by Paula Boock
‘Premature departure to Christchurch, pre-empted by major ructions at Place of Learning. No intention of return (to Place of learning, that is). Financially endowed and psychologically positive. Will contact upon arrival…’
Mel
MEL is short, stroppy and never knows when to keep her mouth shut. When Mel walks out of school she sees it as an escape — from a past and present too messy to deal with. But standing up for yourself is one thing; facing the consequences is quite another.
‘Boock’s writing is alive, full of humour and heart…’
The Dominion
When first published Out Walked Mel won the AIM Best First Book Award.
For Terry
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
IT BEGAN WITH WAI and it ended with Wai. And in between, I was so busy running that I don’t recall seeing her at all – except the once.
Wai and I were going to Travel. You know, France, Greece, Spain – I wanted to go to Africa but Wai said she wasn’t bloody well catching malaria for anybody – Scandinavia, Canada, Italy. We spent Geography looking up the atlas and making bargains – I’ll go to Denmark if you come to Israel – and so on.
It was the men, Wai said confidentially, tucking her bright red hair behind her ear. I loved the way she did that, just curving a finger around her ear and through her long, thick hair. (‘My dad was blonde you see, and my mum says Maori and blonde don’t mix, it gives the genes such a shock it comes out bright red.’)
So it was the men. There were no real men in New Zealand, we’d decided. Well, there was Benny, Wai’s brother, who thought of himself as my boyfriend, but he was in Auckland now, in his bright tropical shirts and briefcase – a designer, he said. That’ll be the day, said Wai, he just sits around watching videos and playing in his band.
I liked Benny, we had fun together. But real men sweep you off your feet, said Wai. It’s the accents, she said knowingly and whispered something, her big lips against my ear. ‘Bloodaybloolaisonfonmashere.’ I didn’t do French (not that Wai went very often) but it made me feel freaky so I guessed she was right.
I didn’t like school too much. I spent most of my time getting up teachers’ noses and under their skin and various other places I’d much rather not be, believe me. There were some teachers I liked though, and I did pretty well for them.
The best was the music teacher, Mrs Thoreau (‘thor-ow girls,’ said Wai, ‘thor-ow your voices!’). She was great. She was about six feet tall and had the biggest laugh I’ve ever heard. She cracked me up. What I used to do was go into the Music Room after school and bash hell out of the drums. I’d play until my t-shirt was clinging to my back, tossing all this rhythm around the walls. Mrs Thoreau said I could use the drum set anytime – she thought I should join a band – but since Benny left I hadn’t played with anyone else. Benny played the bass.
Anyway, this one day it all began, Wai and I were in art class. The art teacher was Miss Wardell, a nice person but a lousy teacher. Wai was painting a crazy portrait of me in an eggcup with the top of my head being flipped off. One thing about Wai – she was great at art. I, on the other hand, was meant to be sculpting a head out of clay but it looked more like a squashed rugby ball.
We’d seen a few guys in dark suits around the school and we knew one of them was the Minister of Education. He was visiting local schools in a lead up to the election. The teachers were really touchy about it. Near the end of the lesson the door opened and in came these guys with Smirk, our principal. (That was his name, honestly!) There was also a television guy with a camera and a black recording unit slung over one shoulder.
‘Excuse us for interrupting, Miss Wardell. I wondered if I could show the Minister some of the students’ ongoing work?’
‘Ooo, certainly,’ twittered Miss Wardell, scanning the room quickly for any offensive material.
They wandered around the room for a few minutes, then one of the suits nudged the Minister and pointed to Wai. They came over and introduced themselves, making some passing remark about Wai’s painting.
