Bugs

by Whiti Hereaka

  Until I finally get into my room, where I can be a mess. I want to just throw myself on the bed but I can’t keep still. I keep checking my phone but there’s nothing from no one. I don’t know what to do, and then I remember that I have that rabbit’s paw and maybe I should just hold it, you know, for luck. Because I need it; I need to feel that way again, like a god, powerful.

  I open the box I put it in, and oh my god, the smell. The paw is rotten; it’s gross. I open my window and throw it out and Kēhua starts batting at it. Sick cat.

  My phone beeps – Stone Cold.

  Where are you?

  Home. You?

  Same. Bugs, do you think he’s OK?

  No.

  Do you think we should go back?

  No.

  K.

  Later, I do go back, by myself. I walk past the blood on the footpath like it doesn’t make me scared. It’s dark enough so hopefully no one will see me sneaking up to Jez’s window. It’s open just a crack, so I whisper into it.

  ‘Jez.’ I can hear some movement, but his room is dark. ‘Jez?’

  Someone gets up and comes towards the window, and all of a sudden I hope to God or whatever that it’s Jez.

  ‘What are you doing?’ His voice is soft, muffled, but it’s him.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sorry. God, it was so stupid …’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He hasn’t turned the light on; he hasn’t invited me in. He doesn’t want me here.

  ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  And he closes the window.

  6

  I’m glad my birthday is on a Sunday this year because my mum is cheesy enough to call up the radio station and request ‘Sixteen Candles’ for me, and if that happened on a school day it would be shame, shame know your name.

  Sixteen. People make a big deal about it, but really, what difference does sixteen make? I’m not young enough to be a kid, but I’m not old enough to actually do anything. Just in limbo, counting down the years. Have you seen that old film, Logan’s Run? I’ve seen it heaps because Nan likes it. Well, Nan likes that Logan guy. In that film, everyone got wasted when they turned thirty. They had these glowing things in their hands that changed colour as they got older, and when they turned red, the people were toast. Literally. Yeah, yeah, another dystopia. What can I say? I guess it’s my thing. Anyway, if I lived there, at sixteen I’d be middle-aged. My life half over and I haven’t done shit.

  There was a massive party last night. Not for me. I never have parties. The rugby heads had a big win, so everyone was celebrating. Not that we went. Jez can’t drink, since his ‘accident’ has left him concussed, and why would I go to a rugby party without him? Me and Stone Cold still feel pretty stink about the whole thing, but Jez has decided that it just didn’t happen, even though his face is still fucked up. But if Jez doesn’t want to talk about it, then we’re not going to talk about it, OK? Even though Stone Cold wants to dig it up and go over it and over it, when Jez is around I give her a shut up look, and, all credit to her, she does.

  But it’s fucked up, because if he doesn’t want to look at it then it makes it easier for us to look away. If he doesn’t ask for help it’s easy not to offer any.

  Jez is sitting on a sofa in the cafe playing air guitar, singing the old-school birthday song they play on the radio. He’s a douche, but we all crack up, and Jez holds his ribs with his arms as he laughs because of the pain, and it’s not funny any more.

  The cafe is in that kind of alleyway that people call an ‘arcade’, but, you know, a spade is a spade, right? Maybe it’s to trick the tourists into coming down here to visit the little strip of shops between the two bigger streets. They painted murals, and there are hanging baskets planted with flowers – all nice and friendly. If I were a tourist in a strange town I wouldn’t go wandering down side streets and alleyways. But tourists don’t think about that; don’t think that anything can happen to them. People go a bit strange when they’re on holiday – they do things they’d never do at home. And no, I don’t mean bungee jumping or skydiving. Shit like leaving valuable stuff on the back seat of their car, buying junk that they wouldn’t normally dream of buying, walking down strange streets alone at night. They think the rest of us are on holiday too. But we’re not. We’re waiting for the telltale twitch of a fly stuck in the web. Because that’s what all this stuff is – the cobblestone footpaths, the public ‘art’, the cafes that look like they’ve been ripped out from a big city so the tourist will feel at home – it’s a big trap, waiting for you to walk in and then SNAP! The whole town is designed to bleed you dry.

