T minus two years less two days

From: J. Zeer
To: A. Jeffers
Shit, just realised what I wrote; didn’t mean to scare you.
She’s alive.
She wasn’t trying to kill herself, she says. Claims she would have done it right in that case – pulled down instead of across.
The scary thing is, I believe her.
How the hell did I end up in this situation?
Oh, watch me care.
How can’t I? She had sex with me, and then she went back to her room, pulled out a razor blade and deliberately slashed it across either wrist. Excuse me for feeling slightly guilty.
I mean, it’s not even as though she was the virginal type, you know? I know I’m not the first person from my group she’s fucked.
If I’d known she was fucked in the head, I never would have fucked her. Really. I don’t need this kind of stress.
I feel responsible for her now. I so don’t want to.
It was supposed to be a party. Two years to go, plentiful free booze, no regrets in the morning. I get some for the first time in four months. And she turns out to be a fucking nutcase.
I mean, what the fuck did I do? Oh yeah – fuck. Fuck! Why me?!
I suppose I should just be grateful it wasn’t my wrists she slashed.
Jim

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Hi, Jim.
Mrs Keller says she likes Gran, and she asked me to call her that too. It’s really lovely of her. And she said I could read her diary too, which is just… awesome. I’m going to go and read it now, actually.
Did I tell you I used to be a major fan of her work? I don’t think I did – I felt somewhat gauche about it. But there’s no shame in saying I think she’s a great author. The more time I spend with her, though, the more I grow to like her as a person.
So, hey, hope you had a nice time at the big party (it was actually on the news that it’s going to happen) and write back soon, OK?
Lucy

Jim walked warily into the drab institutional room, nodding to the inhabitant. She smiled gamely at him. “Hey, Jim. Can you believe they’re keeping me in this place? It’s exactly the same as my room, except the posters have been replaced by a live feed to the nurses’ office. Bloody ridiculous.” She shook her head in mock-despair. “We really on camera?” he frowned back at her. She nodded to a corner of the ceiling. “S.O.P. in places like this, especially if you’re on suicide watch.” She indicated the sole moulded-plastic chair, and he sat awkwardly. “But you weren’t…” he said, trailing off in embarrassment. “Exactly!” she replied, pointing at him with one finger. “You get it! I wasn’t! I’m fine! Turns out I didn’t even really need stitched up!” He leaned back, and frowned at her again. She cocked her head at him, then sighed in defeat. “OK, so it would have scarred, like, majorly, but I wouldn’t have died and that’s what counts. And we wouldn’t have had to go through this rigmarole. And I would still be on the program.” At that, he sat straight again, shock clearly showing on his face. “They can’t kick you off for a psychological problem,” he protested. “Oh yeah?” she replied with a hefty dose of mockery. He stood, agitated, and declared, “You have to fight it.” She chuckled at his passion, then looked down at her blanket, slightly embarrassed. “They won’t kick me off for the problem. They’ll do it for lying on the application. Told them there were no pre-existing problems.”

You mean… you’ve done this before?
Hell yeah. Did it for years in my teens, on and off since then. Never as bad as this time, though.
Was it my fault?
No. No, it wasn’t you.
So… what?
I don’t know. It just… called. Call it a relapse if you like.
A relapse.
Two years to launch, big party, too much to drink… relapse.
Relapse.
You should go – the nurses will start yelling soon.
OK. I’ll come back tomorrow, yeah?
Cool.

T minus two years less four days

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
This is going to sound weird, but… did you ever self-harm? ‘Cause I’ve got kind of a friend here who did, and I got this image of you wearing jeans all of one summer, and I was just wondering…
Anyway, yeah, it’s this big involved story and I don’t want to rehash it now – but the gist of it is that we had sex and then she slashed herself so I feel partially responsible even though she’s absolved me of all fault.
The party was great up until then, by the way. Big announcement from the captain himself, then it was all booze and revelry and fireworks, and I pulled this hot chica I know… and next morning I’m called into the hospital as the last person seen with her.
I think they thought I raped her, and she’d attempted suicide because of that.
Of course, as soon as she got out of being stitched up, she set them straight, but…
My psych profile is all wrong for that. But her psych profile is just about all wrong for suicide, and that’s what they thought it was, but she says otherwise, and…
I just wanted to ask, and if you did, any tips? Oh, and why the hell didn’t you tell me?
Jim (playing concerned older brother, not that he’s ever been on the receiving end of it so he isn’t quite sure what it is… and oh fucking hell I don’t have time for my issues right now. J.)

