Christmas In The Park

I walked along the park with a sigh. It had happened again. It seemed to happen every day now-- finding my mum out cold with an empty wine bottle beside her. But I was used to it. Used to pulling back her braids and dragging her to her bed. Used to cleaning up sick everytime she woke up. Used to leaving the house at any time, day or night to the park.

It was about 6pm in the winter, probley the coldest days of the year. I kicked the leaves and sighed once more. Then I opened my drawstring bag and took out my artbook and pens. I flicked through my artbook and pens. I flicked through my art book, looking at pages of tears and pain-usually of me. My face was drawn in charcol, my dark black braids over my eyes and a tear coming out of the other side. My art teacher said something once- "Pain is the root cause of creativity." And it's true.

And I'm sick of it.

I found a great oak tree and sank into the leaves. Ever since my father died, my mum found comfort in alcohol. I can't remember a time when her eyes were white, breath was fresh. She would come to the parent's evening, sometimes drunk or stinking or alchol, bloodshot red eyes and a false smile. But what really hurt me was it was like I had lost both my parents.

I turned to pick up my artbook and my eyes feel on the tree I was leaning on. Someone had carved a door at the foot of the tree. On the door it said "Home Sweet Home". I fingered it then immediently started sketching. I imagined a family, mother, father, daughter together around the table at Christmas like it should be. Not the mother out cold the floor. Not the daughter alone in the dark park. Around the turkey, warm fire toasting the feet, smiles all round. Forget presents, I thought A family would be enough. I sighed. There was a way to get it, Christmas or not.

I looked up from my sketch and tipped the contents out of my bag. My form tutor gave me the number from the moment she saw my mum but I felt like I was betraying her. But she needed help. So did I. Most of my childhook was looking after my mother and I was tired. Found it! I picked up the advert and my mum's mobile. It would show up on the bill- if she ever paid it. And they were always by the phones, even at Christmas. I stalled on the last number the looked at the sketch of me smiling. I pressed the last button and heard it ring.
"Hello, Childline."
Pause.
"Hello?"
"Hello. I know it's Christmas and I need to talk to someone. Please."