Skeletal (3 page)

And, okay, my current situation didn’t warrant a return visit, but that wasn’t to say I wouldn’t need it in future. I didn’t want a teacher patrolling the pathway
and
the bike sheds the next time I needed to get across to the mall.

There was a gap in the fence further up from where I’d originally landed. I tiptoed through the bark and bush covered ground and put my eye up to it. I couldn’t see shit. Or, should I amend that to, I could see shit. Whatever. There was no one standing directly in front of the knothole, of that much at least I could be certain. And it was further down from where I’d gone over so maybe I’d have a few seconds lead time even if Michelle and her friends were still hanging about.

I could hear the five minute bell go. Class was about to begin again anyway. No options left.

I grabbed hold of the vertical strut and put by foot on the horizontal and boosted myself up. I could clasp the top of the fence before I was even fully standing, and then I just had to jump up and swing my legs over.

It was as I passed the gravitational point of no return that I heard them running.

I tried to swing my legs back mid-turn but all I succeeded doing was hitching my skirt on the top of the fence leaving my backside and legs fully exposed.

There was a whoop of laughter as I struggled to free the fabric, and then I felt a hand grab at my underwear and yank it down.

The cool air against my buttocks. A flash of light. And then more laughter, running away this time.

I hung on one hand as I pulled my knickers back up. My skirt tore from the weight of me. It would be a hell of a repair job, but at least I was free now to drop to the ground.

There was no one in sight.

My skirt had torn in a vee shape down the side, but I adjusted my kilt pin to move the front further over, and that hid it well enough. The bell rang for class and I started to run towards the science wing. My mind worked through the series of events trying to make sense of them. A laugh, the pull on my pants, a flash.

They’d taken a photo.

The bitches had taken a fucking photo.

***

When I walked up the drive I could see that the curtains in the lounge were pulled shut. I tried to be quiet as I slipped my key into the lock, but every sound seemed to reverberate until it was all I could hear. With the door closed again behind me I could only make out the outlines of furniture in the gloom. There was a heavy fug of cigarette smoke, old fast food grease, and alcohol fumes that made me want to gag and cry at the same time.

If I had my way I’d stride through the house opening every curtain and window wide to let in the cleansing sunshine and clean, fresh air. I would vacuum up the ash and throw out the half-empty food containers, and pour every full and half-drained bottle down the sink. I’d throw my mother in the shower, and her clothes in the washer, and prepare something for the table that involved fruits and/or vegetables, and didn’t rely on grease and salt for flavour.

If I tried that right then, I’d have a slap across the face before I was halfway round the room, and a punch in the stomach if I tried to go further. Not that my mum is violent by nature; she’s not. But if she’s in pain she lashes out, and nothing caused her pain during the day more than sunlight and noise. And me. Being present. Even quietly.

If I were a romantic I could try to pretend that she was a vampire. The sunlight would spell her death, so she drew the curtains as a barricade against mortality.

That would be the romantic version.

I tried not to make too much noise as I walked through the room and out the side. The stairs up to my room on the second floor creaked at my every step. I’d tried in the past to step at the edges, at an angle, at alternate sides, but there was no way around it unless I walked super, super slow. So I just got up them at top speed. The noise was pretty much the same, but at least it wasn’t stretched out, and my nerves with it.

When I sat down on my bed I could hear the distant rustle of movement. I breathed slow and even through my mouth so I didn’t make a sound, and listened as though it was a participatory sport.

The thump of my heartbeat, but little more. Five minutes, ten minutes. I stopped concentrating on how much noise my breathing made. I stretched out on the bed even though the slumped springs squealed with the change of pressure.

My stomach grumbled with hunger, but I was too tired to be worried about it now. I couldn’t think what there’ll be to eat anyway – I’d been counting on getting the money out of the bank to go grocery shopping.

Maybe some jam, with nothing to spread it on. Maybe some margarine. I was sure the eggs had run out. Too tired.

***

I came fully awake all at once. There was a deep thump of a bass beat issuing from downstairs. Oh great. Another one of mum’s parties, and I was sure she’d remember that I need my beauty sleep on a school night.

