Evelyn Johnson
A name that held so much power, but yet none at all. The name that was so easily replaced in every news paper article and award and medal. It was never in front of anyone else's name, always put second, or behind the others.
Evelyn...
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"Blame It On Me"
Grabbing my bags from the change rooms, I walked out of there before anyone could talk to me. I wasn't in the mood. I hadn't had the best training, and I felt like it was all my fault because I hadn't trained over the two-week Christmas break. I was the only one too blame for that.
Seeing my brothers car, with my brother standing at the bonnet of the car, with a group of friends hanging around him, I knew that we would be here for a while. He had a girl hanging onto his arm, and I knew when he would see me, it would turn into an argument about how I was ruining his fun.
He was the lucky one, out of the two of us. Everything he did would fly under the radar, until I was the one that had to pay the price for it all. Walking over, I stayed silent, as the rest of them continued to talk, and my brother hadn't noticed me yet. The only person that had noticed me, was the girl that was still hanging off his shoulder, a deep glare pointed at me.
I felt disgusted, that she thought I was going to take my brother from her. My brother said something to her, but he hadn't seen me, and because she was looking at me and not my brother, he got a bit flustered. He then saw me, and immediately threw his head back, almost in anger that he had remembered I existed.
"Get in the car" he grumbled to me, as he unlocked the car, and I walked around him and his friends, and to the back seat of the car. I climbed into my usual seat, knowing that I was too blame for him being in this position of driving me home. It was my fault, not his, that I didn't have a license or could drive myself anywhere.
May as well just blame it all on me.
---
Stepping through the front door, my brother had already raced off in front of me. I stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing something to eat, only to turn around and find my mother, standing there, with her hands on her hips. She was in one of those moods, where whatever I said, did not matter to her at all.
If I told her something wasn't my fault, it was, and I just had to deal with it. Everything was my fault at some point. "Why was there a load of washing sitting in the machine, not hung out, and another load sitting in the basket!? I asked you to do it yesterday, and both of the loads were still soaking wet" my mothers voice made my blood boil.
She always put it back onto me. I had to do everything for her, because why not? I was the youngest and I had to carry the load for everybody else. "I don't know" I grumbled, being too exhausted to even care about yelling back at my mother. It would not get me anywhere, and saying nothing was probably the best option, but even then, you could never win.
Whether you said something or not, there was no winning with my mother. If she told you to do something, you would be doing it wrong, but if you didn't do it, you were lazy and ungrateful. If you didn't ask to help her, you weren't doing enough, but if you asked her if she needed help, you were being annoying and needed to shut up so she could hear whatever she had on the TV.