  Me and Jez and Stone Cold are sitting in the front, near the big windows. The place is pretty dead, so we’ve got a sofa each. They’re arranged in a U shape – ‘friendly’, as Mr Dumble would say. I sit on the middle couch, Stone Cold has her back to the counter and Jez is on the one in front of the window. The light behind him makes it hard to look at his face, but honestly, that’s probably a good thing. You know how they say black and blue? Well, it’s more like purple and green. His eyes and nose are still blotchy with purple, and it washes out to a green that’s sickly, like someone has mixed too much yellow into it. I’m glad I’m sitting here, otherwise I might just stare full on at his face, searching for the Jez I know underneath all of that pain.

  Mum said I could hang with Jez and Stone Cold this afternoon but we’re off to see Nan and Pop and Uncle for dinner. I wanted to take Jez with us, but Mum said it was just for family – like Jez isn’t all of a sudden. I think she and Jez’s mum might have had ‘words’ after Jez’s ‘accident’, and some of those words might have been Fuck off Nikki, you self-righteous bitch. At least the Cock is no longer on the scene. For now.

  It’s all’s well that pretends well around here.

  I sip my flat white. It kind of smells like caramel or toffee but it doesn’t taste how it smells; it’s just bitter, and the milk makes the taste stick to your mouth. I hate it. Stone Cold and Jez just drink their coffee, looking like they’re enjoying it, so I put another spoon or three of sugar in and hope they don’t notice.

  ‘Open my present first, Bugs.’ Stone Cold hands me a parcel and panic flashes on Jez’s face – Shit, we were supposed to get presents?

  I take the present and say, ‘Really I didn’t want presents,’ and I look at Jez when I say it so he’ll know it’s sweet, but actually I’m pretty stoked to get a present. By the look and weight of it I think it’s a book.

  I rip off the paper. ‘The Road Code?’

  ‘The Road Code!’ Stone Cold does jazz hands, like it’s the best present in the world or something.

  ‘The Road Code.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Stone Cold looks at Jez for support, but he thinks the flat white in his hands is really interesting. ‘Because you’re sixteen. You can sit your learner’s now.’

  Like I’ve got the money for the test fee. Oh that’s right, I’ll use my non-existent birthday money.

  Stone Cold is still determined that I love her gift. ‘If you get it now, you can get your restricted by summer. It’ll be cool; we can go on road trips.’

  ‘Thanks for the present.’ I do mean that; it would be cool to get my licence.

  ‘You hate it.’

  ‘No, I just … OK, say I did get my learner’s; it wouldn’t matter anyway because Mum’s never home to teach me.’

  ‘Oh God, is that all? My olds are always busy too, so I’ve just been taking driving lessons.’ Sometimes it’s amazing how thick Stone Cold is. ‘My instructor says it’s better anyway because you don’t pick up all your parents’ bad habits.’ Stone Cold takes a big forkful of the chocolate gateau that we’re supposed to be sharing between us and shoves it into her big mouth.

  I’m still just wondering where to start – how to explain reality to her – when Jez says, ‘Me and Bugs don’t need to drive, eh? We live in town; we can walk everywhere.’

  At t
he moment he has trouble walking from here to the door, but that’s not his point.

  ‘But you’re not going to live here all your life, are you?

  Are you?’

  Jez doesn’t answer, and just looks at his feet. Stone Cold looks at me, and I give her the shut up look, so she picks up the cake and finishes it off. ‘Fuck,’ she says, her mouth dark with chocolate. ‘It’s like walking on eggshells.’ And then her eyes widen when she realises what she’s said.

  And Jez laughs, really laughs, and so do we.

  Mum must think we’re all good again when she arrives at the cafe door. And I think we are – well, on our way back to normal, anyway.

  ‘Jez, Charmaine.’ Mum’s standing behind the sofa, and she puts her hand gently on Jez’s shoulder. ‘Good to see you. Good to see you … laughing.’ She kind of gulps the word like she’s gonna start bawling or something, so Jez pats her hand. She squeezes his, and shakes her head like the emotion will bead off like water.

