Lucky Day

facing life, one coin at a time

Find a penny, pick it up, and all day long you’ll have good luck. Aroha whispered the rhyme, glancing left and right, the rhythm powering up her steps. Magpies squawked and flew up as she approached the rugby field. Her sneakers left shiny dents on the grass, the hem of her jeans soaked in morning dew. Poplars crisscrossed the ground with patches of light and dark. Her backpack bounced, heavy and hot on her back; the bruise on her temple felt cold, and she pulled her hood over.

Find a penny. What if you find two — is it double the luck or it’ll last you two days? The coins were nestled into her fist and Aroha flexed it to feel the edges jab into her palm. She’d left her brother at the play centre, and for once, he didn’t cry or cling on. Her mum, bruises and all, had gone to an early shift at the milk factory, and her step father was snoring hard when she kicked his filthy gumboots and closed the door. No one would answer the school truancy officer. Was this the luck of the one coin spent, or both?

Aroha crossed the cattle grid in front of the church gates, where a large mud-puddle had drowned a piece of sky. Jono was already waiting by the old maple tree, dressed in black leather jacket and pants. He was leaning on his motorbike polishing a helmet. Just looking at him changed the morning and made everything feel possible — she wasn’t running away, she was taking a ride to her new life. Her heart leapt and she squeezed the coins tighter.

Maybe her luck had started a month ago, when Jono entered the Tavern and ordered steak and fries. His bike had broken down, he said, then asked about the town and nodded at her answers like they mattered. He was there the following night and the one after that, and when she sat on the small stage with her guitar, she sang only for him. ‘Waiting for my bike to be fixed,’ he said two weeks later, ‘and enjoying getting to know you, Aroha. Who knew such a small town had such a big talent.’

This handsome stranger Jono, he’d said that to her. He lived above a recording studio, he said, had connections. And finally, with the single question, ‘Why don’t you ditch all this and come with me?’ had offered her a one-way ticket out. A surge of love pushed her forward and she ran the last few meters.

‘You’re here! Oh, thank you, I’m so… scared and excited.’

Aroha tiptoed to hug him. He didn’t respond, only leaned aside, sizing up her backpack.

‘You said a small bag, right?’

‘That’s all. A few clothes and demo CDs. My guitar, though —’

‘Don’t fuss. You’ll get yourself another one.’ He tossed his head. ‘And money?’

‘Don’t worry, it’s all on the card.’ She rubbed at her jeans pocket; the two lucky coins didn’t count.

‘I’m not worried. Just making sure it’s a clear deal — I drive, you pay, fair and square,’ he said flatly, but she didn’t mind. It was grown-ups talk and she was a grown up.

Jono mounted the motorbike and passed her a helmet. It smelled of old sweat and rubber, the visor was smudged with scratches. Aroha tied it under her chin and clasped her arms around Jono’s waist. The roar of the machine silenced the world. A curve, the bumps over the rails, and the highway opened before them. She felt the wind cold on her hands.

Fields and poplars flew left and right; rolling hills studded with sheep, hills spiked with pines. The haze above the mountains grew pale, then vanished. They stopped, twice, for coffee and to fill up, then back on the road — scratched scenery in her vision, roaring noise in her head, hands gone numb.

The sun was lost high in the sky when Jono drove off the highway into a road surrounded by vineyards. Huddled houses with bleached roofs led to a village square. Jono gave his motorbike one last rev and parked it under a Pohutukawa. Aroha dismounted and took her helmet off, the vibration of the ride burning through her body.

Jono stretched and peeled off his leather jacket.

‘Aroha, go get some food.’ He tossed his head towards the cafe, Sunny Dunes Takeaways. ‘Fish and chips or something.’

He crouched behind the motorbike, checking things. His arms, covered with colourful tattoos of horses and dragons, glistened with sweat. Aroha paused, waited, but for what — for a please?

The door of the cafe was open and next to it, sitting on an upturned crate , a homeless man played a guitar. His smouldering cigarette, tucked beneath the strings at the top, drew skewed halos above his head; a mongrel dog tapped his tail out of beat. A schoolboy, probably the same age as Aroha, came out and stuck a sheet scribbled in bad handwriting, Help wanted, Start Immediately.

He nodded to Aroha, smoothed the sheet against the door and said, ‘Shut the fuck up, JC, will you? Enough of your music!’

The man craned his neck and raised his voice as the boy went inside.

‘I’m entertaining your cust’mers, Corry, drawing ‘em in, mate. You gotta pay me a bloody commission! Free chips or somethin’.’ He gave a hoarse chuckle. A few coppers dotted the shapeless hat in front of him.

Aroha slid her hand into her pocket and took the coins out. Was it only this morning she had found them? One was black with grime and age, the other was lighter, with Queen Elizabeth and a Māori koruru. Heads and tails, but if she flipped it what would it be?

JC stopped playing, staring at her expectantly.

‘Hey Miss, y’gonna drop them coins?’

His voice was startling and so was his face. Top lip shortened by a badly healed scar, missing teeth, dark stubble in the hollow creases of his cheeks. Hit Me was tattooed across his Adam’s apple, amidst overlapping daggers and skeletons.

‘You like my playing, right?’ He wiggled his eyebrows and chuckled, ‘Just tell Corry, he doesn’t know much ‘bout music. But first make me rich.’

‘What? The coins… oh, they are nothing. Twenty cents. I found them.’

‘Keep ‘em then. Cancha buy much with that, not even luck.’