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs R.A. Keller
I just realised what the reference to razor blades in your diary was all about. I skipped over it before, barely even noticed it, looking for the family stuff. But someone I know just cut themselves pretty badly. Deliberately.
I always thought you were one of the sane ones.
Was I wrong?
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: L. Lockridge
Yeah. Stuff happening here.
Keep writing to me, please? You sound so happy.
Jim

T minus two years less five days

#Extract from Transcript of Session One
Patient: DFL (Nav)
Counsellor: LUN#
LUN: Why are you here today, Dan?
DFL: I got sent.
LUN: Why was that?
DFL: Because I slashed my wrists.
LUN: Why did you do that?
DFL: Felt like it.
LUN: Dan…
DFL: That wasn’t a proper answer, Dan, try again? Tell me something. Why is it that you get to ask all the questions?
LUN: I’m the counsellor.
DFL: Good point.
LUN: So why did you slash your wrists, Dan?
DFL: Told you. I felt like it.
LUN: You felt suicidal?
DFL: No! I keep telling people this, and they keep not listening. Self-harm does not equal suicide! Totally different intent, here.
LUN: So what was your intent?
DFL: Blood. Maybe a scar.
LUN: You wanted a scar?
DFL: Yeah, that significant?
LUN: Uh… possibly.
DFL: Give it up, already. You’re not trained for this.
LUN: Not entirely.
DFL: So what do you really want to know?
LUN: How this didn’t get on the psych reports.
#End Extract#

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
Casey said no.
Damn it!
S.

T minus one year, eleven months, three weeks

Dan! Hey! How are you?
Fine, Jim. I’m just dandy.
How sarcastic was that?
On a scale of one to ten?
Dan…
Sorry. Just… they confirmed it today. I’m out.
Shit.
Yeah. I swore I wouldn’t leave, no way no how, and here I go. Not even fighting it.
You could. Fight it, I mean.
I’d lose. I just… I guess I don’t want to stay any more, now people know I’m fucked up.
Everyone’s fucked up.
Everyone doesn’t slash their wrists. Don’t you get it yet, Jim? This is the perfect colony, full of perfect people. It’s selective breeding in its highest form. Everyone’s fucked up, but to be here, you have to be smart enough to hide it. I used to be that smart. It changed because of you.
You said…
I lied. Your fault, Jim. Live with it.
But what did I do? I don’t understand.
You were naïve and idealistic and nice to me. And I liked you. Goodbye, Jim.
Wait! Dan… Write to me, at least?
Maybe.

T minus one year, eleven months, two weeks, five days

Jim walked into the room to find an unusual sight – the group gathered together near the front, talking in urgent tones. He nodded to them, and sat to listen. “I heard she left yesterday,” said one woman, “took the transport out, all her stuff with her.” A tall man perched on a desk nodded quickly in agreement. “My brother’s one of the pilots, he recognised her. What I want to know is why?” Another man sighed in exasperation. “I told you already,” he almost shouted, “she tried to kill herself.”
Jim stood. “Actually,” he said in an informative tone, “she self-harmed. It’s different.” Every head in the room turned towards him, and while most of them tried to work out which question to ask first, one person asked, “how is it?”
“It’s all about intent,” Jim said. “Self-harm doesn’t necessarily mean you want to die – it just means you want to hurt, want to bleed.” The girl who had asked nodded thoughtfully, and stated, “You seem to know a lot.” He nodded back at her, and said, “She bent my ear about it for three days straight.” “Waitasecond,” jumped in the man from before, who had so firmly stated his position, “you’re the guy they called in?” Jim sat back down casually, and confirmed it. “But that was because he left the party with… her… You and her?” Jim again confirmed the man’s deductions.
“Why not?” asked a younger man from the other side of the group, “I had a thing with her before.” Jim looked across at the other man and raised his eyebrows. “It’s like we’ve fucked by proxy,” he said.

