by Nicole Johnson
We sit in the middle of Ballyclare, a place so small everyone is related. We are in Fiona鈥檚 car. She鈥檚 in the driver鈥檚 seat talking about the day鈥檚 gossip. Julia鈥檚 in the front seat, her head out the window smoking a fag. If she got any smoke in the car, Fiona would kill her. I still felt it getting into my lungs.
I鈥檓 in the back seat twiddling my thumbs, thinking how I should be home reading my brother鈥檚 paper. I also need a shower. By the time one of us decide to head back it would be ten o鈥檆lock, too late to take a shower, which means I will have to wake up early.
鈥淲hat is the plan girls?鈥� Fiona asks.
鈥淲hy don鈥檛 we go to the chipper?鈥� I suggest.
鈥淣o, I have no money,鈥� Julia says, puffing away.
There really is no winning, it is always the same. We sit in the middle of town doing what we鈥檝e been doing. When we grow sick of sitting, we will do a quick spin around the loop.
My life had not always been like this. I went to college, I had a German boyfriend, who before leaving to go back home wanted me to join him in Germany for the summer. I had been nearly at the airport when my brother rang me about our mother once again. We talk even after all the years apart, he still tempts me with a ticket. I always say no.
Now, I wait tables every day. I come home to a mother who spends her days in bed, not sleeping but gazing at the window, wishing for him to walk in the door. Plus, my younger brother he needed someone there. I鈥檝e been the supporter for the last two years.
Fiona stops the car by the beach, turning on the brights so we can see the waves; there are none.
鈥淟et鈥檚 go skinny dipping.鈥� I jokingly suggest.
鈥淭oo cold like,鈥� Fiona answers.
Julia lights up another one.
The girls do not know about my German boyfriend. No one knew. I always thought about telling them but I know what they would say: What about my brother? And my mum? She isn鈥檛 getting any better.
Everyone who leaves always returns. I came back because my brother needed me. But he鈥檚 seventeen now. He鈥檚 not the little fourteen year-old who needs my protection. He鈥檚 going to leave. He鈥檚 always saying: 鈥淥nce I turn eighteen, I鈥檒l be gone.鈥�
That鈥檚 four months away and then I have no priority left. I pull out my phone and risk a text. We are just chitchatting, I know I鈥檒l miss them, my girls, and our spins around the village.
Fiona drops me off at my house. I see my brother鈥檚 finished paper on the table. He does not need me to read it, but I take it anyway for one last look through. Ready to read my brother鈥檚 paper, my phone goes off. I lean and pick it up: I got you a ticket.
Quarryman
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