My brain drifts semi-consciously through memories as I lie here half asleep. I feel good for the first time in years and my mind brings me to the last time I had this feeling. Steph had just turned seventeen and was working every hour she could at a shitty waiting job to move away from our mother the second it was her eighteenth birthday. Things were tense at home. They always were. For all of the years there, I have so few memories that I can look back fondly on.
But one day we saw a competition in one of Steph’s trashy magazines that wanted short stories. I can’t remember what it was about. Something nebulous and cliche like ‘Change’ or the like. It was ages sixteen plus and Steph brought it into my room and shoved the magazine in my face excitedly. She had the idea for me to write something up and for her to submit it in her name since I was too young to enter. That was probably the first and last time she ever had faith in my ability to win something.
The first place prize was £100. To us that was a fortune. Steph stroked my ego about how good my writing was, and finally convinced me to sacrifice a few evenings after school to draft up a piece about letting go of the past to embrace the future or some bollocks like that. When it was finished, Steph added in a few words and phrases that she said were essential for teen girl magazines, then she posted it and we waited. In the end we didn’t win, but we did manage to snag second place for a nice £50.
To me, we may as well have won the Lottery. I’d never seen that much money. Even to Steph it was a hefty amount, at least for the level of work that went into getting it. We didn’t let Mum know we had it. We’d not have seen a penny if we had. I kind of expected to be handed a tenner and for the rest to be put into Steph’s savings. But she surprised me.
In a rare showing of reckless rebellion, she managed to buy some vodka and wines without getting ID checked. She took me out to the woods near my school. It was the first time I ever got drunk, and even through the awful sickness and even worse hangover afterwards, I still remember that evening. It was probably the last time I saw Steph happy, at least in that carefree childhood way. She’d been happy on the day we moved out into our own place, but that had been the birth of adult Steph with bills to pay and full-time employment.
It was such a good party for just the two of us, something fun we could share. We bought ice cream and chocolate with the spare money, which in hindsight was a poor choice to mix with alcohol, and Steph had brought out her bright pink CD player and a few discs.
We talked about our dreams for the future, sang along with shitty 90’s pop, and laughed until we were in tears. I think Mum was close to murder when we got back, but thankfully I can’t remember a thing of the aftermath. Maybe she’d been strung out on some drug or other and never even noticed we’d been gone. Whichever it was, Steph had shielded me from it like usual.
I guess money can buy you happiness. We’re certainly overdue some. Things will change now. I smile at the thought, then slip fully into pleasant dreams.
Matthew Roys 