I pulled off my uniform and had a look at the tear in my kilt. I’d need to fix it up before I wore it again the next day. It was already starting to spread further. If I didn’t fix it straight away, it’d be unfit to wear by the next week, and there was no money to buy another one. I could only get this one by trading in another school’s and pretending it had never been worn. Well, it had only been worn for six weeks, and that hardly counted.

The song shifted, and the volume increased. There were cries of admiration. A favourite, no doubt.

The neighbours’d be round soon to complain about the noise. If they did they’d probably be on the receiving end of a fight rather than gracious compliance.

I pulled on a sweatshirt and some sweatpants. If I was lucky, someone’d have brought some food along with them. Fish ‘n’ chips or Maccy Ds to soak up some of the alcohol. I trotted downstairs, taking no care about the level of sound. The bass beat had some audible notes now. And the cracked voices of people joining in without any true appreciate of tone, or rhythm, or melody, or the right words. It probably sounded great in their own heads. And they were unlikely to care about anyone else’s.

Just as I was about to push the door open, there was a tinkle of breaking glass, and I paused, head to one side, trying to identify the sound.

A bottle. Definitely just a bottle.

Someone was out near the street deciding that what Christchurch needed now was broken glass strewn across the road for the morning traffic to appreciate.

I continued on through, and winced against the smoke in the room. From biology I’m aware that I should breathe through my nose when I’m confronted with pollution – the nose hairs help filter, or something – but stuff that for a joke. The smell’d make me retch.

‘Love, you’re home. You’re home. Come and give your mother a hug. Mmmmmm.’

I was enfolded into the loose and fume-filled embrace of my mother.

‘Caw, love – you’re too young to have a grown girl, aren’t you? Sisters, are you?’

My mother burst into appreciative laughter, and my insides groaned. She’d been turning on the flirt again then. I’d probably come across this one again tomorrow.

‘Here, girl. Get yourself a drink then,’ the man continued, shoving a half-empty bottle into my hand. Fill your own. Two litre. ’Cause that’s appropriate, right?

‘I’m good,’ I say as I turn out of mum’s gropey hands. ‘Is there anything to eat?’

‘Course there is love, course there is. I’ll fetch you something. What d’you want? Chips?’

I nodded and followed Mum through to the lounge proper. There were about twenty people crowded into a space that usually felt confined when it was just the two of us. One of them was stubbing a cigarette out in a beer bottle cap, and then the carpet when it twisted to the side. Stubbing out our damage deposit.

The low table was covered by opened containers of Chinese food, the soy smell pungent even in the smoke-filled room. That, and the opened flowers of white paper with chips as their centre. Their floral scent grease.

I tore off an edge of paper, and scooped a couple of handfuls in, turning to take them back to my room. I was pulled into a rough embrace on the couch instead.

‘Don’t be leaving us, love. Sit here and talk for a while.’

Uncle Charles had to shout over the noise from the stereo and the impromptu backing singers, but that didn’t seem to register as a reason his suggestion wouldn’t work. I wriggled forward to the edge of the sofa, about to stand up, but he caught me roughly by the shoulder and pincered me back into place beside him.

‘Whatchoo been up to then? Got a job yet?’

I resigned myself to staying seated beside him, and shook my head. I started to eat the chips. I could be here a while.

‘Why not? Why aren’t you helping your mother out?’

‘I’m still at school.’

‘So? You’re fourteen now, aren’t you? At your age I had a paper round and worked on the milk deliveries.’

‘They don’t have milkmen anymore,’ I shouted back. ‘And the only paper round is fully signed up.’

‘Those are just excuses. You need to help out more. Your mother can barely get by as it is.’

I shrugged and continued eating, until the whole parcel hit me in the middle of the face.

I shrank back into the sofa, blinking, trying to grasp what had just happened. My uncle had hit the food straight into my face. My lips stung where the force of the blow had split it, the salt crept into the fissure and made my flesh scream.

‘’Bout time you learned some responsibility, girl,’ Charles shouted at me.

I burst into tears and tried to leave the couch. It was late. I was tired. I was still hungry. I was sick of these awful people making their awful mess in my awful house. Why did my mother invite them? Why couldn’t she drink alone like a halfway decent alcoholic would? Why was everyone out to get me?

A blow across the face shut me up. And then Uncle Charles’ face softened. ‘Oh, honey I’m sorry. You just get me riled when you don’t pay attention. Here, let me get you some more food and you clean yourself up.’

