Don’t Tell Me How to Live My Life

Dont Tell Me How To Live
Mary, let me in! I cant live with them anymore. Its not a home, it feels more like a prison sobbed my younger sister, standing anxiously on the doorstep.
She looked like a runaway bride: mascara streaked across her cheeks, lips trembling. In her hand, she clutched the handle of a huge suitcase on wheels.
Hang on, hang on I yawned sleepily and reluctantly stepped aside. Whats happened?
They wont let me live, Mary! You wouldnt believe what goes on in our house. Last night I got home at ten instead of nine. Dad performed an interrogation worthy of Scotland Yard and sniffed me like a bloodhound! Mum still hasn’t learned to knock on my door. She barges in while Im changing, chatting with my friends, or just relaxing I have absolutely no privacy!
Her complaints poured out in a rush, her indignation squeezing the air from her lungs. At twenty, overbearing parental control does feel suffocating. Whod enjoy their parents checking pockets or barging into their room and demanding a report for every single movement?
Dont go there, dont eat that, dont be friends with so-and-so! Laura pressed on (shed always hated anyone calling her Lolly). Im not ten anymore. Im an adult. Ive got the right to live how I want, not just as they find convenient. Today I said Id stay with my friend to revise for exams Dad declared, No sleepovers, study at home. Is that normal? Am I still in Year Five?
I listened patiently, and for a moment I even felt sorry for her. Our parents were rather old-fashioned, a tad overanxious, and certainly overprotective.
Truth be told, Id been through the same myself. At twenty, Id rebelled too. I didnt like how Dad waited up at the front window till eleven, or Mum fussed whether Id remembered my hat. But Id solved the problem decisively.
Im switching to part-time study, Id announced seven years ago. And moving out.
Where? How will you afford it? Mum gasped.
My friend works at a salon; they need a receptionist. Well rent a room for three. Well manage. If it falls apart, Ill come back.
And manage I did, though not without struggle. During the first six months, I lived on plain porridge and slept on a lumpy sofa, but no one was breathing down my neck about bedtimes. Mum and Dad tried to help with money or groceries, but I proudly refused.
Its fine. Im coping I told them.
Thats when they handed me the keys to Grandmas old flat. It wasnt just a gift; it meant they acknowledged my independence and responsibility.
It was different for Laura.
Two years ago, Grandad passed away. His flat was left to Laura. Shed just turned eighteen.
At last! Laura had declared, as soon as the paperwork came through. Im finally an eligible bachelorette with a dowry. I can live on my own!
Mum and Dad exchanged uncertain glances.
Well, yes, Dad had said. The flats yours. Utilities in winter will be no less than £200 if youre careful. Groceries Well, that depends, but about £350. Transport, clothes, cosmetics, internet In total, to live alone and carry on with your studies, youll need at least £1,500 a month. Wheres that coming from?
Laura blinked, speechless. She felt she was already doing the world a favour by studying at their expense.
And so it ended there. In any case, she didnt put up much of a fight she wasnt in a hurry to move out. What did sting, though, was that Mum and Dad began to rent out her flat and use the income: for tuition, utilities, food, and clothes. Sometimes Laura got pocket money, but she remained dissatisfied. She wanted her own place, without doing anything for it.
Remembering these rows, I looked closely at Laura. New coat, leather boots, stylish handbag She hardly looked like a prisoner. More like a princess bothered by a pea under twenty mattresses.
They took away the car keys Laura added, wiping away tears. Told me until I clear up my backlog, Ill have to take the bus. Can you imagine? The bus! Thirty minutes’ wait at least!
What a nightmare I replied dryly as she dragged her suitcase inside. So, what are your plans now?
Whatever pity I had began to evaporate.
Ill stay with you. Just until they calm down and apologise. Youve got a two-bedroom, loads of space. Ill keep out of your way, honestly. Just quietly study in my room
I pressed my lips together. I was reluctant to criticise her, but something didnt add up.
Laura I sighed. Lets talk straight. Do you want to live like I do? Without oversight, questions, or curfews?
Obviously! Her eyes sparkled. I want to decide when I come home and what I wear.
Brilliant. So why didnt you rent a flat or get a room in halls?
Laura looked confused, as if the question was ridiculous.
What do you mean? I havent got any money. Im a student.
