Three Figures

Three Figures

The hardest part was living life without them, not having them to lean on, to help. So I'm looking after myself now.

The hardest part was adjusting, from having everything done for us to being alone, never to see, hear or smell them again.

The hardest part was realising that their life had been cut short; they should have had more time to be a family and see the things all parents should.

The hardest part for me was watching this family's struggle from the outside looking in. The middle brother, dealing with his pain in a rebellious manner; the oldest, with his new responsibilities, scared sick and the youngest girl, mature beyond her years, completely selfless and extraordinary. Then there was me, a complete outsider who just happened to be there when a car wrapped itself around a tree and again when a boy who had to become a man collapsed. I was now entangled in their story whether I liked it or not. However one thing prevented the complete collapse of this family; Leah, she held them together leading them back into life, love and family.

Chapter 1

The car horn blared as Mr El pulled up outside the neighbours' house and opened the passenger door for his wife. It was an old, beat up ford but he managed to make it look elegant, as though it were a Rolls Royce. Through my flimsy bedroom walls I could hear the clacking of heels on decaying floorboards as she burst through the front door, a beam plastered on her face. She descended down the front steps, which despite being caked with dust made her all the more radiant, in a lilac coloured dress embellished with a golden ribbon and purple stilettos. Her brown hair was lush and full with a some what straggly look to it, as though she couldn't afford expensive products. Her teeth sat in a dead straight line, nothing like my untidy mess of a jaw. I glanced in the mirror and my face slackened, same old me. I liked to examine other people, other families. I suppose it's my attempt at working out how a normal family functions, what it feel like to be cared for instead of vice versa. I already knew the ages of the three children who lived in the house next door. I knew what they looked like and I knew each of their personalities. I had spent the weekend in my room, dreaming of some place else. I had a mattress on the floor and an ancient dresser but other than that my belongings sat packed neatly away in two cardboard boxes. As I moved away from the curtains I heard the children's shouts coming from the house next door; "see you", "where did you say dinner was?" and "have fun!" I grinned, they were the expected responses, the eldest bidding a fond and childish farewell, the boy, ever defiant and uncaring and then the youngest girl, not a thought reserved for herself.

I grabbed the banister at the top of our new stairs which were at the top of our new house which was in our new suburb in a new city. I was confident about this new home, confident we wouldn't be forced out, confident nothing bad would happen. Not like the last time, and the time before that and....the time before that. I grabbed an old, decaying pair of joggers from beside my door and pulled them on to my aching feet. The stairs made a pleasant thunk as I skipped down them two at a time, laughing as I saw Mum's attempt at dinner go up in flames. She cursed at me as I ran out the door still chuckling to myself. I didn't laugh for long. In any normal family I would have, but my grin was now a grimace and I dreaded to think what I did.

I ran through the backstreets; the only place you can really find the heart of a town. It is not in the town square, in the main drag or in the park; it was one of those quiet, untouched places where barely anyone went, one of those places that you could only find in the backstreets of a city. One of those places that was shared by all but wasn't really known. Sweat lingered on the edge of my nose and I crinkled it in irritation. My feet hit the pavement methodically and it soothed my lazy muscles, to be moving once again. The winter breeze was lost on me as I winded my way through the streets of a new town, trying so hard to completely lose myself but knowing I never would; I never did. I left the endless rows of tired, decrepit houses behind me and reached a stretch of flashier houses and a selection of shops. Beside me was a tiny pub, cramped and warm, filled with the sounds and smells of alcohol. It had a warm exterior, the paint was peeling slightly and the walls were made of glass. Large, communal tables were set up for dinner and a bar stretched the length of the glass windows. I slowed slightly, and frowned at the men across the street shouting at me. I assumed they had just left the pub. I ran on, through Witches Lane, Windermere Park, down Butcher Stairs and across a bypass. This city was alive, the old and the new mingled together and above it all was a cloud. So wispy it might not have even been there, but it was, much like my own existence. Life had never been easy for my mum and me and as I ran my thoughts were racing over my past, my present and my future. My body on the other hand was running away, away from the same things that plagued my mind. The street signs raced past me and every single one seemed to remind me of something or someone or nothing. The nothingness was almost the worst.