T minus one year, eleven months, two weeks, four days

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
Of course I’ll keep writing to you.
I noticed that you said “someone you knew” had hurt themselves – does that mean someone not particularly close to you? If so, why do you seem so upset?
I agree with you that the reference in the diary probably implies self-harm, but if she left it in her teens what’s the harm? She won’t talk about it, simply answered “of course” at the end – though whether that’s to you being wrong or you thinking she was sane I’m not sure.
I’m sorry, but this isn’t exactly putting me in a cheerful mood, so I don’t know if I can be happy for you.
You should find a way to be happy for yourself; something that always cheers you up. I had a bit of a time of it in school, and my solution was just to think about being in my tree-house. My grandfather lived in the country, you see, and every summer I would stay with him for a month or so while I was on holiday but my parents weren’t. And there was a wood near where he lived, and up in one of the trees I found a pretty little treehouse, square and solidly built, but a little dilapidated. So every summer I spent the first week of semi-decent weather fixing it up – sweeping it out, nailing down any loose boards, stuffing in the gaps; generally tidying it up and making it weather-proof. After that, I took up a few cushions, and some of my things, and I would spend as much time as I could up there. It was lovely – all dappled light on sunny days, with green all around, almost hidden from anyone who went past…
It blew down the winter I was fifteen – I suppose I was getting too old for it anyway.
Tell me about your happy thing, when you think of it.
Lucy

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

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
I never thought I’d be apologising for being sane, but… no, never did that. I think the summer you’re thinking of is the one where I was convinced I had flabby thighs. Looking back, I hate the younger me – not that my thighs aren’t pretty damn good right now, but I had to work hard to keep them that way.
Things calmed down there yet?
Oh, about Casey – we’re still together. I’ll probably try asking again in a while. Maybe. Probably. Right.
Sam

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

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Dear Jim,
How is the colony faring without me?
How are you doing without me? I didn’t notice much in the way of friends around you, to be honest, and I’m allowed to worry about you at least a little.
OK, done.
I have returned home in an ignominious and inglorious fashion, discredited and dishonoured, hanging my head in shame and metaphorical tail between my legs, with recriminations and reproaches surrounding me, and that’s enough of the duos for now.
I’m home, and that’s all she wrote.
I bet if I was suicidal they would have kept me on – light duties only, of course. I’m so stupid! I convinced them that they could kick me out without ending up with my death on their collective conscience! Oh, idiot, idiot girl…
I do have a family, you know. I’m totally stuck with them now. The only acceptable explanation for leaving the program is that I couldn’t bear to leave them, so I can’t now ask for anything overseas. Not fair.
Hell. I’d get homesick anyway.
I hate it when I’m here but I miss it like hell when I’m not. What’s with that?
Anyway… nothing to write, nothing to do, so fucking bored I want my blades…
Boredom is a really big thing with that for me, by the way. Not that it matters that you know that, just saying that it just happens to be that… yeah.
Yours truly,
Dan Lau

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
Sammy,
That’s bad news about Casey, but remember: faint heart never won fair… um…
Yes, that was deliberate, I apologise.
I just got a letter from the friend I told you about who cut herself. And I have no idea what to write back. And I have to write to Gran again and try to apologise for being incredibly pissy when I worked out she’d done that. And I have to try again with Mom while avoiding all mention of this because I didn’t tell her. And I have to… etc, etc, etc.
And I have all this work to do. Our new tutor is very pissed off about having another group on top of the ones he already had, and he’s taking it out on us. Subtly, of course, but I didn’t live with Gran from eight to eleven without learning subtle.
Excessive amounts of angst on my part,
Jim