Then the Minister said, ‘Perhaps I should greet you in the traditional Maori fashion, Waimarama?’ Everyone stopped and looked. He wanted to hongi! Weird. Wai just smiled and looked nervously at the camera. The Minister held Wai’s shoulders and pressed his long, aquiline nose against Wai’s, holding still while the cameraman zoomed in. Smirk smiled so wide I thought the top of his head would fall off like Wai’s picture. As he drew away the Minister said, ‘I haven’t come across many Maori girls in Dunedin who are so inviting to hongi,’ and chuckled at his compliment.
I couldn’t believe the guy was getting away with this. Wai was from a very prestigious Maori family – her grandfather was a kaumatua – but she didn’t say anything, just turned back to her work, slightly red.
Then I saw the same suit whispering to the Minister and they were looking at me. Just try it, I thought. Old Smirk looked a bit nervous as he saw them approaching me.
‘That’s a good job you’re doing there.’ What a line. I ignored him, putting one foot up on a chair. I was wearing big green Doc Marten boots and a leather jacket and I have long dark hair that I pile on top of my head in a crazy mess. I figure it makes me look taller. I may be short but I do stand out in a class. I knew he wanted a shot of Minister getting on with tough radical youth of today. What an arsehole.
‘Goodness. They’re great looking boots. You remind me of my own daughter. Her mother can’t get her in a dress for anything.’ Chuckles all round.
The cameraman had moved right in and didn’t notice that the recorder by his hip had knocked over a pot of paint. It was spilling over Wai’s painting.
I don’t know where I got my nerve from but I turned and looked the Minister straight in the eyes and said very deliberately, ‘Why don’t you piss off?’
The funny thing is, I don’t remember very much after that. Smirk went spare of course, the suits were whisked away, then the bell rang and I was out in the corridor. Wai found me.
‘What the hell did you do that for?’ She was really angry.
‘Cos he was a jerk.’
‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘No, you should have. F’chrissake Wai, I said it because of what he did to you.’
‘Don’t use me as your excuse. I can look after myself.’
‘Yeah, you really showed it in there. Weren’t you angry?’
‘He didn’t know any better. At least he tried.’ She looked at the ground.
‘Oh, come on, he did it for the camera.’
‘So I have to get another Pakeha to stick up for me? That makes me look great, doesn’t it?’
‘Don’t be so daft, Wai.’
She slung her pack over her shoulder. ‘You’ll probably get expelled, you know. Miss Wardell said so. And it’ll all be my fault. Thanks very bloody much.’ She tossed her red hair and strode off.
The next thing I recall was being in the empty Music Room. I put some mindless music on the stereo and began drumming like crazy.
Wai was right. I probably would be expelled. Smirk had been out to get me ever since I had bugged his office as part of an electronics project. And how was I going to explain when I got home? Even Wai thought I was wrong. Davy got so upset when I was in trouble. He thought it was his fault because the school people kept saying I didn’t get discipline living with him. I felt bad about that. He tried really hard to help me an
d I knew I could do well at school if it was just the work. The trouble was all these Nazis like Smirk with their pointless rules got in the way. No matter how good I was at the work, I spent most of my time getting into trouble. I stepped up the tempo, fixing my eyes on the ‘Tama’ logo on the drum in front.
Just as the beat took over, Smirk and Mrs Thoreau appeared and Smirk was yelling something about his office. I had this spooky feeling of everything being out of my hands and I knew I wasn’t going to stop drumming. They faded away in the sound and became small and almost liquid. Mrs Thoreau must have turned off the stereo but I hardly noticed, I was playing so hard. I do remember the tired way she bent down and picked up my jacket, folded it on the desk and left the room. I fixed my eyes back on the ‘Tama’ Smirk carried on yelling somewhere miles away and then threw some final ugly threat at me with his pointed finger and strode out the door. It was over. I kept playing for a while to get my breath properly, then rounded it off with my classiest finishing routine. School was over. There were tears streaming down my face.
CHAPTER TWO
I LIVED WITH MY BROTHER Davy. He was eight years older than me and after our mother died we had lived with a series of concerned and equally unprepared relatives. Our father tried three times and though we both liked him, he was a loser and he lost us.
