Billy Elliot

My  brother  Tony  is  stupid,  but  he  likes  good  music.  I  listen  to  his  records  before  school  when  he  and  my  dad  are  out  on  the  picket  line.  My  grandmother,  we  call  her.  NAN  likes  the  music  too.  I  play  the  music,  and  she  sits  in  bed  and  sings.

Sometimes  we  dance  around  the  room.  She's  nearly  80  and  she  can't  walk  far.  But  she  lifts  her  arms  up  in  the  air  and  tries  to  stand  on  one  leg  like  a  ballet  dancer.  Dad  and  Tony  don't  like  it  when  she  dances.  They  think  it's  stupid.

But  I  want  her  to  dance  and  sing  all  day.  This  morning  I  made  her  breakfast  and  danced  into  her  room.  Hey,  NAN,  it's  the  dancing  waiter,  I  said.  But  she  wasn't  there.  I  ran  out  of  the  door.

My  dad  will  kill  me  if  I  lose  none.  I  raced  up  the  road  shouting,  NAN.  NAN.  Where  was  she?  Was  she  on  her  way  down  to  the  sea?

Was  she  on  her  way  down  to  the  sea?  You  can  see  the  sea  from  our  house,  and  she  goes  there  sometimes.  But  little  Allison,  one  of  the  neighbor's  children,  pointed  up  the  street.  Suddenly  I  knew.  NAN  was  in  the  field  under  the  railway  bridge.

She  often  goes  there.  Nobody  knows  why.  Maybe  she  played  there  when  she  was  a  child.  NAN.  I  shouted.

She  turned  and  looked  at  me.  I  pushed  through  the  long,  wet  grass.  Poor  NAN.  She  was  wet  and  frightened.  I  don't  know  where  I  am,  she  said.

Don't  you  want  your  eggs?  I  said.  You're  new,  she  said.  NAN,  it's  Billy.  Billy.

Three  vans  stopped  near  the  railway  bridge  and  lots  of  policemen  climbed  out.  They  frightened  me.  NAN  looked  at  them.  What  are  thy?  She  said.

Police,  NAN.  It's  the  police.  I  hate  them.  She  shouted.  She  waved  her  arms  at  them.

Some  of  them  looked  at  us,  but  they  didn't  come  down.  Have  they  come  for  us,  Billy?  Shh,  she  whispered.  She  knows  about  the  police.  She  knows  that  they're  not  on  our  side.

Not  us,  NAN.  They're  not  interested  in  us.  Is  it  Jackie?  Is  it  Tony?  She  asked.

I  didn't  answer.  I  took  her  arm  and  we  walked  home.  The  next  day  I  was  playing  a  song  on  the  piano  and  thinking  about  Mum.  Tony  was  eating  and  dad  was  washing  the  dishes.  NAN  was  sitting  on  her  bed,  singing.

Mom  died  two  years  ago.  I  don't  think  anyone  remembers  her  except  me.  I  miss  her.  I  miss  her.  I  miss  her  every  day.

I  miss  her  when  I'm  walking  through  the  house.  I  miss  her  when  I'm  playing  the  piano.  I  have  a  letter  from  my  mom.  She  wrote  it  for  my  18th  birthday,  but  I  opened  it  early.  Dear  Billy,  can  you  hear  can  you  hear  my  mom's  voice?

Listen.  Dear  Billy,  I  didn't  see  you  grow  up.  I  missed  you  crying  and  laughing.  I  missed  you  shouting.  But  please  know  that  I  was  always  with  you.

I  always  will  be.  I  am  very  proud  of  you.  I  am  proud  that  you  are  my  son.  I  love  you  very  much.  I  keep  the  letter  in  a  box  under  my  bed.

I  read  it  when  nobody  is  in  the  room.  Tony  and  I  sleep  in  the  same  bedroom.  And  one  night  I  read  the  letter  to  him.  I  wanted  him  to  remember  my  mom  with  me.  Me  and  him  together.

But  he  didn't  want  to.  Don't  you  miss  her?  I  asked  him.  Oh,  be  quiet,  he  said  angrily.  Then  he  went  to  sleep.

I  was  playing  the  piano  and  thinking  about  mum.  She  played  the  piano  too.  I  can't  really  play.  I'd  like  piano  lessons.  But  we  haven't  got  enough  money.

My  dad  and  Tony  don't  have  time  to  remember  Mum.  They're  too  busy  on  the  picket  line  or  down  the  mine.  Fighting.  Always  fighting.  Fighting  the  government,  fighting  with  the  bosses.

Fighting  at  home.  Fighting  me.