asked.
‘ Don’t you?’ I
countered.
‘ No,’ he said. ‘For years
I’ve always thought that when I was old enough I was going to leave
New Zealand.’
‘ And go where?’
‘ Europe,’ he said. ‘Greece.
Italy. England.’
‘ Everyone does that,’ I
said. ‘The Overseas
Experience. The big OE.’
‘ Yes, that’s true, but I
had something more permanent in mind. Those places are where the
history is and where I want to be.’
‘ There’s history here too,’
I pointed out. ‘These
hills have been here for millions of years.
The Maori
gave them names before the Europeans ever
did.’
‘ It’s not my history,’ said
Chris. ‘Not yours either.’
If you thought about it long enough it
almost
sounded like a roundabout invitation. One
that made my heart beat faster without having to slog uphill. Even
though I didn’t necessarily agree with him about whose history was
whose, Chris had suddenly made me think about the future. Instead
of treading water as I’d been doing lately I wondered if I might
have started swimming for some distant shoreline.
‘ But
since we were born here,’ I persisted, contrary as ever, ‘then
this has to be
part of our history. Part of us .’
‘ A small part,’ Chris
conceded.
‘ As big a
part as you let it be,’ I argued, but maybe he was right. Maybe
I didn’t belong
here. Maybe the differences I’d always felt were the reasons why
not. Maybe I could never belong here. Go to Ireland when you get
the chance and discover your past, Gran had suggested to me. Go to
Rome. See The Creation of Adam for yourself.
‘ Look,’ I
said, pointing to a board we’d come to. I read the notice:
‘ These pine trees are the first stage in a
hundred year project to re-establish native bush . See,’ I said, ‘the pines will all be gone one
day.’
‘ We won’t be around to see
the results,’ Chris said. ‘Unless you plan to live to be a hundred
and . . . how old are you now Andrea?’
‘ Seventeen, next week,’ I
said.
‘ I’m eighteen in
September,’ said Chris. ‘No-one gets to be one hundred and
seventeen, or eighteen.’
And for some perverse reason I said, ‘But
I’m planning to live forever.
Extracts from Chris’s notebook
On the drive home Andrea invited me for her
birthday
next week. She told me what day it was on.
March 17. St Patrick’s Day. I should have guessed!
There was going to be a St
Pat’s party at the home of a family friend, somewhere out in the
countryside. Andrea jokingly referred to it as her birthday party,
one they have every year in her honour.
Dear Andrea,
I was a bit pissed off with dad tonight. I
mentioned that you had invited me to your ‘birthday party’. He said
he’d been thinking about us. He described you as ‘that girl you’re
going out with.’ I reminded him you had a name. And that we’d only
been out the once!
Anyway, what it boils down to is that he’s
just a bit worried. You know what parents are like. And in my case
he’s the only parent and I’m the only progeny so he worries more
than most. ‘This is a big year for you,’ he said. ‘Don’t be
distracted. You’ve got plenty of time. Lots more fish in the sea.’
All the usual stuff parents say I suppose.
He’s always had big ambitions for me, that’s
true, but I’ve had them for myself as well. He’s always said I
should keep my options open. But I can’t see how spending time with
you will change any of that. That’s what I told him.
I don’t think he believed me but so what?
I’m not going to let his opinions bother me.
Part Three: The Glorious Mysteries
STRANGE MEETING
‘I never really disliked him you know. Not
until . . .’
‘ Best not to talk about
it,’ says Chris.
‘ But because of him . . . ’
I say.
‘ I know.’
‘ It can’t be swept under
the carpet. That day you told me, I felt like I could have chopped
you up into little pieces and carried your head home.’
‘ Like
what happened to
‘ Don’t you?’ I
countered.
‘ No,’ he said. ‘For years
I’ve always thought that when I was old enough I was going to leave
New Zealand.’
‘ And go where?’
‘ Europe,’ he said. ‘Greece.
Italy. England.’
‘ Everyone does that,’ I
said. ‘The Overseas
Experience. The big OE.’
‘ Yes, that’s true, but I
had something more permanent in mind. Those places are where the
history is and where I want to be.’
‘ There’s history here too,’
I pointed out. ‘These
hills have been here for millions of years.
The Maori
gave them names before the Europeans ever
did.’
‘ It’s not my history,’ said
Chris. ‘Not yours either.’
If you thought about it long enough it
almost
sounded like a roundabout invitation. One
that made my heart beat faster without having to slog uphill. Even
though I didn’t necessarily agree with him about whose history was
whose, Chris had suddenly made me think about the future. Instead
of treading water as I’d been doing lately I wondered if I might
have started swimming for some distant shoreline.
‘ But
since we were born here,’ I persisted, contrary as ever, ‘then
this has to be
part of our history. Part of us .’
‘ A small part,’ Chris
conceded.
‘ As big a
part as you let it be,’ I argued, but maybe he was right. Maybe
I didn’t belong
here. Maybe the differences I’d always felt were the reasons why
not. Maybe I could never belong here. Go to Ireland when you get
the chance and discover your past, Gran had suggested to me. Go to
Rome. See The Creation of Adam for yourself.
‘ Look,’ I
said, pointing to a board we’d come to. I read the notice:
‘ These pine trees are the first stage in a
hundred year project to re-establish native bush . See,’ I said, ‘the pines will all be gone one
day.’
‘ We won’t be around to see
the results,’ Chris said. ‘Unless you plan to live to be a hundred
and . . . how old are you now Andrea?’
‘ Seventeen, next week,’ I
said.
‘ I’m eighteen in
September,’ said Chris. ‘No-one gets to be one hundred and
seventeen, or eighteen.’
And for some perverse reason I said, ‘But
I’m planning to live forever.
Extracts from Chris’s notebook
On the drive home Andrea invited me for her
birthday
next week. She told me what day it was on.
March 17. St Patrick’s Day. I should have guessed!
There was going to be a St
Pat’s party at the home of a family friend, somewhere out in the
countryside. Andrea jokingly referred to it as her birthday party,
one they have every year in her honour.
Dear Andrea,
I was a bit pissed off with dad tonight. I
mentioned that you had invited me to your ‘birthday party’. He said
he’d been thinking about us. He described you as ‘that girl you’re
going out with.’ I reminded him you had a name. And that we’d only
been out the once!
Anyway, what it boils down to is that he’s
just a bit worried. You know what parents are like. And in my case
he’s the only parent and I’m the only progeny so he worries more
than most. ‘This is a big year for you,’ he said. ‘Don’t be
distracted. You’ve got plenty of time. Lots more fish in the sea.’
All the usual stuff parents say I suppose.
He’s always had big ambitions for me, that’s
true, but I’ve had them for myself as well. He’s always said I
should keep my options open. But I can’t see how spending time with
you will change any of that. That’s what I told him.
I don’t think he believed me but so what?
I’m not going to let his opinions bother me.
Part Three: The Glorious Mysteries
STRANGE MEETING
‘I never really disliked him you know. Not
until . . .’
‘ Best not to talk about
it,’ says Chris.
‘ But because of him . . . ’
I say.
‘ I know.’
‘ It can’t be swept under
the carpet. That day you told me, I felt like I could have chopped
you up into little pieces and carried your head home.’
‘ Like
what happened to
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