Davy got married four years ago to a wonderful woman who probably saved both our lives. Stef was Austrian; wild, wacky, smoked like a train and noticed all the tiniest details in life. Two of the tinier details in our life were the twins – Zoe and Leo. They were four months old and hell to live with. I loved them.
We lived in this seriously small and extraordinary looking house in Phoenix Street, near the University. Extraordinary looking because it was painted green and gold, Stef’s choice, with masses of golden knobs and faces and tiny sculptures under the eves and over the door. When I say gold, I mean gold – not yellow. Stef insisted on some crazy metallic paint that made the roof a flying hazard on a sunny day. In summer it looked like the Second Coming or a UFO, with all these beams of light bouncing off it. Davy hadn’t liked it at first, since people kept stopping outside and staring, but Stef said that if New Zealanders were colour-repressed that was their ‘stoopid ploblim’ I thought it was great. I especially liked walking through the University and seeing its reflection flashing in the river.
Inside it was a clutter. There was junk everywhere. That was Davy. He couldn’t throw anything out. He said it was a reaction against the insecurity of his childhood. What a weirdo. I never hoarded anything and I had the same dopey childhood.
I didn’t mind the junk but I did mind the lack of privacy. There were only two bedrooms in our house. That was the plan you see, in BLZ (Before Leo and Zoe). They were a mistake, a double mistake and had caused a lot of friction about the place. ‘It waz bliz,’ Stef would say accusingly, ‘before the beeg miztake!’
Most days she took them with her to work (she taught Psychology at the university), leaving them in the creche (which she pronounced ‘crutch’) during lectures. So I at least had the house to myself when I came home from school.
Today it wasn’t beaming out at me, just sparkling quietly in the light rain. I went inside to my room, which was really the converted dining room and sat on my bed. I started thinking about Smirk and Mrs Thoreau and Wai and Benny and Davy and Stef and BLZ. There were some things that happened that changed everything, like Zoe and Leo. The Smirk thing was like that. I knew there was no going back. I didn’t want to, it was simply weird to know that it was over, finally, like something clicking shut inside.
I was meant to be going to Christchurch to stay with my father in a couple of weeks for the start of the summer holidays. I was looking forward to seeing him – Bob was an okay guy mostly, just a pain in the arse to live with. I hadn’t seen him for nearly a year. I got up and searched my diary for his address. He had moved again. I found his last letter-Hello Sweetheart, it began. He filled up his letters with all that slushy stuff, but most of the time he forgot to send maintenance. Not that he was poor – the guy was rolling in it.
I made up my mind. I hauled out my pack and threw in some clothes, a couple of books, toothpaste and stuff. I grabbed the bomber jacket Davy had given me for my birthday and sat back on my bed. I’d always been a quick packer. Too quick, really. I looked at my Doc Marten boots and sighed. I’d been saving for this holiday for three months. Stef had been so pleased with me when I told her I had $300 and didn’t need any more from them. She looked me hard in the eye and said, ‘I luff that you haf guts, Mel. Women need guts.’ The next day I went down town and blew the lot on the boots. Three hundred bucks. What a jerk.
I went into the kitchen and found some paper and a pen by the phone. I didn’t know what to say, so wrote:
Premature departure to Christchurch, pre-empted by major ructions at Place of Learning. No intention of return (to Place of Learning, that is). Financially endowed and psychologically positive. Will contact upon arrival, request no expressions of concern or mindless brow-beating. Melissa-doesn’t-kiss-an-arse-a-day-Marriot BFA (Brilliant Future Ahead).
I pinned the notice on the fridge beside Stef’s latest effort: Anyone touch pizza, shit for dinner!
* * *
It had stopped raining, but was cool. I walked as fast as I could in my Docs, which wasn’t very. I figured if I got to the motorway before five-thirty, I’d have a chance of catching people leaving after work. There was no way I could afford the bus; I had seven dollars left.
