A Backstory

It’s a typical cold morning. I can already feel my lips drying and chapping up, even though I’ve been awake for five minutes. I’m about to return to sleep – it’s the weekend, after all – when I hear a clatter on the ground floor. I’m out of bed in an instant, my bare feet noiselessly creeping down the stairs. Waking up my mother when she's hungover never ends well. My little sister stands there, drenched in milk. She looks at me with wide, panicked eyes. I hold my finger to my lips, and walk around the counter. I pick up the milk jug, and set it on the counter, cringing as the milk droplets ruin the perfect countertop. I spent three hours cleaning the kitchen last night. I hoist my little sister up to the counter, and clean up the milk as she watches. I leave the milk-stained rag in the sink, and carry my sister up to my room.

“I’m sorry I made such a mess,” she whispers. I run my hand through her hair. “It’s okay. Mom should’ve made you breakfast.”

After my sister showers and dresses, she sits on my bed, and stares at me with her large, amber eyes. “What’s wrong with mommy?”

For five years, I’ve kept my mom’s drunken behaviour hidden from my sister. She needed to grow up as an ordinary kid. I would not burden her with the pain I had to carry every single day. “Nothing, sweetheart. She just gets tired very easily.”

She hugs me, and skips out of my room, presumably to go and play dollhouse with the neighbours. My phone tinkles with the FaceTime ring. It’s Molly. Her black eyeliner and black lipstick grin at me form the phone.

I sigh. In the mirror, I can see my milk-stained pyjamas and messy black hair. Molly would kill me if she saw my clothes. And she would ask questions - ones I don't want to answer.

As you've probably gathered by now, Molly and the rest of my 'friends' are the bullies. The mean kids. The kids who pick on other's who are younger or weaker...or different.

I never wanted to be involved with them. But I was just so angry. Angry at everything. Angry because I had to raise my five-year-old sister when I had no idea what I was doing. Angry that I had to clean my house every night. Angry that I would never get a shot at going to college. Angry because I had to learn how to cook when I was thirteen, so that I wouldn’t starve.

There’s a part of me that enjoys bullying those kids. But there’s never been a time that I don’t regret it afterwards. I shower, and put on my regular clothes – black, and black.

I FaceTime Molly.

“Hey!” I say, when she picks up.

“Where are you?” she asks. She’s clearly outdoors, maybe in a field. “At home. Why?”

“Did you forget? We’re going to spray paint-?” her voice breaks off, “So come to Eldin Quad.”

“Be right there!”

I tell my sister to stay in the house, and hurry to Eldin Quad, which is a few streets down. I stuff my hands in the pockets of my hoodie, and walk as fast as my numb legs can allow. I don’t see Molly in the park, so I head for the strip of houses opposite.

My heart stopped when I saw Molly and a few other’s from our gang spray-painting Miss Greengrass’s home.

“Stop!” I scream.

They all pause, and turn around. “What are you doing?” I yell, stomping up the driveway.

“Spray-painting. Duh. Got a screw loose, Duncan?”

Before I know what, I’m doing, I smack Molly in the face. It feels good, and I didn’t feel guilty. Miss Greengrass is one of the few people who knows about my mother and her condition. She always made me casseroles, and gave hugs and listened to my frustrations.

I yank the cans from her hand. “You’re a terrible person. Miss Greengrass was there for me when I was going through hell, when you guys were just tittering and laughing at me. So you leave her alone, and I won’t report you.”

Molly looks almost frightened. I’ve never spoken up against her like this. The boys start laughing. “Getting feisty, are we?” says one of them, trying to keep an arm around my shoulder. I shove him away, sending him spiralling into the backyard.

“Stay away from her. Or I will ruin you guys.”

I haven’t felt this good in years.

That night, when I got home, my mom was sitting at the countertop, drinking a cup of coffee. It was a good surprise. I smiled at her when I got home, and she smiled back.

My sister squealed and hugged me, in the only way five-year-olds can, and I gave her a one-armed hug.

This was all I needed.

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