He patted me on the knee, and headed off to the kitchen. I wiped my lip with the back of my hand – blood smeared across it in a wide crimson line. After a second it started to pull upon itself and form into droplets. Clotted.

I pulled the edge of my sweatshirt over my knuckles, and rubbed my eyes dry. A chip fell from my shoulder onto my lap. I swept my hand behind me and pushed another half-dozen onto the floor. They already smelt of cold grease. My stomach lurched once, twice, and I was running across the room out to the back bathroom. I retched over the toilet and some chips came back up. They hadn’t even started to digest.

I tried to breathe through my mouth but the smell still overwhelmed me and I retched again. And again. I stopped when the effort grew too great for my stomach muscles to handle. I could still feel my throat trying to gag. Still had the sting of acid in my throat; my stomach. But I just couldn’t anymore.

There was a pounding on the front door. The loud exchange of angry and indignant voices, and the volume being pumped up even higher on the stereo. I flushed the toilet and put my forehead against the seat while the cistern filled back up with a series of burps. There was an angry scream, and the soft sound of fist hitting flesh. Another neighbour learning the hard way.

He didn’t have to worry. At this rate we’d be moving on soon enough.

I slowly walked back upstairs. My clock showed the time as being after two o’clock. There was noise, and I was agitated, but the tiredness gripped me even stronger, and I chased it down into sleep.

Daina 2004

My lip was swollen, and a bruise shadowed my cheekbone. I tried to cover it with foundation, but the bottle was almost dry, and even adding in a few drops of water and shaking it didn’t provide enough to offer any real cover.

So I walked into a door. Who was even going to ask?

There were three strangers asleep in the living room. I tiptoed past them, and then slammed the front door behind me as hard as I could, and ran down the driveway.

The tear in my skirt flapped gently against my knee as I walked down the cycleway at the back of the school. There must have been a rain shower overnight, and occasional drops from the tall oaks that lined the path dropped on my head.

I could probably “borrow” a stapler from first period social studies if I could get into the room early enough. Until I could find the time to locate a needle and thread, emergency repairs would have to do.

A fist in my back alerted me that Michelle or one of her cohorts was right behind me. I didn’t bother to turn. If my mother ran through her current tenancy in as short order as she had her previous one, then I could at least get rid of one problem.

It would take another couple of months to run through a normal eviction proceeding, but last night sounded like it was close to drawing the attention of the cops and that would speed everything up.

‘Hey bitch, looks like someone appreciates you as much as I do,’ Michelle lilted as she walked past, ‘Next time get them to do something about your nose, why don’t you. Could use a lot of work.’

I slowed down so I wouldn’t be right behind her, and walked over to sit on the wooden bench nearest to English. After form room I could get my skirt sorted, and then at lunch I might even be able to sneak into the home economics block to properly fix up my skirt. I snorted at myself. Dream big, sister. If I was truly lucky I could score some make-up from the year eleven personal presentation optional, and fix up my face.

‘Hey, do you have a calculator handy?’

I turned to see a girl sitting next to me. She was part of a group of four, I knew the redhead was Susie Moore, but I hadn’t learned the other’s names yet. The one who’d spoken had the beautiful tan of Samoan skin, and dead straight black hair that looked natural. Unlike the friend to her left who looked like she’d gone full emo with black eyeliner, lipstick and nail polish to boot. The last girl had mousy-brown limp hair. Just like me.

I rooted around in my bag for my pencil case. It was stained from years of use, and the zipper got stuck halfway down where one of the teeth had melted in the sun, but at least it held everything I owned securely. I pulled it open and wriggled out a small plastic calculator that my mother had got free from the bank. The logo was still clearly emblazoned on the front, even though half the keys had worn away.’

‘Cheers, big-ears. Mine ran out of juice.’

I smiled at her turn of phrase. Juice was a word that I’d only heard in mum’s collection of seventies VHS tapes, not from an actual person.

‘You’re in Mr Nippon’s maths class right?’

I nodded, yes.

‘What did you get for number three? I can’t work out quadratics to save myself.’

‘Eight,’ I answered from memory. I’d done the homework yesterday, during afternoon break. If I didn’t do it then or at lunchtime, it wouldn’t get done.

‘You’re kidding, really?’

