Sister, Leaving Town.

A lot of us crave a new start, a life away from the small town that defines us. Not everyone makes it and in all fairness, not everyone wants to. This girl does though. This big sister is desperate for her new place in the world.

Big sister, leaving town.

Sister’s leaving town.

The bright lights have always called to me. I mean, really, them over this? There isn’t any question. 

Here it's all lager, pool, watching stupid boys fight over meaningless things and then wanting to cop a feel after hours. Yeah, that versus the theatres, restaurants, and real nightlife. Go figure. 

A job in an office would be nice. That would be a different thing altogether, different to slaving over a sewing machine in my dad's factory. He calls it a factory, but all it really is is a glorified sweatshop full of people who stopped dreaming a long time ago. Good for them because all dreaming does is break your heart. It’s breaking mine. 

One ticket, that’s all I’d need, and there would be no need for a return because I sure wouldn’t be coming back to this place. The place where people are born, live and die. This place. 

Everyone knows everyone's business, arguing over who gets the next round in, and where should they shop today. Asda or Aldi? Need a new car? Well, you don't go any further than Dave's place, do you? Heaven forbid you would take your money out of the local economy. 

They wanted to build a road here once. Only once because they gave up trying once the locals got their war drums out, breaking their necks to sign a petition, because who wants a superhighway that could bring new people in? New people in and a chance for regular people like me to escape. Yup, that one bit the dust real quick and the men who built the roads set their target just a few miles west of here, just far enough over the hill that people like us couldn't see it. A girl can dream, can't she? 

And so here are my choices. Here are the ones I see in front of me. Mum is just about bursting for me to marry Eddie, a nice guy but a drip. A drip but a harmless one whose only ambition (other than marrying me) is to captain the local football team. A couple more good games and he might be in with a shot. So he tells me. 

He and the other fella. The secret that I mooch about with from time to time, only when his wife is at work of course. I'm not that type of girl you know. 

Then there is the karaoke on a Friday. Jesus, if I roll my eyes up at that one more time, they might just stick. Laugh along, sing along, clap along now. You all know the drill. 

Sometimes I imagine singing for real. On a stage, in a theatre, quite the voice I have, so they say. Being discovered, recognised, and thanked for what I do rather than "well-done girl, next!" 

So what's keeping me? What is to stop me from buying the ticket I keep going on about? Well, for one thing, I've already bought it and it's hidden in my bag, hidden well and just waiting for the right moment. 

“Hey sis,” I hear and that is what stops me. He’s only ten and a pain in the arse as he walks in, muddy boots, the ever-present ball under his arm and the charm that melts my heart. 

“What ya been doing?” I ask him. 

He stops in his tracks. “Me,” he says, looking at the ball under his arm. “Me, I've been knitting a pair of socks for a kangaroo. What do you think I've been doing?" 

I reach to give him a whack and even though he knows it's only a playful one, he winces. 

"Sorry," I say as we both remember his cries last night as our ever-loving father put the boot in yet again. Hit them where no one can see the bruises, that's the family motto. 

He reaches to give me a kiss. 

“It’s okay sis,” he says with a maturity that breaks my heart and makes my eyes fill with tears. 

“You are a nuisance,” I say, laughing. 

“Yeah, I know," he says, serious. "I keep getting told." And with that, he saunters away to his bedroom, footie mags, a bag of crips and a bottle of pop for his lunch. What kind of diet is that for a growing boy? 

He is going to make it, I just know he is. He has the brains, the courage, and the talent. He can do whatever he wants to do, but all that is stopping him is his young years, for when he is old enough, I am taking him because there isn’t just one ticket in my bag but two. One for him and one for me. I’m getting him out of small-town England and to be somewhere he is appreciated. 

Big sister, leaving town.