Exactly. Youre a full-time student, living courtesy of Mum and Dad. You eat their food, wear clothes they buy, drive Dads car I started ticking off my fingers. Freedom, Laura, comes at a price. When I was your age, I worked and studied. You want to have your cake and eat it too.
Are you are you saying I cant stay?
I sighed. I didnt want to get drawn in, but there it was.
Ill call Mum first I said. Want to hear her side.
Laura hesitated, but couldnt stop me.
It was late, but Mum was still awake. The conversation was emotional and tough, and eventually I switched to speakerphone. It turned out theyd taken the car keys and limited Lauras outings because her backlog wasnt just a couple of coursework pieces she was at risk of failing out.
The lecturers just single me out! They dont like girls! Laura protested, blushing.
Funny Dad retorted. Everyone else seems to have passed, but you havent. Planning to loaf around your sisters place now?
Dads right I looked at Laura. I dont shelter defaulters in my home. Im not going to be your nanny.
Laura gave me a blazing look.
So thats it? Everyones against me? Fine! Ill live in my own flat. Kick out the tenants Ill live there alone, and nobody can lecture me!
There was a pause. Laura triumphantly lifted her chin, thinking shed cornered our parents.
All right Mum replied calmly. No problem.
Laura nearly hopped out of her seat.
Really? Youll kick them out? Tomorrow?
Not tomorrow Dad said. As per contract, they’ll have two weeks. Until then, stay with us and finish your term. But Laura you realise what living alone means now?
Yes Laura squinted warily.
Rent payments will stop coming to us. So Dad paused to let it sink in your tuition, your bills, your food, clothes, every expense will be yours alone. Not a penny from us. Youre an adult. Live like one.
Lauras face visibly sagged. Clearly, she thought our parents would crack and keep helping.
But but Im studying! I cant work, Im full-time!
Mary worked too Mum reminded her. She switched to part-time and got a job. Its your choice, sweetheart. Want independence? Fine. But it means you pay your own way. Or you stay with us, follow our rules, and we support you. No third option.
Laura looked my way, pleading for support, but all I gave her was a wry smile.
Welcome to adulthood, sis I chuckled. Not so easy, is it?
Half a year passed. My contact with Laura dwindled to polite messages How are you? Im fine. Beyond that, I didnt pry. I worried any attempt to reconnect would bring requests for sympathy, or worse, for help.
One rainy afternoon, I popped into a café near the towns central park to shelter from the weather. Laura stood behind the counter.
You wanted a medium cappuccino, no sugar? she asked, tired but professional.
She looked very different now. Her false lashes were gone and her nails were trimmed short hygiene standards, I supposed. No designer jumper, just a green café apron with a name badge. Shadows under her eyes defied even the best concealer.
Hello I smiled, feeling a strange mix of sympathy and pride. Yes, and a croissant if theres a fresh batch.
Laura nodded, not smiling, and got on with it.
Fresh from this morning.
She did everything swiftly, without the laid-back attitude she once had. Now she had to keep pace with others, not expect the world to revolve around her.
Hows your coursework? I asked while she steamed the milk.
Finished it Laura muttered. Switched to part-time. Its easier. Mum called recently, offering to drop off groceries. I said no Im managing myself.
I raised an eyebrow in surprise.
When did you get so proud?
Not proud, just smart. If I take groceries, theyll start nagging again why arent the floors mopped, whys there dust on every shelf? No thanks. Id sooner eat porridge, as long as no ones fussing over me.
I chuckled. Laura set the cup down.
Thats £3.50.
I tapped my card and heard the beep.
Is it hard? I asked quietly.
Laura hesitated for a moment. For one split second, her eyes flashed with the same childlike dependency shed brought with her that night months ago but she collected herself almost instantly.
Its fine. No one tells me what to do. And I sold the car, by the way. Tubes quicker. And cheaper.
Well done, Laura. Truly.
My sister forced a crooked smile.
Yeah. Well done. Sometimes I fall asleep right here, though. Go on, you should sit down before we both get told off for chatting.
I took a table by the window, watching as Laura scrubbed the counter with fierce determination.
So, she got the life she wanted: adulthood without parental scrutiny. Not so bad, really. She just found the fish came with a few sharp bones, and now she has to chew each bite carefully so it doesnt catch in her throat.
I finished my coffee, drew a £20 note from my wallet and tucked it under the napkin, then carried my cup back to the counter and slipped away.
It wasnt charity for a poor relative. It was a tip for a good barista someone who finally learned to balance dreams with reality.