At the beginning of the motorway I stood with my pack, trying to look nonchalant as the cars whizzed past. I hate hitch-hiking, I always feel personally rejected every time a car doesn’t stop. I wasn’t going to smile like a bimbo, either. I was pleased to have my Doc Martens and bomber jacket.
After almost half an hour a swanky Ford pulled up. A businessman.
‘How far?’ he asked.
‘Christchurch.’
‘I can take you to Oamaru.’
‘Okay.’
He had red hair. Not like Wai’s; thin and dull, parted neatly down a white, white skull. I guess he was about fifty, with a moustache. Yuk.
‘I’m Brian. Brian Alexander.’
‘Mel.’
‘Mel?’
I nodded.
‘Student?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Finished your exams?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh, yeah? How’d you go?’
‘Failed.’
‘Ah.’
I don’t know why I said that. I hadn’t had the results from my school exams yet, but I sure hadn’t failed. He turned on the stereo. Elton John.
‘You like music?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, it’s fine.’
‘I like it. Keeps me awake. That’s why I pick up hitchhikers.’
‘Do you travel a lot?’
‘Company rep. Two weeks out of five. Keeps me out of trouble. Cover Otago-Southland. Pet foods. Do you have a pet?’
‘No.’
‘Ah.’
He wasn’t exactly scintillating, still, the car was warm and I tried to talk to him since that was why he’d picked me up. The worst thing was Elton John.
We got into Oamaru at seven-thirty. It wasn’t too dark, but it was raining again. Brian stopped the car outside a seedy-looking takeaway.
‘I thought you might like something to eat.’
‘Yeah, thanks.’
‘Okay, I’ll love you and leave you. Look after yourself. Don’t take any lifts from strange men!’
A funny guy. ‘Thanks for taking me this far.’
‘No problem. See ya.’
‘Bye.’
I skipped the takeaway – it was filled with hoods, some of them wearing patches. I’d eat at Bob’s.
It was a long way out of Oamaru – the main street goes on forever. I like it though. I like the wideness of it, the trees along the middle and the pale stone buildings. I walked for nearly half an hour and was still on the ou
tskirts of the town. It was really dark now. I took up a spot opposite the Iona Home for the Aged. There was a streetlight there so cars would see me, and I figured if I really got stuck I could get a bed there for the night.
The road stretched before me, dotted with the red tail lights of cars that had passed. I stood in the gravel on the side of the road, my pack leaning against the back of my legs to block the rain. It was cold. I pulled up the collar of my bomber jacket and turned my back on the rain. I had my hands in my pockets, taking one out just in time to thumb each car, then shoving it back in. The rain was coming from the south, the same direction as the cars, so I couldn’t see them till they were past. At least it meant I didn’t see them check me out first and keep on driving.
When things start looking bad I generally begin singing. It sounds dumb, I know, but I’ve always done it. Not tinny stuff like ‘She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain’, give me a break, but old blues songs. They’re not great to drum to but they’re brilliant to belt out into the dark. Mainly I’ve got one of those voices that sounds good in the bathroom or the concrete changing rooms at the pool. Here, the acoustics weren’t friendly, so I decided on just plain loud.
Woke up this morning
Looked round for my shoes
You know I had those
Mean old walking blues, ba doom, ba doom…
That made me feel much better, the rhythm hanging in pockets of white breath in the dark. I started stamping my boots in the gravel in time. I was warming up.
Walk on, walk on, walk on
I’m gonna keep on walking
Till I find my way back home,
Ba doom, ba doom, ba doom, ba doom, DOOM.
I must have looked crazy to anyone who checked in their rear vision mirror after passing me; they probably thought I was screaming at them.
Then this freaky thing happened. A clapped out old zephyr filled with what looked like some of the fish and chip shop hoods pulled up. The exhaust just about choked me as the back door opened.
