‘I’m never going back!’ I swore as I walked for the first time around London.
A new world, a new life. Far away from small towns and small minded people. I could reinvent myself, be the person I was always meant to be. Not the one I had always pretended to be.
It was so liberating to walk a crowded street and not know anyone that I saw. Not know every person. I wanted to shout, to jump, to fall on my knees and thank God. And the wonderful thing was that I could, safe in the knowledge that I would never see any of these people again.
I didn’t do any of those things of course, no point getting off to a bad start.
That was six years ago. Six blissful years. My home town had faded into a bad memory.
I’ve just hung up the phone. Mom called, Dad’s had a stroke. She wants me to help take care of him. Just for a few months she said. Just until he recovers a bit.
I can’t do it. I simply can’t. She was crying. I told her I’d go.
I don’t want to go.