“It’s a scam.”
“Nah! It’s fair dinkum.”
Caleb’d seen it all before. It started in
Primary school. The do gooders, the school counsellors and the social workers –
they’d tell you this was going to be the answer to your problems. He’d bought
it once. Tried soccer on the weekend as part of a sports program. Ended up a
scam – like school. Coach was a dickhead. Didn’t know anything but wanted you
to do it his way. So he’d left - halfway through the season, in front of goal
with a clear shot, he dribbled it slowly, deliberately, into the keeper’s hands. And then walked off the
field and never came back.
“This is different. I was on this computer and then we got on the
microphone. And the girl who runs it... well she sort of knows what you’re
thinking. So you can do it.... almost from the start.”
“Sure. “
“Look just come along and try it.”
Lenny was like that. Easily sucked in. Caleb
was amused the way he would get all enthusiastic about stuff. It’d last about a
week and then Lenny’d move on to something else.
¯ ¯ ¯
Caleb couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t
live at Hamilton South. Hassall Street. Back in Primary school the spocks who
lived at Merewether would all snub their noses at Caleb and his friends. Nothing
out in the open. Just looks and the whispered words and furtive looks when
anyone from the estate approached them.
Everyone from the South was aware of their difference.
The South defined you. And if you didn’t fit the stereotype, well it didn’t
matter did it? Cause you were from the South - a Southie.
Caleb hated it. But he couldn’t escape it. He
was a Southie. And so he resigned
himself to the stigma. And he got tough. Cause that was the one constant of
being a Southie. You were tough, or you were trodden on, or you were used. That
was the thing that Caleb hated the most – being used. Do gooders spent their
lives using people from the South.
¯ ¯ ¯
Sarah had been a student at Francis Greenway.
Grew up in Woodberry. The locals called it “the Hole”. When she was fourteen
she’d gone to a workshop at the community centre, after school. They were doing
hip hop. They had a set of turntables and she muscled her way in and pushed the
two boys who were hogging it out of the way, and demanded a go. It was like a
world opened up to her. The only music she’d ever played was a recorder in year
3. But with turntables... she was making music. She’d found out that the guy
running the class was from a youth centre in town – The CORE. They ran classes
after school and she started going. Wopped last period on Tuesdays to get the
train down. When she left school she managed to fluke a gig at a local pub and
they liked what she did and invited her back. Twelve months later she was in Melbourne
playing clubs. She’d got work, regular work, but she missed Newcastle. So she
came back. She called in at the CORE and they asked her if she’d like to help
out with the class. Offered her a job.
¯ ¯ ¯
Sarah was always amazed when she came upon a
natural. She knew she was good but Caleb was sharp. Sharp!
Caleb took to the software program, Ableton
Live, like he’d been born to it. Sarah would start to explain but as she did,
Caleb could see what she was saying and then jumped two steps ahead. After five
minutes she moved on to others more in need.
The more he did, the more opportunities he
could see. It was like one of those gigantic jigsaws that sit on the table and
take weeks to complete. Yet he was solving chunks at a time. And it wasn’t like
he had to concentrate on one small corner. The links and synergies between
different parts of the program just... were – apparent, without thinking; without
having to contemplate the how and why. Intuitive!
“Told ya.”
Caleb hated it when Lenny was right. And he
WAS right. When he first went to the
CORE one Tuesday afternoon he couldn’t believe what was there. There were
computers and art stuff. And they had gigs... on the weekends. But most of all
they had the music studio. And every Tuesday there was a..a.. Class was the wrong word. It was like a jam
session. But it was... the way Sarah managed it was... well everyone just did
what they wanted, but you sort of did it together. And everyone was helpful.
There were kids from Merewether and HSPA there, and African kids newly arrived
in Newcastle, and other Koori kids. And they were OK kids. No one was up ‘emselves.
They all liked hip hop.
¯ ¯ ¯
One hot afternoon in year 8, one of his
teachers had played them a song from some American country singer:
Roses are red and violets
are purple
Sugar’s sweet and so’s maple
syruple.
The song was dumb and so was the teacher. But
that rhyme... he’d loved that. It kept popping up in his thoughts when he’d go
for a run in the bush at Glenrock. Purple… syruple. He loved that.
Caleb had always liked words. Not
consciously, but he could hear patterns in words. He could hear how they ran
together. Much later, he discovered that those patterns had names:
alliteration, assonance, onomatopoeia. And he discovered puns. Puns could be
puny. They could punish. You could play
with words. You didn’t have to follow the rules, could make up your own.
He began to write rhymes. It was laborious,
you had to work, re-work, refine, fine tune. It gnawed at him till he got it
right, engaged him, absorbed, obsessed, him. Caused him to ponder, reflect,.
And … he loved it!
¯ ¯ ¯
Six months after he started, the CORE ran a
hip hop gig. Sarah asked him if he’d like to play - more or less demanded he play. A month later
on a Friday night he got up and performed. And it was another revelation. He
was nervous. He’d never really been nervous before – except when they made him
get up to give a speech in year 5. As he started, he didn’t understand why. Then
it hit him. This mattered. Mattered like nothing he had ever done, mattered.
MATTERED. So little in his life had mattered.
When he started, the nervousness transformed
into an adrenaline rush. As he got into his set he could feel the audience, an
invisible bond between him and them - two way. The more energy he gave out, the
more he got back - a feedback loop folding back on itself building, reinforcing,
metamorphosing. The 20 minute set was like a flashing blur and in slow motion
at the same time. He could remember every moment, re-live it. But at the same
time experienced in flashes - weird.
When he came off stage he was greeted by
Sarah not as a pupil but as a peer. He was a hip hop artist. And she was
acknowledging it: one artist to another. Her equal. Caleb had never felt this
elated, this fulfilled…. this …. happy.
¯ ¯ ¯
“It’s gonna close.”
“They can’t.”
“I heard them in the office.”
“How are we gonna….? They can’t.”
¯ ¯ ¯
They could.
The CORE was run by the local council and the
council was in deficit. Council had to prioritise its operations – ROADS RATES
and RUBBISH, back to basics. The CORE was a luxury the ratepayers could no
longer afford. And Caleb and the other kids? Well most of them couldn’t vote
and council had to prioritise if it was going to be sustainable into the future.
¯ ¯ ¯
The golden rule of being a Southie was that
you never got your hopes up. You never aspired to anything. You never wished or
planned or dreamed. Cause if you didn’t plan, you couldn’t be
disappointed. Caleb had broken the
golden rule..
¯ ¯ ¯
He must’ve run 10 kilometres. He didn’t
remember any of it. When he stopped he was outside the CORE. He stood for long
moments, staring at the sign hanging from the awning, half lit from the street
light nearby highlighting the R E.
¯ ¯ ¯
He didn’t know when he’d got the can. Lenny
had a stash in his back shed. He was surprised at how little time it took to do
it.
The next morning the police showed up at
school. He got called out of class.
¯ ¯ ¯
He was conferenced. The Herald was outraged
at this “soft option”. Sarah volunteered to go as the CORE’s representative -
as the victim (the irony did not escape her). The conference lasted 45 minutes.
As part of the conference, he had to agree to an outcome plan – to make
restitution. His outcome plan was 2 pronged: he had to clean it off; and, to
keep him occupied, and to give him an interest beyond offending, he had to
enrol in an after school activities program.