  ‘I’m going to get a takeaway coffee, and then you and me, Bugs, need to go.’

  ‘Can we take Jez home?’ I reckon once he’s in the car I can convince her to take him out to the farm with us.

  ‘Sure. How are you getting home, Charmaine?’

  ‘I’m OK, Nikki.’ She calls my mum by her first name without even stumbling; how disrespectful is that? ‘I’m going shopping with my mum.’ Yeah, I guess your skinnies won’t fit any more now that you’ve eaten a whole piece of cake.

  Mum grabs her coffee. ‘All right kids, we’re good to go. The car’s this way.’

  Stone Cold sings the lame song Jez was ‘playing’. I turn around to give her the finger and she’s miming driving.

  I shake my head and wave goodbye with my Road Code.

  Mum looks at Jez in her rear-view mirror as we cruise north out of town. ‘You all right back there?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘You’re just a bit quiet …’

  ‘He’s always quiet.’

  ‘You guys looked like you were having fun at coffee.’

  ‘It was OK, eh, Jez?

  ‘Yeah, OK.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Mum taps the steering wheel with her thumbs, as if looking for some way to break the quiet. That’s why you need a stereo in a car. I decide to be a good kid and introduce a new topic of conversation. ‘Maybe Jez could come with us. To dinner.’ OK, it’s a new topic of conversation for the car.

  Mum sighs and looks at Jez again. ‘I’m sorry Jez, but it’s just for family.’

  ‘It’s OK, I’m … tired anyway.’

  Mum indicates left towards Jez’s place. ‘We’ll get you home soon then.’

  I slump in my seat; my forehead bumps against the window as we turn. There’s no point arguing. I thought that Jez would have my back, but I guess our friendship is still on the mend too.

  ‘Thanks for the ride.’ Jez leans down and peers through Mum’s window. ‘Happy birthday, B. See ya, eh?’

  I nod at him, ‘Yeah,’ and Mum and me watch him hobble to his front door before she slips into gear and we’re off again. We’ve been quiet for ages, which suits me; I don’t have anything to say to her. It was so unfair of her to shame me out like that, in front of Jez.

  Mum tap tap taps on the steering wheel again. Finally she says, ‘Did you think ambushing me would work?’

  ‘I didn’t ambush …’

  ‘Oh, c’mon, Bugs. You knew how hard it would be for me to say no with Jez in the car.’

  ‘It didn’t seem that hard for you.’

  ‘I told you dinner was just for family …’

  ‘Jez is family.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Nan and Pop don’t get to see you that often …’

  ‘I was just there. For the holidays, remember?’

  ‘God Bugs, they just want to celebrate your birthday with you.’

  ‘I wanted Jez to be there’ – even if he didn’t. ‘It’s my birthday, not theirs.’

  ‘Actually, Bugs, it is theirs. This day is theirs and mine and yours.’ Great, so I’m last on the list. ‘Your life has affected us all.’

  ‘I didn’t ask to be born.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it as a bad thing.’

  God, if we had a stereo I would so turn it up now – that’s the universal sign for ‘I’m not listening to you’. Instead I try to angle away from her, which makes the seat belt strangle me. Everything in this car is against me. I wriggle back to sitting up straight, and kick the wrapping from Stone Cold’s present.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A present. Stone … Charmaine got it for me.’

  ‘Another present? I think maybe you should give it back, Bugs; she already gave you a phone.’

  ‘It’s just the Road Code.’

  Mum looks at me instead of the road. ‘What?’

  ‘The Road Code. So I can learn how to drive.’ I point to the road through the windscreen – eyes front Mum. ‘Properly.’

  ‘Do you want to learn how to drive?’

  ‘I’m sixteen.’

  ‘That’s not an answer.’

  ‘There’s no point. You’re too busy to teach me …’

  ‘But do you want to learn, Bugs?’ We’re at the farm already. Mum’s got a lead foot, so Stone Cold’s instructor is probably right about bad habits. ‘Because if you do, we’ll figure it out.’

