“What do you think love?” my mum asked, with a huge grin spread across her face.
“That depends on what it is!” I answered in a mocking tone.
“Well, Wales! Were not there yet anyway, go back to sleep for an hour.”
And sleep I did.
When I awoke someone was shaking me repeating my name over and over: “Charli, Charli?” I opened my eyes, squinting as the sunlight stung, making my eyes water. For a second I forgot where we were. To my left I saw a large patch of grass, which I later learned served as the village rugby pitch. To my right I saw a row of old looking terraced houses, and a disused church that appeared to be about a hundred years old. Just behind the row of houses I saw a huge field. I didn’t quite believe it, but there were cows. A whole heard of them, and horses too. “Mummy? Are you serious? Is this really where we are going to live?” I asked.
My Mum just smiled at me.
“You’ll get used to it!” She was now actually laughing. Did she really think it was funny? I couldn’t even see any shops. Not even a corner shop! After collecting the luggage, we walked through the little Iron Gate into the house.
It really wasn’t that bad, quite nice in fact. The walls were all painted in burnt oranges, gold’s and creams, and my Mum was quick to point out that this was the result of her hard work and dedication. I put the bags down to have a look around my new home. The living room at the front of the house was a substantial size. The kitchen was exceptionally long and narrow and the garden was huge. Upstairs there were three bedrooms: one for my mother and sister, one for my cousin and one for me. I sat down on my new bed and decided that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad here, away from the constant hustle and bustle of London. School was due to start for me on Tuesday. Today was Friday, so I had plenty of time to settle in.
For the next year or so, life in Wales was quite normal. I went to school and was an A grade pupil most importantly for me at that stage, I made lots of friends. Maybe this wasn’t the best thing for me, because I fell in with the wrong crowd: The crowd that stayed out late. Drinking, smoking, taking drugs and joyriding. The popular crowed.
It all started with a girl called Bethan. She was a very pretty girl that was in my class. Bethan was clever and took school seriously. One day in class, it was English if I remember rightly; we started talking and found that we had very similar personalities. Soon after we were hanging around together every day and sitting next to each other in every class. I guess you could say we were inseparable. One Thursday afternoon she asked me if I wanted to come to a village called Maesycwmmer. I replied that I would ask my mum and get back to her. Later on that evening I did ask my mum, and although I can’t remember exactly how the conversation went, I do know that there was a lot of persuasion involved and finally she gave in on the condition that she would drive me to and from the village.
“Go on it’s a laugh!” one girl slurred at me pushing a lit cigarette into my hand. Not really sure what to do with it, I looked to Bethan for help.
“Put it in your mouth and suck it!” she replied, making the other girls shriek with laughter. “Dirty cows!” she cackled at them.
“Ugghh! What the hell are you doing to me!!?” I spluttered and choked. My lungs were on fire, and my eyes were streaming with tears. “You’ll get used to it love; wash it down with this.” Another girl said while handing me a bottle of something. It tasted nice. I kept drinking it, and then I wanted my own. “Cory! Go in the shop and get a couple of bottles of cider.” Bethan demanded. We drank them all between us. The last thing I remember is getting home, crawling up the stairs and being sick all over my bedroom floor, my head spinning.
This is what every weekend suddenly became. I did get grounded the first time but it didn’t stop me. Almost overnight I had turned into a horrible, disrespectful brat going completely against the way I had been raised. There was nothing anyone could do. One year after my first drink I started to go to pubs. Now we had a wider variety of drinks on available to us. We consumed more and more only stopping when we passed out or could not stand. I saw young girls stumbling down the street, making lewd suggestions to passers by, shouting and screaming, not caring what anyone thought. The saddest thing was that I actually thought this was funny at the time, even though they, like us, didn’t have any self respect or self worth. My friends and I soon started going out Saturday and Sunday of every weekend without fail. Most of the time we would each go through about 8 pints of beer or cider, 4 or 5 cocktails, 4 or 5 vodkas and cokes, and around 5 shots of spirits each weekend feeling like we hadn’t had the best of times if we drank any less. Those were the dark days, as I now call them. That is really all there is to do in Wales. Alcohol is seen as a large percent of the populations’ best friend; it is seen as normal. Of course not everyone in Wales is already or is turning into an alcoholic but as you tend to know everyone in your village and don’t really go far outside of it, you don’t know much better. But I should have. Soon enough, all I lived for was the weekend. I didn’t care about anything or anyone else. I didn’t go to school because I didn’t see any point if I wasn’t going to college. I couldn’t be bothered anyway. To my poor mum, I was a hopeless case. We didn’t argue much, just silently excepted the silent fact, that if I didn’t stop I would completely lose myself, my culture, heritage and respect for myself and others. That is why; five long years after we moved to Wales, my mum sent me back to London to my dads’. I didn’t want to go. I was crying and shouting, but deep down I new it was the right thing. And just look at me now, I am working and in full time college course and am happy with my life. I can finally see what my mum had been telling me all those years, but then, I didn’t realise my mum would save me from self destruction.