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

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
Dear Dan,
The colony’s fine without you, though our new tutor is being a bit of a bastard – think he’s overstressed. It’s ILW, in case you actually care. Know him? In the Biblical sense?
Family’s always fucked, in my experience. Have I told you about my elder brothers disowning me? Oh, I must have, it’s the only topic of conversation I have, after all…
Turns out my Gran used to self-harm – how fucked is that?
Not that… not getting at you with that, just getting at that she’s my Gran and she was my one stable point and now she’s, y’know, not.
I’m so not good at this.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs M. Zeer
I’m sorry, was I excessively succint last time?
C’mon, Mom, you know I love you really…
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: L. Lockridge
Dear Lucy,
As I have time off today, I am using it to write letters. Evidently. I’ve been thinking about my happy place, but it always seems to turn out trivial, i.e. at the moment it is a place where I don’t have to write any letters. (To you excepted, of course.) I think it probably used to be some time when I was ten, and I was living with Gran and Sam, and we were watching her make pancakes – the big ones that we always had with lemon and sugar – and she would perch us on the counter and frown at us when she saw us sneaking tiny pinches of sugar or droplets of batter, but then she’d take a little section of lemon and absolutely smother it with sugar before she ate it whole, skin and all. Sometimes she’d just eat the lemon, no sugar, and Sam’s eyes would always go so damn wide…
He was a cute kid. It didn’t really work in his favour.
But, of course, at the moment Gran is associated in my brain with cutting which leads to thoughts of… friend, I would say, definitely more than an acquaintance, and I was probably more upset about it because I felt partially responsible. But she’s gone now – they wouldn’t let her stay, obviously. Actually…
Would you consider, possibly, getting your name on the waiting list? Because you seem really enthusiastic about it, and… what am I saying? You must have your reasons for not. Never mind.
I have to get back to the awkward letters, I’m afraid, but I’ll write again soon.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs R.A. Keller
Dear Gran,
How are you? I’m doing all right here.
I want to apologise for my tone in my last letter – it wasn’t polite, it wasn’t respectful, and it was totally unjustified.
Please don’t be mad.
I was just reminiscing to Lucy about the years I spent with you, and I was wondering: do you still eat lemons? Oh, and did you ever find that book we spent three whole days looking for, the one that was poetry by a… a physicist of some kind? And we never did paint the bathroom black.
See? I can do memories, sometimes.
It’s two o’clock in the morning, Gran, while I’m writing this. I sat down to write as soon as I finished dinner, and I just… couldn’t. And I’ve been trying to think of a way to write this particular letter, and it didn’t happen, and…
I’ll try again soon.
Jim

T minus one year, eleven months, six days

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
I do know Ivar, as it happens – though not in that sense – and a lovely man he is. I actually feel a little sorry for him, being subjected to you lot. Really, if you met up with him in a bar one night, you would like him. You’d probably end up flirting with him. He’s very… uh, the sort of person who’s receptive yet not a slut like me. Or something. Hmm. Apparently I’m shit at this too.
About your grandmother – it’s not that surprising, really. A lot of people do it, at one point or another. Though I guess if it was when you were living with her, that would be a bit scary. Just… I dunno, remember she’s her own person too.
My family: you want the tree? You can have the tree if you want, but really, not much to be excited about. Parents and one brother (younger). Grandparents all dead, assorted cousins, aunts, uncles, whatever…
Huh. Currently looking for a random job – don’t think I could hack Nav any more, not now I know what I’m missing. Ah well. My own damn fault.
Dan

T minus one year, eleven months, four days

From: L. Lockridge
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
I applied.
I did actually go in for it before, but I didn’t get past the first interview because I was slightly off at the time – family troubles.
Won’t they want to use people who got slightly further last time, though?
I suppose nursing skills are always desirable.
My extended family is fairly large and will miss me, but I’m not particularly close to any of them, especially since my grandfather died – yes, that is the “trouble” I was referring to.
That’s probably why Gran taking to me means so much to me. That’s a thought, come to think of it, what about Gran? I mean, she’d get by without me, I know that, but I’m sure she likes having a friendly face around, and I count as one, and you count as one, and if we’re both off on the colony then that leaves her a little lonely.
Oh, I met your brother when he came to visit! He’s very nice. I told him I was corresponding with you and he said that he was too, and he remembered your mentioning me. Which was just lovely. I have to say, I see what you mean about the cuteness, but he’s not my type. And I doubt I’m his.
I’m a little leery of asking, but: “It didn’t really work in his favour”?
You realise, of course, that if you write too much more to me than you write to Gran, you’ll be in deep trouble from the both of us? Just so you know.
Lucy

From: S. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
Hey, Jim-jam
I went home, finally. Went to see Gran, met that nurse of yours – she seemed nice. And, well, not bad… if you’re into that sort of thing.
Sigh. Casey didn't come with. Envying him immensely as I do the meet-and-greet with Mom’s friends and wander round the neighbourhood in the rain and meet up with old school chums. I cannot believe how some of them have turned out so far.
Bumped into Alan, and all – he seems to be doing all right. He was in a hurry for a fitting, or something, so I didn’t get much chance to talk to him, but I’m sure you know more about it than I do – you’re writing to him, right?
God, I miss my pillow-Case so much… I know, bad pun, but… I need the man. It’s scary how much.
And the bastard didn’t even think about it before refusing me.
I guess I have unresolved anger from that, don’t I? It’s probably a good thing we’re getting a few weeks apart – give us time to get our heads sorted out a little.
I hope he’s missing me too. I really, truly do.
Sam

