I have family envy. They are the family my mum should have had, if only she had married a real man. The boys are fine men and the girls are beautiful women. They must be so proud. I can only imagine the kind of parents they must be to raise C. He is kind and strong, fun and dedicated, honest and flawed. If everyone had parents like you, the world would be a much better place. If only there were more young men like him in our world. I can feel the bonds of love between the siblings and I’m jealous. As I drive away I feel so alone. Where is my big brother to look out for me when things go awry? Where is my little sister to make fun of me and wear my clothes? I think i have caught a glimpse of those things i’ll never have that mum has always been trying extra hard to make up for. I’ll never have just one child if i can help it. O will be married in a week, and our supposed ties of family are weak. I miss him. I should make more time for them. I miss them.
My passenger is drunk, he sobs drunken tears that he will miss her. So will I. The words of comfort are lost, sympathy is hard to find. He’s sick and the car is decorated with clumps of soft mushy puke. And he’s covered with a regurgitated feast. I’m pulled over on the side of a major intersection and lost for words. If only my big brother was here. I can’t call O anymore, I should be able to sort this out myself. He has his own life now. I flustered about, I can’t get in the car, yet I can’t stay here. I call C, and feel incredibly guilty. He is the savior that calms me. I’m not used to asking for help. Not used to getting it either. Is that strange? I contemplate a parallel universe where help, guidance and love are constantly there.
Mum has been missing me more lately. Are we both feeling this emptiness inside? Something isn’t right, and a trip to the west has shown me all that I am missing, and more.
