A Second Chance

As I step onto the train, I'm looking for a place to sit - social distancing banners occupy a lot of spaces but, as it’s early, I have no problem finding two empty seats and I sit down, sliding across so I'm next to the window. We pull away and soon the houses start to disappear, replaced by sprawling fields and islands of livestock bunched together, youngsters, gambolling around their parents like playful satellites. Truth is, I'm not watching them at all, instead, I focus on my face reflected in the window and I start to think about the chain of events that brought me to this point. Instantly, my muscles tighten in reflex to those wretched memories and I start to drift away, lost in time and thought.

Everyone said I was too young, or that it was 'such a shame', most thought I was naive or stubborn and that I was wasting my chance to go to university and 'make something off myself'. Me, I was just plain scared. At sixteen I knew nothing of how to look after a baby, even less about paying bills, buying shopping for the week, or other mundane tasks that seemed to fill busy people’s daily lives. Nonetheless, at aged 17, I found myself homeless, living in a hostel with my boyfriend of little more than a year and our new baby, Samuel Thomas.

Roll it forward 10 years and our family now numbered four, including my new partner, the children’s father long since gone. I found work locally, progressing quickly through various departments, learning everything I could along the way. Another 10 years saw both children fledge and my partner and I settled in a comfortable routine of work; holidays to his native Scotland and 'DIY home improvement projects'. Our combined salary afforded weekend indulgence of our shared hobbies of fishing, cycling, or watching football. Life was good and the future had a rosy tint.

Or at least that’s what I thought until one day, my world just fell apart. I lost my job and what followed was a living nightmare. I watched, helpless from the sidelines, impotent as the scaffold of my life crashed down around me; I scuttled from the twisted metal, shrouded by clouds of dust, escaping to a place of safety; my home, where I remained for over a year, imprisoned by agoraphobia and bound in chains of anxiety and severe depression.

Whether you believe in fate, destiny, or a higher power, it is entropy that propels us ever forward in life, I knew it was just a matter of time before its swirling currents pulled at my static existence.

The Covid19 crisis brought the world to a screaming halt and suddenly, instead of being the odd one out entombed by bricks and mortar, I was joined by 6 billion others who had been told: you must not go outside; stay at home where it is safe; visitors are not welcome; you are forbidden to see your family and friends; death is at your door; giving me the perfect excuse to never have to go outside again. Weeks passed and we were bombarded by hours and hours of news footage, showing fear in the eyes of people across the globe, on every network came stories of rising death tolls and individual accounts of loss; but then, something else.......heroes came from far and wide: nurses; teachers; supermarket staff; Captain Tom. Ordinary people, living ordinary lives, doing extraordinary things and I snapped awake knowing I had to help in any way I could, but first I had to leave the house.

And so, here I am, sitting on this train, by this window, looking out at cows and fields and trees and in a few minutes we'll be at the.............we've arrived. I exit the carriage, stepping onto the platform and into the morning sun. I pause for just a second, then look up and stride off in the direction of the college. At 46 years old I am stepping back into a classroom for the first time since leaving my comprehensive school thirty years ago. 

If I'm honest, I secretly agreed with those who said I'd wasted the chance to go to University by deciding as a hot-headed teenager, to keep my baby, ignoring advice from well-meaning busybodies who'd said I would be better off not having him, as if he were goods that I could simply return to the shop for a refund or exchange. But, my mind was made up and I have never, not even for a single second, ever regretted my decision or any of the choices I've made that have brought me to this point - standing here in front of the college, about to go inside for the first time.

Suddenly, panic is rising, my head starts to spin and I lurch sideways, my vision blurred, bile rising in my throat, I think I'm going to be sick as my eyes flick wildly side to side searching for an escape. My skin is tingling, warmblood floods my muscles, colours bright, noises deafening and I am tense, preparing to make a run for it. Then I hear it, one lone voice, loud and shrill ringing out across the paving stones.

''Mum!'' shouts the voice, ''wait up'’ shouts another, my eyes are squinted, trying to focus in the bright sunlight when I see two figures sprinting in unison across the square, arms flailing like demented Orangutans. A tidal wave of relief washes over me and panic soon stands down as my two beautiful children arrive at my side, breathless and unable to speak. My partner joins them moments later, taking off his jacket and his eyes meet mine for just for a second.

''We're here to wish you luck on your first day at college'' says Sam, my 29-year-old son ''and to give you this'' adds Jade, my daughter, thrusting a small opaque lunchbox packed with my favourite snacks, into my sweaty, trembling hands.

Social distancing prevents their embrace, but it's not necessary, they both know why they came and what they've done for me that morning. So, with them waving like they're trying to put out fires on their hands and my partner's reassuring peck on the cheek, I wave back, chuckling to myself and then, with promises of phone calls and skype chats ringing in my ears, I walk into the college and a future that I willingly gave up all those years ago, only now I get a second chance to live my dream.