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
Dan,
I always meant to ask, is that short for something?
I’m sure Ivar’s a wonderful person, but he’s a shitty-tempered tutor and he gives us twice as much work as you did. So, joy. He is fairly cute, though. Hmm… Do you know if there’s a particular bar he frequents?
Re: my Gran. It would be easier to remember she’s her own person if she hadn’t played an integral role in the formation of my personality. But the cutting was just when she was a teen, apparently, so that’s… I hate to say normal, but it is fairly, isn’t it? Jeez. I saw pictures of her from back then, and it didn’t show at all. I don’t know what I would expect to see, but, you know… something…
You can tell me about your family if you want, but you don’t have to.
Don’t have to do anything.
Good luck with the job. Maybe you could try teaching – you weren’t bad at it.
Jim

T minus one year, eleven months, three days

From: Mrs M. Zeer
To: J. Zeer
James,
I do know you love me, but sometimes it’s a little hard to believe. And since you’re leaving, perhaps you’ll forgive me for putting more effort into my relationships with your brothers than with you.
Speaking of them, Sam came home for a visit, which was lovely of him; though he hinted that I wasn’t the main reason for that. He seemed a little quiet at first, but claimed nothing was wrong, and started socialising very well. He went to visit your grandmother, and came back quite happy, which I was glad of. He seemed very taken with her nurse, though he mentioned your name in connection with her – could you possibly explain?
I hope things are well in the colony.
Your mother,
Mary K. Zeer

From: J. Zeer
To: S. Zeer
Hey, Sammity-Sam,
You still home? Or you get out of there yet?
Um… what was it… oh yeah. Lucy. “not bad, if you like that sort of thing” – what sort of thing? Other than girls, obviously.
Hey, last time I checked you were only eighty percent gay!
Wah. Brain is so fried right now. Bastard tutor… bastard bastard bastard tutor, and it’s not fair that he’s cuter than I am. But, y’know, not like that’s a huge task.
I am writing to Alan – though, come to think of it, I’m due another letter – that is, he didn’t write me back after the crisis a few weeks ago, the fucker, and I just… forgot about him. Damn it. I’ll dash off a note to him soon, then.
Right now, in fact.
Jim
P.S. I’m sure Casey’s missing you. Wait till you get back, I bet you’ll be all over each other as soon as you walk in. I’m glad you know how much he means to you – maybe you should be telling him that? Good luck with him. J.

From: J. Zeer
To: A. Jeffers
You pissed off at me, or something? Write back!
I’m sorry I dumped on you like I did, but what was I supposed to do? And I was stressed and scared and feeling all guilty and shit and… yeah, but I’m better about it now, and she’s gone home and she’s writing to me and Lucy’s writing to me and Sam’s writing to me and Mom’s writing to me and you’re not. So… damn it, Alan, don’t you cut me off too.
Please, man.
Jim

From: J. Zeer
To: Mrs M. Zeer
Dear Mom,
Things are all right here – fairly peaceful now, definitely more so than last month when we had the big party.
I understand what you mean about our relationship – it’s a little hard for me to remind myself to keep up with people that I don’t see often, and that includes you now. But I would like us to try and at least keep in semi-regular contact, out of obligation if nothing else.
Sam and I have been writing to each other, and I told him that Gran’s nurse and I had formed a correspondence, so when he told me he was visiting I asked if he could meet her for me, since I’ve never actually seen her in person. I hope you’re not forming ideas of pairing one of us off with her, though – I may have told her a little too much about our screwed-up-ness for that.
Anyway, I have work to do and nothing more to say, so…
Love, Jim

T minus one year, eleven months

Jim sat on his bed, picked up the pad of paper, and swore. He still hadn’t replied to Lucy, and he still didn’t know what the hell to say to her. What could he say that wouldn’t sound bad, one way or the other? “I hope you get in” sounds like you’re nothing if you’re on the outside, but you can’t exactly write the opposite of that. And what else was there? Sympathy for her loss, perhaps, but people die all the time and nothing you say changes it… And what was there, anyway? What was there between them? What was there at all?

