved feeling you tense up around me and how you would forget to breath and then gasp. I loved how even in the heat of summer you would get the bumpiest goose bumps just from my stroking. I loved how you would pathetically try to pin me down and lick at me like a puppy. How your tiny curvy body would literally bounce up and down from my jerking and writhing beneath you. Damn we use to make each other so hot.

But honey, I also remember what a shit life you had. How you’re dad use to do those things to you. I remember how one autumn day you were in a bad mood and I went down on you. I remember how you couldn’t get into it. I remember noticing a bit of blood and thinking you had your period. I remember when my tongue slipped over something sharp. I remember gently removing a 10cm piece of wire from you as you cried and cried and how you wouldn’t tell me how it got there but how it was obvious. And I remember your boyfriend. I remember him expecting sex every time he took you somewhere. I remember how you stayed with him and how I totally understood why you did it. Of course now I wish I had pulled you away from him and run away with you. I wonder if you would have been so sad and angry if I had.

I remember your last week with me. We were just friends by this point but we were close. I remember how that last week you seemed happier than ever before. I remember how you told me that everything was going to be all right. Your father was never going to hurt you again; your boyfriend would never be able to touch you again. You seemed so sure and even though you wouldn’t tell me how this was going to be possible, I was so so so happy to see you in such a good way. I guess that’s why when I got your call I just knew what I had to do. And I guess that’s why I did it.

It wasn’t until after you were gone that I found out you were pregnant. I have to confess that it was me who told the police about your father. That is why they did the paternity test. That is why he is now in jail for raping you. Perhaps too late to make a difference but surely it is some consolation for what you sacrificed? It’s nearly August 2007. At the time that seemed so far away. It seemed like he’d never get out. But here we are a few weeks away and he is going to be free again. Maybe I will cope fine, maybe I won’t, I’m not sure.

When your soul ran down that drain, a part of me left with it. I may have stayed and patted down your body and curled up against it but you were not there any more. You still live on. How else could I write to you? Only you now live somewhere safe. You are somewhere that even when your dad goes free, he won’t be able to get you. You are somewhere where that bastard boyfriend or yours will never find you, you are somewhere that you can rest and be happy. Rebecca, honey, you live in my memories. You live on in my mind. I spent years feeling as though I failed you because I let you die but now I realise that I have also given you the best gift I could ever give you. Peace.

Rebecca, honey,

I miss you. I love you. I will always remember you.

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Tags:

bath, collabtrain, death, diary, grief, hurt, jo, jo_obrien, journal, memories, obrien, pain, rebecca, reminiscing, shortstory, story, suicide, teenagers and youth