Needing 13 - Johnny Kavanagh

FRAMED PHOTOS AND MISSING PHONES

TARA

If I already harbored a deep-seated disgust for myself as a person, it was nothing compared to the loathing I felt as an older sister. The thought of having failed my sister so completely made me want to provoke those who already wished me dead—let them take me out, dump me in a ditch like the worthless human waste I was.

Today was Shannon's birthday—a day that was meant to be filled with laughter, presents, and cake. Instead, Joey and I found ourselves sitting across from our younger sister, who now sported a swollen cheekbone and black eye. But I had seen the rest of her body, black and blue from head to toe. Every time I remembered, my stomach twisted with nausea and guilt, making it hard to breathe.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I had failed her, not just today, but all week. Hell, even this whole last month. This was supposed to be her special day, yet it was ruined by the lingering shadows of a week that had been nothing short of hellish. The first time our father had lashed out at Shannon over that photo, I wasn't there. I had training at the Academy, followed by a meeting with Coach, Fintan, and Saoirse to assess my progress.

During the meeting, Fintan and Saoirse had expressed concern about my weight. They were pleased with my performance on the track, but they worried that the pressure and stress were taking their toll on me, that I might collapse under the strain. They had no idea that my weight wasn't something I could control. It depended on the food we had at home, and food was never guaranteed.

Our family scraped by on Joey's salary, Mam's wages, the children's allowances from the government, and whatever money I could bring in. Even then, it barely covered the basics—household bills, Tadhg and Joey's GAA fees, and my athletics club fee. On top of this, there were my father's debts, which I bore full responsibility for. This month, he'd decided to go all out, spending what I had given him on alcohol and women, leaving even less for food and other essentials.

Coach had assured them that she was keeping me under control. Though I hadn't disclosed the full extent of my situation to her, it was apparent she had a partial understanding. She'd seen my father a few times, even spoken to him. He'd tried to make advances on her, and when that didn't work, he turned nasty, criticizing her methods and the way she prepared me for competitions. I could tell she had a sneaking suspicion of what my home life was like, but what could she do? What could anyone do?

As I left the training session, the sky overcast and threatening rain, I made my way past a local newsagent. Glancing idly at the display of newspapers, I was caught off guard by a familiar sight. There, on the front page of the national newspaper, was a photograph of my sister and Jonathan.

Both of them were covered in mud, their clothes splattered with dark, streaky stains from a day spent in the elements. Despite the mess, they both wore enormous, joyful grins. Jonathan had his arm wrapped around Shannon's waist in a protective, affectionate gesture, and Shannon's hand rested lightly on his chest. They looked undeniably like a couple—happy and completely absorbed in their shared moment.

A warm, proud smile spread across my face as I studied the photograph. The sight of them together, so carefree and content, was a beautiful thing. It was exactly how I had hoped she would look—happy and cherished. Seeing them together like this was both heartwarming and bittersweet.

Don't look at him.

Think about Shannon.

Remembering Shannon's words from last month, I felt a surge of inspiration. I headed to the library and once there, I quickly located the national newspaper, found the article featuring the photograph, and printed out a high-quality copy.

My plan was to frame this and present it to my sister for her birthday. She could keep it as a reminder of her connection with Jonathan, who was on his way to becoming a renowned rugby player, just as she had always hoped. And perhaps, if the opportunity arose, she could even have him sign it. As I folded the printout carefully and slipped it into a protective folder, I felt a surge of satisfaction. The thought of seeing her eyes light up with joy made the effort worthwhile.