From: J. Zeer
To: L. Lockridge
Hey, Lucy
Sam seemed to like you too. And you’re right, you’re really not his type. “It didn’t really work in his favour” – you’re right to be wary, I think, but it’s not that bad – just some bullying at school, a little victimisation, and would you believe, in this day and age, gay-bashing. Not that he’s not, but… he’s my kid brother and I really hate it when he gets hurt. I really, really hate it.
I’m a little scared by your threat, so I’ll end it here, but… it’s easier for me to write to you because I don’t feel so scrutinised and I don’t automatically curtail my subject matter. But I’ll try and do better.
You could read her bits from these letters, if you like. But that would be cheating, wouldn’t it? I’ll try.
Jim

T minus one year, ten months, three weeks, six days

From: D. Lau
To: J. Zeer
Jim,
“You weren’t bad at it”? Cack-handed compliments aside… It scared me shitless. I couldn’t hack it as a job. And it’s not like it pays well enough to compensate.
Don’t know what I’m going to do. Was considering academia, but the same arguments apply. So… I’ll find something. Carpentry, perhaps.
Can I ask about your family, actually? Because I remember you saying – and you mentioned in your letter – that you lived with your grandmother for a while, and I’m quite curious to know why.
I think we need to institute a policy of “no pressure whatsoever” – we can ask anything we want, say anything we want, neglect to answer anything we want. Saves the repetitive “if you don’t mind, you don’t have to”… hang on. That’s what you meant in your last, isn’t it? Don’t mind me, brain has frozen again.
Dan
P.S. Ivar likes the one in sector 3-8 – can’t remember the name, but it’s semi-classy. I think the sign’s black Gothic type on a dark green background. It has booths done in dark green leather – good for privacy.
Dan

Jim decided, that night, to take a walk around a few sectors. It was entirely coincidental, of course, that he found himself in 3-8 staring at a quiet bar. He stood where he was for a long moment, deciding eventually to walk in, fuck the consequences. Inside was quiet, with a mellow jukebox in the corner and mood-lighting all around. There were just enough customers to reassure him as to the quality of the bar, but not so many that he couldn’t take an empty booth for himself. He thanked providence that Ivar wasn’t there and settled to have a long beer. He definitely approved of the place, but it was a little out of the way for him – a place to come and be totally quiet, or find a guy. He relaxed.

T minus one year, ten months, three weeks, five days

From: A. Jeffers
To: J. Zeer
I’m not pissed off with you, I’m just run off my feet because Kathy is getting married very soon and somehow I’ve become the go-fer for it, and I have to attend all these meetings she has because I also have a say in how much money we spend on it, what the guest list should look like, what the ceremony should include, every single little fucking detail, and she should have gone for a longer engagement – like, three years longer – but she didn’t and it’s coming up fast. And I don’t get away with “whatever you want” like Gerard normally does, oh no. I have to give measured, thoughtful responses. I have to have opinions. I have to… yeeeearrrrgghhhhh!!!
Have settled in at job. Have found girlfriend – may become serious. Need sleep.
Am not cutting you off never will cut you off am not a bastard like those two.
Now can I go?
Alan

T minus one year, ten months, three weeks, three days

From: J. Zeer To: A. Jeffers Sorry, didn’t mean to nag. Didn’t realise the wedding was this soon. Assume Gerard is groom-to-be – you said he was all right, didn’t you? Yeah. Dan asked me about dad – in process of composing letter. Excessive joy. Jim

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

From: J. Zeer
To: D. Lau
When I was eight years old, I was sent (along with my six-year-old brother, Sam) to live with my grandmother. We stayed for three years.
The reasoning was, we were told, that since our mother was now alone, she couldn’t cope with all four of us. So Michael and Frank stayed with her, and we saw them every second weekend.
Those three years started when our father was arrested, and ended when his second appeal was rejected.
We had a great time living with Gran – she wasn’t crazy then, obviously, though looking back she had probably started heading that way. At the time it seemed she was merely somewhat absent-minded.
She roused us on school mornings with a boot to the door, and glared at us over her mug of coffee while we ate our cornflakes. She walked us to school, which was far enough away from her flat that we had to stay there for lunch. At the end of the school-day, she was supposed to be waiting at the gates, but she very rarely was. Instead, we would walk home as part of the crocodile. Most days, we would ring at the doorbell and she would answer with a harried “yes?” which gave way to a fleeting guilt when she realised she had forgotten the time yet again. We would sit and have a snack while she finished off the scene she was writing, and then we would tell her about what kind of day each of us had. She cooked dinner, we all ate, we read or watched vids for a while, and then Sam and I went to bed and she went back to writing for another few hours.
I suppose you want to know what my father did.
I don’t want to tell you.
But it was bad enough to get him life.
Just, y’know, whatever you’re thinking… he never hurt any of us. Ever.
Jim
P.S. Couldn’t be the “Green Room”, by any chance? And, uh, privacy? Did you mean what I’m thinking?