I laughed at the plaintive tone in her voice, and so did the emo girl in a distinctly un-emo fashion. ‘You’re so bad at that I don’t know how you manage to stay in school,’ Emo Girl said. ‘You’d be better off picking up an application for McDonalds.’

‘Yeah thanks, Tracy,’ she replied, giving her a push on the shoulder. ‘I’ll bring you into my next career counselling session so you can put paid to my parents’ dreams for me once and for all.’

‘Where’re you from?’ Susie asked, ignoring the two of them.

‘I live just over on Sawyers Arms Road,’ I replied, but at her screwed up face I laughed in realisation. ‘From Timaru, originally. But we’ve moved all over in the past couple of years.’

‘I’ve got a cousin, and an uncle, and an aunt who live in Timaru. Not together, but… They’ve split up. They still live round the corner from each other though.’

‘Dude,
everybody
lives around the corner from each other in Timaru,’ the mousy-haired girl joined in. She gave me a sly glance from under her lashes to see how I’d react, so I didn’t.

‘True,’ I agreed. ‘My name’s Daina, by the way.’

‘Shit, everybody knows who
you
are. You’re the one Michelle’s gunning for. Better you than me,’ Susie stated with passion.

‘I’m Vila,’ said the girl still trying to figure out her maths homework. She’d already given up on my calculator and was writing numbers down by hand. She gave a pointed glance at Susie, who clicked.

‘I’m Susie, that’s Tracy, and that’s Melanie.’

‘Mel,’ she immediately corrected.

I waved at them, and felt a smile start to form. It had been a long time since I’d spoken to anyone my own age for anything other than the shortest of commands, or politeness.

‘Where the hell d’you get the split lip from?’ Melanie said with interest. ‘It looks like someone punched you in the face.’ She glanced around then leaned in close to whisper, ‘It wasn’t Michelle, was it?’

I shook my head. ‘I tripped going upstairs at home. Caught the step with my lip.’

The look of admiration faded a bit, but then Melanie perked up again. ‘I heard you booted Michelle in the chest yesterday, is that true?’

I was about to deny it when I reconsidered the attention I was now getting. I nodded instead. ‘I used her as a springboard to get over the fence. I don’t think she was very happy about it.’

There was a chorus of quiet giggles, and Susie looked around to make sure no one noticed our little group.
Our
little group. ‘She’ll be gunning for you even more now, then. I don’t know how you managed to do that to her. I wouldn’t have the balls.’

I shrugged. ‘Well, my mum always said that if you get hit by a bully you hit back and they leave you alone.’

Vila shook her head. ‘I tried that one with Michelle when we were back in year five. She beat the shit out of me.’

Tracy snorted at that one, and I turned to her in surprise, but Vila laughed and altered her statement. ‘Well, she punched me much harder and made my nose bleed and me cry. That’s practically the same thing when you’re ten.’

Susie leaned in even closer and spoke even lower, ‘I heard that she’s been giving Mr Bond BJs after school. That’s why she’s so upset that he’s taken a fancy to you.’

‘Susie! That’s not true,’ Vila exclaimed.

Susie shrugged and leaned back against the brick wall. ‘It’s what I heard.’

Tracy just looked nonplussed so Susie helpfully mimed the action using her tongue and her hand, until Tracy looked appropriately disgusted.

‘But he’s a teacher.
And
he’s good looking. Why would he ever let her touch him? It’d be like Brad Pitt marrying Roseanne.’

‘She’s thin and blonde. She’s not charging for it. That’s probably enough,’ Susie said.

‘Gross. If that’s really true someone should report it,’ Vila added.

‘Are you going to?’ Susie shot back. Vila shook her head. ‘Well then, no one else is going to neither. Who needs that kind of trouble?’

The bell rang for home room, and we walked together through to our class.

‘Here,’ Vila said as we sat together in the middle row, offering me the calculator back.

‘Are you finished? You can keep it if you like. Otherwise you’ll get in trouble.’

Vila laughed, and waggled it for me to take. ‘I’m already in trouble. I haven’t understood anything in maths class since we stopped learning the times tables off by heart. I can’t add up correctly even with this.’

I sat still for a minute, feeling a glow of friendship that I wasn’t familiar with. It would be nice if I could keep hold of that for a while longer. ‘I could help you if you like. My mum used to be a tutor for this sort of stuff, it’s how I picked it up. I could take you through it.’