Unexpectedly, a gust of breeze lifted her hair, and she felt it on her temple. The eyes of the tattooed man bore into her.

‘Looks like you know about luck already.’ He nodded at the parked motorbike.

‘No, it’s not…’ Aroha bit her lip. Let him think what he wants.

Last night was the worst yet. Her stepfather’s bloodshot eyes, his voice slurring, ‘Where’s the money, bitch!’ Her mother on her knees, sobbing. Wild, Aroha had swung at him, but he pinned her to the wall, smacked her hard. She hit the TV cabinet on the way down. Her mother shrieked, ‘Fucking bastard! Leave her alone! Get out!’ He yanked her hair, slammed her to the floor. Upstairs, Aroha found her baby brother in his cot, arms outstretched, wailing. Below, the racket raged — breaking, falling. Then silence. For the rest of the night. Until her mother’s next pay.

Fingers pressed to her temple, Aroha lowered her head and took a step towards the café, but JC’s croak stopped her.

‘You play, Miss?’

‘I play a little, yes.’ She cleared her throat.

‘Can’ya tune my gitah then? Last time it was a bloke out of town who did it, I’m not an expert. Here.’ His frayed orange T-shirt, a freebie with a bullseye logo, was covered with stains and burnt holes.

Aroha glanced towards Jono, still behind his bike. The guitar was warm — from the sun, from being hugged by the man. She strummed it once and felt her fingers tingle with the ache for her own guitar left behind, soundless in the corner of her room. In the corner of her previous life.

‘Aroha! You planning to give us a concert now?’ Jono was rubbing his hands on a dirty rag, his muscles looming out of his sleeveless T-shirt. ‘Go get food and stop entertaining random scumbags.’

Aroha froze, her heart racing. Feeling Jono’s stare on her, she stooped and handed the guitar back to JC.

‘I’m sorry, mister. I’ll tune it later.’ Then, not looking at Jono, she raised her voice. ‘Hoki and chips?’

There was no love in her tone. She sounded like her mother.

‘You mean frozen fish?’ Jono came closer. ‘Listen, Aroha, we have a deal. I drive, you pay. You wanna go to Wellington — we’re nearly there. I want Snapper and chips. Make that double chips. And a drink. Now go get it and make it snappy. A snappy Snapper, eh?’ Jono snorted a laugh, smug with his own smartness.

Had her luck expired or was it her love? Who was this stranger, this Mr. Free ride she’d made a deal with? The petrol and the coffee she had paid for, but also the new sunglasses and bandana, a microfibre cloth to polish his helmet, a pre-pay top-up. Yet, he was her boyfriend, wasn’t he, she’d stay with him in his flat above the recording studio. Wait. Had he said that, or she wished he had?

Aroha lined up at the end of the queue, just out the door. Bitter and homely, the smell of overused oil reached her and made her hungrier. The Snapper was on top of the price list. Stuck next to it, the edges of Help Wanted note fluttered in the breeze with the sound of a caught insect. The queue inched forward.

Jono called out, ‘Aroha, hurry up. I’m starving here! Are you catching the bloody fish?’

The jingly sound of the guitar stopped. As if pushed in by Jono’s booming voice, JC entered Sunny Dunes. He flicked the ember of his half-smoked cigarette out of the door and put the stub above his ear. The torn brim of his hat hung above his right shoulder, forming a small frame for the world behind to be seen.

‘’Sup, Corry, mah man!’ He lined up behind Aroha, his smell impossible to ignore.

‘JC, please, I want no trouble.’ Corry lowered his voice.

‘No trouble, just applying for the job, man. There, on the window. D’you want help or not?’

‘C’mon, JC, you can’t work here. Stick to playing guitar. Outside, or — better, somewhere else. Now, please go.’

Corry turned to Aroha, an apologetic smile on his face.

‘Sorry, Miss, what will it be today?’

‘Hi, can I have double chips, one Snapper and one Hoki, please? Oh, and a Coke Zero.’

‘That will be nineteen-eighty, thanks.’

‘Do you take cards?’ Aroha handed it over.

Corry swiped the card once, then again, and looked at Aroha.

‘Sorry Miss, your card’s declined.’

‘What do you mean? Run it again.’ The pain in her temple knocked on her brain, she felt hot. Two hundred and seventeen dollars, gone?

‘Declined again. Do you have another one, maybe cash?’

Frantic, Aroha searched her pockets, knowing perfectly well there was nothing there. Finally, she pulled her two rusty coins out. Was this all she had left? She caught Jono’s steely gaze as he entered the café.

‘Did I hear right? Your card’s declined?’ he hissed and grabbed her elbow. ‘You said you’ve got it covered. D’you expect me to pay now, huh?’

The fear spread through her like octopus ink. She ducked and shut her eyes — paralyzed, waiting. There was a movement behind her, a rustle and a groan. The stink of unwashed clothes and cigarettes overwhelmed her.

‘Nah man, wait…’ A hoarse voice pierced the silence. ‘The lady dropped her twenty bucks, just now, man! I said to myself – ‘tis my lucky day, like I won the lott’ry, man, y’know what I mean? Twenty bucks! But it’s hers, man, the lady dropped it. Just now…’

Through her tears, Aroha saw a scrunched up twenty-dollar note in a hand blackened from an old tattoo gone bad. The letters on the knuckles were still visible.

They read L.O.V. E.

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Photo by Allef Vinicius on Unsplash