  The thing is, I hadn’t really thought about it until today. That’s not true: I had thought about it, but just thought it wouldn’t happen. Like actually enjoying calculus or something, you know what I mean? Not actually possible. I still don’t know as we crunch crunch crunch up the gravel driveway. It’s still light, just, when we arrive at the house. It’s like the world is teasing us with spring only to slap us in the face with the winter chill.

  Nan opens the door and we’re enveloped by her arms, the warmth from the fire, the smell of roast pork.

  ‘Happy birthday, my moko.’ Nan kisses me. ‘Have you had a good day?’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘OK? Just OK? Nanny will make it better, eh? C’mon, dinner’s almost ready.’

  Nan leads us to the dining room. She’s laid the table with a white tablecloth and there’s the good china and flowers.

  ‘Nan, you didn’t have to …’

  ‘It’s a special day. Now you sit here.’ She pulls out the chair at the end of the table, her seat; she always sits opposite Pop. ‘Because you are the guest of honour.’

  I sit down where I’m told. It’s weird.

  Nan wipes her hands on her apron. ‘I’ve got a few things to finish in the kitchen …’

  ‘Do you need a hand, Mum?’

  ‘You can do the gravy. Where are those men?’ Nan goes down the hall to the lounge. ‘You two turn that bloody game off. Dinner is ready.’

  Of course Uncle arrives like a split second later, because he’s a hungas. He gives me a dead arm: ‘That’s for your birthday.’ Sometimes, it’s like he’s the teenager, not me. I want to give him the finger, but Pop walks in, with Blue following behind.

  Pop kisses me on the cheek. ‘Happy birthday, love.’

  ‘Thanks Pop.’

  And then Nan comes in with the meat and whoomp, plonks it in front of Pop to carve, and Pop carves it up with that electric knife that Mum got him for Christmas: eerrr eerrr eerrr. It’s funny because both Uncle and Blue are watching each slice, their eyes following the blade up and down, up and down.

  Then Nan’s back, with Mum carrying the vegies and gravy. Everything is passed around the table and our plates are filled up, piled up – Uncle’s the highest, because eating is the only thing where he’s competitive – and it’s thanks and grace and getting stuck in.

  ‘Bugs said her day has been “OK”. She’s had an OK day, haven’t you, Bugs?’

  The stink thing about being on the end of the table is that everyone looks at you. I’m chewing on some meat, so I just nod.

  But Nan is determined that I talk. ‘So, what have you done today?’


  ‘Hung with Jez.’

  ‘And with her friend, Charmaine,’ Mum says. ‘They went to a cafe for coffee and cake.’

  Uncle takes a sip of his beer with his pinky out and makes cross eyes at me. ‘La-de-dah. Cafe latte.’ Like anyone drinks lattes any more.

  ‘I bet they didn’t have your favourite carrot cake though,’ Nan says. ‘Only I know how you like it.’

  She says it with such pride I know what we’re going to have for pudding. Awesome, a birthday ‘surprise’. I just nod.

  ‘Are you all right, girl? You’re very quiet.’

  ‘We had a talk in the car,’ Mum says. ‘She wants to learn how to drive.’

  I don’t. Or I do. I don’t know, but I’m still thinking about it, I don’t need them to chime in too.

  Pop looks at me; because he’s sitting opposite me I get both barrels. ‘You want to learn how to drive Bub?’ He asks me like – Do you want an ice cream? – or like it’s some new toy that I want for Christmas.

  ‘I dunno. Just sitting the test is expensive …’

  ‘We can pay for that,’ Nan says. ‘It could be your present.’

  ‘She’s worried about who’s going to teach her,’ Mum butts in, ‘because of my hours at work.’

  Pop points his knife at Mum. ‘If you had let me teach her when I wanted to, she’d be driving around no problem now.’

  ‘On a tractor, Dad.’

  ‘If she can handle a tractor, she can handle that piece of Jap-crap you drive.’

  ‘She was twelve, Dad. Twelve.’

  ‘I had you driving then. And Boy here started at ten, eh Boy?’

  ‘Yeah, and I’m a choice-as driver …’

  ‘You’re a bell end …’

  ‘Nikki!’ Nan sounds shocked. ‘Bugs is at the table.’