Skye declared that New Year’s Eve was a washout. Liz was at home with Jade, which meant our gang couldn’t meet up at Skye’s place. And as we had nowhere else to hang out, we ended up in the Square, where a series of bands were playing on a stage set up in front of the Cathedral. None of it was music we wanted to listen to. It seemed to be mostly old-fashioned folk stuff, and the crowd consisted mainly of families with younger children. The few teenagers present skulked in the shadows around the edges of the Square.
Skye repeatedly said: ‘This is fucking boring. This is so fucking boring.’
We left before the countdown to midnight and sat in Hagley Park instead, drinking whisky and sharing the single joint Skye had managed to wangle.
Skye was bitterly disappointed with the whole evening, but for me things weren’t bad at all because I was getting the chance to sleep over at her house again. I’d known my parents wouldn’t like the idea of me hanging around in town late at night, so I’d told them I was staying at Skye’s, and they’d accepted this without any questions.
Skye was still in a bad mood when we went to bed. She’d had plenty of whisky, from what I’d seen, but she complained that it hadn’t been enough. She lay in her bed smoking a cigarette in the dark, while I lay on the floor on some cushions. I tried to talk to her, but she only gave me cold and monosyllabic responses.
In the morning, Liz greeted me and Skye cheerily when we shuffled through into the kitchen. I wasn’t badly hungover, but my head was still tender and my mouth was dry. Liz was like a kindly angel. She made toast for me and Skye, and cooked us eggs. We sat at the dining table, munching breakfast, sunlight streaming in through the windows.
Liz bustled about in the kitchen for a while, then joined us at the table.
‘You want more toast?’ she asked me.
‘No, I’m OK, thanks,’ I said.
‘Skye?’ she asked her daughter. ‘More toast?’
Skye grunted. ‘No.’
‘Did you two have a good night, then?’ Liz said.
I was instinctively going to say yes, but Skye cut in, saying: ‘No, it was shit.’
Liz barely blinked and kept a smile plastered to her face. ‘Oh dear. That’s no good.’
Skye leant back in her chair. ‘It was fucking boring.’
‘Oh well. What do you two have planned for today?’
‘What do you care?’ Skye said.
‘I’m just taking an interest, darling.’
‘Well don’t.’
I was shocked at Skye’s behaviour. I wouldn’t have dared speak to either of my parents in this way. I also thought Skye was being unfair. Liz was only trying to make friendly conversation.
Liz raised an eyebrow and sipped her tea. In a slightly facetious tone, she said: ‘Very well. I shall stay silent. I can see you’re not in a good mood today.’
‘Fuck’s sake.’ Skye pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I’m sick of this shit.’
She stormed out of the room and I heard her bedroom door slam shut. I sat frozen to my seat. The situation felt excruciating. I couldn’t believe the way Skye had suddenly flipped out for no real reason. It was ridiculous.
I smiled apologetically at Liz, as if the whole incident had been my fault. ‘Maybe I’ll go and see if she’s OK.’
Liz smiled ruefully. ‘That’s probably a good idea.’
I knocked softly on Skye’s bedroom door. When she didn’t answer, I knocked louder and called to her. When she still didn’t respond, I edged the door open and saw her sitting on her bed smoking a cigarette. Tears stained her cheeks. She quickly wiped her eyes dry as I walked in.
I sat on the bed next to her. ‘You OK?’
‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
‘Really?’
‘Liz just stresses me out sometimes. It’s nothing.’
I looked at the chaotic mess on the floor and couldn’t think what to say.
Skye took a few more drags on her cigarette, then said: ‘Oh, I forgot. I made a tape for you.’
She picked up a cassette from her bedside table and tossed it over to me. On the front cover she’d written ‘Amy’s Homework’ and drawn a picture of a skull. On the inside she’d carefully listed all the tracks. I looked over the names of the bands, some of which I knew now, some of which were unfamiliar: the Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Joy Division, the Velvet Underground and several others.
I was stupidly grateful. Skye had gone to the trouble of making a tape for me. She was my friend for sure. There was no doubt in my mind about it.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll have a listen.’
She sniffed. ‘At least stop listening to the fucking Thompson Twins.’8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGDlgbSE6wX
–––
I listened to Skye’s tape over and over again. I lay on my bed with my eyes closed and let the music seep into me. Some of the songs I liked straight away. Others I made myself like. I was determined to listen to the same music as Skye, to like what she liked.
The imperfections in the sound that had seemed jarring to me at first now didn’t bother me at all. I realised this music was not meant to sound perfect. It was supposed to have rough edges. Perfect music sounded too sugary, too happy, like someone with a forced smile on their face.
I put my old tapes into a box under my bed and resolved to never listen to them again. They were a part of my childhood, I decided, and I’d outgrown them.
A few days after New Year’s, Mum was over at Nana’s and Dad was out somewhere for work. I was at a loose end and decided to head into town. I’d received some extra pocket money for Christmas and wanted to buy some new records that were more in keeping with my updated taste in music. But when I thought about what to wear and how to do my makeup, I realised I didn’t want to look like Joanne any more. I wanted to look like Skye and Siouxsie and Robert Smith. This realisation just popped into my head, but it felt slightly dangerous. Should I really try to dress up in such a crazy way? Wasn’t I too quiet and dorky for that?
