Another one! My English teacher, Mrs Curtis (who I’ve mentioned before), wrote at the
bottom of this one: “You had fun writing this Annelise!” (She didn’t use a comma before my name. This is concerning.)
I wonder, do
high school teachers psychoanalyse students as they read their work? Surely they do! How could they not?
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| from here |
Dear Eliza,
I suppose
you are a bit surprised to get a letter from me after all these years. How long
has it been since we both met at Channon Primary School? About 20 years? I hear
you’ve recently lost your wonderful job and divorced your fantastic looking
husband, Craig. You were always in love with him, weren’t you, even in year 2.
How humiliating to have your husband being so unfaithful.
I wish I
could feel some kind of pity for you in this situation, Eliza, but I can’t. You
were the one who made my life so awful when I was 7, Eliza, and I cannot seem
to forgive you for that. I remember those times well – I still have nightmares
about them.
Remember
that time when you stole my cake, Eliza? MY MORNIGN TEA?? I loved chocolate
cake. Now I can’t even think about it without those painful memories of eyou
eating the whole thing in front of me, you licking the frosting off the
gladwrap. It was that day that I swore to myself that one day I would get my
revenge on you.
And do you
remember the time when you told Mr Lawson that I had pulled your hair and I had
to sit and write 1000 lines all afternoon.
“I will not
be mean to my fellow classmates”
“I will not
be mean to my fellow classmates”
Sometimes I
wake myself up screaming that line.
I shiver
when I think of the name you used to call me: Beryl the feral. I changed my
name to try to forget about it, but the memories, Eliza, they are engraved in
my brain.
The list of
heartless, awful things that you put me through could go on- when you laughed
so hard after I was hit in the head with the cricket ball, when you cut my hair
at the back so that when I got it evened my hair was only two inches long. The
torture didn’t stop until I changed schools in year 3.
My
psychiatrist told me that writing down my feelings could help in releasing some
of the anger and hate that I’ve built up over the years. 20 years, four months
and thirteen days of anger and hate, and all because of you.
You are a
cruel bitch, Eliza, and I hate you. I’ve just wanted to say that for so long.
Well, the
doctor was right, I’m feeling much better. Perhaps he can decrease my
medication now.
Anyway, I
hope your life continues to go downhill. Maybe we’ll meet again, when you have
to join me in this place.
From Beulah
P.S. The
splotches on the paper are real blood.
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