Vila smiled, and leaned her head forward. ‘Really? You’d do that?’

‘Sure,’ I nodded. ‘I’d be glad to.’

‘I can’t pay you, you know. My parents don’t have that kind of money.’

‘Neither do mine. I meant for free.’

Mr Dorman came into the room, and frowned at me as though I was the only one talking. Sometimes I wondered if I had a beaming light over my head, drawing everyone’s attention to my massive flaws.

‘I’ll talk to you at lunch,’ Vila promised as we settled down to wait for the long school-day to be over.

‘Catch you then,’ I replied. Smiling.

***

Vila plonked herself down next to me at the wooden bench by the tuck shop. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

I was trying to manoeuvre the stapler into a position where it could easily pull together the two pieces of fabric on my skirt. ‘I tore this yesterday. Didn’t have time to fix it last night, and I don’t want it to get any bigger.’

‘Come to mine after; my mum’ll be able to fix that up for you. She doesn’t work Wednesdays.’

‘Except for sewing,’ I joked back.

‘Yeah, well looking after me isn’t really a job, is it? It sure doesn’t pay much.’

I clicked another staple into the line and then gave it up as a bad job as it jammed on the fabric, and nearly tore the rip bigger as I struggled to get it free.

‘Leave it,’ Vila ordered. ‘She’ll be happy to do it.’

I left it alone. It wasn’t as though I was making any headway with it anyway.‘Are you sure?’

‘I wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. Anyway, if you’re going to be helping me, then I need to do something to help you back. It’s not right otherwise.’

I shifted my weight. The wooden bench was too hard to be comfortable. Not to mention the peeling paint, and the high risk of splinters. We should get danger money for this type of stuff.

‘Where’s your lunch?’ Susie asked as she plonked herself down hard beside Vila. ‘Are you on a diet?’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘The diet of “I ran out of time to make anything this morning”.’

‘Really, do you want my sandwich? I’m getting a pie so it’s just going in the bin otherwise.’

Susie handed it across the table to me without waiting for a response. It had meat, lettuce and cheese all layered between soft, white bread. I couldn’t imagine why she would rather get a greasy pie with god-knows-what in the filling, rather than eat this, but I wasn’t about to challenge her. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’

She was already gone, queuing up in the tuck shop line.

Tracy sat down with a sigh and stretched out her legs. ‘I’m so sick of school. I wish it were holidays right now. I could use the time to get a tan.’

‘Sun’ll kill you,’ Vila said, an automatic response by the look.

‘Something’s got to. If it’s not the sun it’ll be the sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, bitches!’ Susie said as she rejoined the table. She wavered her hand from side to side, the middle fingers tucked in, and her forefinger and pinkie making the horns.

I laughed until I was bent over in half gasping for breath. Melanie sat down next to me and gave me a pat on the back which started me off again. When I recovered and looked up there were four faces looking at me in astonishment. Then Vila started laughing, Tracy snorted and Melanie pulled a face. ‘Youse don’t get out much, then?’ she queried. ‘Or I missed something really good.’

I smiled and closed my eyes while I took a bite of Susie’s sandwich. The sun warm on my face.

***

Coroner’s Court 2014

I thought Vila would take the stand next, and reveal her secret thoughts of me. Instead the coroner calls a break. It’s hard for me to fill in time while everyone else scatters to fulfil their base needs. I end up staring at the empty stand.

Boring.

There’s something that happened next that no one bore witness to. It’s hard to think of it, because the very nature of it was scattered and shattering. ‘Cept it only lasted a few minutes, so what was the big hoo-hah, eh?

Rhetorical, that was.

I know what happened now. I know what caused it. At the time it was random, out of the blue, and frightening. And I thought my life had already descended to a point where little would frighten me. You’ll see shortly that was a theory about to be tested, and was found wanting.

But this is getting us nowhere, is it?

So come closer now. While they’re all out of the room stuffing their faces and voiding their bladders. Come closer, come closer and listen.

***

Daina 2004

There were five minutes from the first bell announcing that lunch was over, and the second bell announcing that you’d better be in class now.

I was busting, but I hadn’t wanted to leave the table while I was having fun with people. Not just people, but people my own age. Having fun and talking to them like I was normal.