I dithered for a while and then made up my mind. I biked over to the shops on Waimairi Road and browsed in the chemist for some new makeup. I bought purple lipstick, and black eyeliner and eyeshadow, then cycled back home and sat in front of the mirror on my dresser. I felt weirdly nervous, as if I were about to do something illicit and risky. I carefully applied eyeliner and eyeshadow, and, after some difficulty, managed to create a Siouxsie-like effect that was dramatic and feline. I finished this off with mascara and my new lipstick.
I appeared striking and even more extreme in some ways than Skye. But my bob haircut didn’t look right. I’d once thought my hairstyle was trendy, but now it seemed boring. Spontaneously, I started backcombing frenetically and spraying on hairspray. This didn’t work at first, but I persisted until my arm was aching and the room was full of hairspray fumes. Finally my hair was a tousled bird’s nest. It was perfect.
I sat back and examined myself. I looked so different, almost unrecognisable. But I liked it. I was in disguise. No one could see the pathetic old Amy under my exotic mask. There were still things I didn’t like about my appearance. But, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t completely hate what I saw in the mirror.
I dressed in black as far as possible, then set off down the street, heading towards the bus stop on Maidstone Road. I felt anxious. With my new look, I was on display, exposed. I felt as though I was in one of those dreams where you’ve gone to school in your pyjamas and everyone is staring at you. But I pressed on. I was determined.
As I rounded the corner of Longfield Street, I spotted an elderly man talking to a child in one of the front gardens. He noticed me approaching, narrowed his eyes and bustled the child away from the pavement. I heard him say something like ‘Keep away from that person’. An unfamiliar thrill ran through me. Someone had thought I looked wild and dangerous. That was ridiculous, of course, but also fantastic.
Not so long ago I’d been afraid of the weird people I’d seen around town and done my best to avoid them. But now I was one of them. I was a weird person. An outcast. A stranger. It was as though I’d been admitted into a secret club.
I reached the bus stop, waited for a while, then jumped on the bus when it arrived. There were only a handful of people onboard, but they all stared at me as I walked to the back seat. I held my head high and smiled to myself.
I got off at the Square and wandered around the shops. I kept noticing people glancing furtively at me, and I revelled in the attention. I even spotted a punk boy with a mohawk and felt an affinity with him. He and I were part of the same gang now. There was a connection between us.
I wished that Skye was with me at that moment. She would have been proud of me.8Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7LEpYSbcGF
–––
Skye herself rang to invite me to the next gathering of our little group. I prepared carefully for this. I wanted to show off my new look, but I was also worried that the gang would laugh at me. Maybe even Skye would think I looked stupid.
I fretted for a while, then decided I would go through with my plan but would tone down my appearance. I did my eyes with black eyeliner and eyeshadow again, but I went for a more muted, subtle style, and I didn’t wear any lipstick. I teased my hair, but not as wildly as I had the last time. The result was gothic, but not too extreme.
When I got to Skye’s place, though, I was disappointed. Skye only said a brief hi to me and didn’t even comment on my appearance. Becky kindly complimented me, but no one else in the gang seemed at all interested. I wondered whether they’d even noticed I looked different.
Skye was agitated and in a bad mood, mainly because, once again, we had no dope. The evening fizzled out, with people leaving in dribs and drabs. I was the last person remaining, and once everyone had gone Skye said to me: ‘Come and fucking look at this.’
I followed her out into the corridor and then into Obie’s room, which was tidier than Skye’s, but still a complete mess compared to my orderly house. Pairs of jeans, T-shirts and socks lay strewn over the floor and furniture. Several posters of Iron Maiden and motorbikes were stuck on the wall. The room smelt musty, like sweaty shoes.
Skye dragged a stool over to a built-in wardrobe, stood on it, and rifled through the top shelf. From right at the back, she produced an old tobacco tin.
‘You ever wonder where I get dope from?’ she asked.
‘Not really.’
‘Here.’ She waggled the tin. ‘Obie’s stash. I’ve been nicking little bits from it for ages. He never noticed. Until now.’
She lifted the lid and held out the tin. Inside I saw a piece of paper with the words ‘Fuck Off Skye’ written on it. I almost laughed, but I was glad I didn’t as Skye was fuming.
‘Fucking bastard.’ She stuffed the tin back on the shelf and jumped off the stool. ‘I’ve searched this whole room and I still can’t find where he keeps his stash now. He’s a fucking cunt.’
I glanced feebly around the room, as if I might spot something that Skye had missed.
‘Don’t bother,’ she said. ‘I’ve checked everywhere. Anyway, I’m sick of pissing around with tiny bits of dope. I’m going to get us a whole bag. I’ve got a plan.’
‘What plan?’
‘You’ll see.’
We left Obie’s room and went back to the lounge. I didn’t stay for much longer as I knew Mum was due back at home and I couldn’t afford to be out too late.
As I left the house, Skye said to me: ‘Hey, you look cool, by the way.’ She motioned with her hand to her face. ‘You know, with your new style and everything.’
I was unbelievably happy as I biked home.
ns216.73.216.251da2
