by J. C. Long
“Oh, well, I can let you go—no need to distract you while you’re driving.”
“I’m using the in-car system, so you’re fine,” he assured me. “What’s going on? How’s Ireland?”
How did I answer that? “It’s… Dad, it’s amazing. Of course I miss you, but I feel at home here, somehow.”
“I’m not surprised.” I knew Dad so well that I could practically visualize the wan little smile he probably had on his face right then. “It’s a beautiful country, and you’re so much like your mother, I’m not surprised to hear that. I figured Ireland would have a hold on you when you decided to finally go.”
“Hannah has a friend at the admissions office of Trinity College in Dublin,” I said slowly. “She says she can get me through the process, if I start right now. I could be admitted for the fall semester.”
Dad said nothing for a moment. “It would be more affordable,” he said at last. I thought I heard a strain in his voice, but it might have been my imagination. “What would you do for money while in school?”
“Hannah’s getting married, so she’s moving to London, and Aunt Gwendolyn will need help in the bookshop.”
“Tell Hannah I said congratulations. And, son, this sounds like a good opportunity. But there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”
I hated how perceptive Dad could be. I knew I didn’t have much choice, not if I wanted to get his advice and figure this whole situation out. “Well, there’s this guy,” I said. I told him about Fergal and our time together, and camping—except for the sex, of course—and how I’d ruined things between us.
“Do you love him?” Dad asked, as if that were the only question that mattered.
“I—I don’t… I mean, I’m not….” I searched for the answer, words eluding me. I was about as articulate as a parrot.
“You know the answer, Ronan.” Dad’s tone took on the no-nonsense tough love sound, and I knew his face would be the one the one I’d last seen on the couch in my apartment when I was drowning in my grief.
“I think so, but… that means staying here, and I can’t. I belong there—”
“Here? Why? What’s here for you in Atlanta, Ronan? You were going nowhere here, and we both know it.”
I couldn’t believe Dad was saying those things to me. “I had a job—”
“A job you hated,” he said. “There you have a chance to do what you planned on doing before everything with your mother’s illness sidetracked you. Sounds like that’s where you have a future. Friends, and you can go back to school like you always planned. You have family there, Ronan, a huge family. Here all you have is—”
“I have you,” I said. I could not stop the tears that welled up.
“You’ll always have me, Ronan, no matter what. Besides, I’ve earned the right to take vacations whenever the hell I want to. I’ve always intended to go back to Ireland. You’d just be giving me the perfect reason to.”
“I can’t just leave you there alone.”
“You listen to me, Ronan Walker. You’re a grown man, and it’s about damn time you start thinking about you. I know what happens when someone you love leaves half of themselves somewhere. Just like your mother, your heart is going to always be in Ireland. After being there, do you think you could come home and not dream about Ireland every night?”
“No,” I answered softly, closing my eyes because I knew my words would hurt him.
“That’s where you should be, then,” he said, his voice now that “and that’s final” tone that all fathers seemed to automatically receive when their children are born. “Home isn’t always where you started—sometimes it’s where you end up.”
We ended the call shortly after that, since there wasn’t much more to say on the matter and I had a lot on my mind.
I dug out my laptop and started it up. After a quick Internet search, I found the Trinity College website. I sat there cross-legged on the bed, staring at the screen for what felt like hours, my mind wavering back and forth, debating the choice before me.
In truth it wasn’t much of a debate; after talking to Dad, I knew what it was I wanted to do. I just had to take the time to gather the courage and do it.
I was glad to find Hannah still downstairs an hour after we got back. She sat on the couch in the den, watching the same crime show we’d watched together before. She glanced up at me when I entered, laptop in my arms, but then returned her attention to the television. She was going to wait for me to make the first move, it seemed.
I opened my laptop and showed her the screen. She squinted at it a moment, and then her eyes widened when she realized what it was. It was the “Your Application Has Been Received: Here Are Your Next Steps” page of the Trinity College website.
“You applied? Really? What made you do it?”
I sat down next to her on the sofa. “I’m pretty sure I wanted to all along. I just didn’t realize it until talking to Dad. I’ll still need to do all of the things that need to be done to get the Irish passport, and I still need to have my transcripts sent, and get a letter of recommendation sent to them, but the process has at least started.”
“This is a pretty huge step, Ronan. You sure about this?”
I nodded. “Very sure.” Fergal popped into my head and I grimaced, and Hannah caught it.
“What?”
This time I told her everything there was to tell, including the sex and the feelings that were growing stronger and stronger in my chest. Throughout the telling, Hannah remained silent, just listened, her face giving away nothing of what she was thinking. She remained silent for nearly a full minute after.
“Well?” I prompted when I could no longer stand the silence.
“You made a mess of things, didn’t you?”
“That’s all you can say?” I cried. “That doesn’t help me very much, Hannah!”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You did make a mess of this, but that doesn’t mean that it’s unfixable. I’m sure if you just talk to him, he’ll understand.”
“And tell him what?” I despaired.
“Tell him the truth. That you’re an idiot. I know he’ll believe that.”
I couldn’t argue with her on that—I thought I was an idiot too—so I just pouted.
Of course, she saw that too, and she laughed. “Don’t worry. I said everything will turn out fine.”
“Just because you’re getting your happy ending doesn’t mean that everyone else will.”
Hannah just tossed a sofa cushion at me. “Shut up. You can see him tomorrow at the shop and explain, and everything will be all right.”
Caibidil 19
AS IT happened, Hannah was wrong. First thing Monday morning, Fergal called in and asked to use all the vacation time he had and take off the whole week to work on a personal matter.
I didn’t learn that until I rushed into the shop after waking up, ready to sound like an idiot in front of Fergal, only to find Hannah behind the counter.
“So much for being able to explain things to him,” I said bitterly. “He took off the whole week? Well, he definitely doesn’t want to see me.”
“People don’t always get what they want. If he isn’t coming to work, I know where he’ll be this weekend: Dublin Pride.”
I groaned aloud at that. “There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to find Fergal in the midst of a gay pride parade, Hannah.”
“You don’t have to,” she retorted, glaring at me. “I know where he’ll be. He always watches the parade with the same group of friends at the same place. He invited me last year, and told me not too long ago that I was free to join them again this year if I wanted to. So I can join them as planned and you can tag along and talk to Fergal.”
“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t interpret his standing invite to include me at this point. I’m probably his least-favorite person in the world.”
“Nah, his least-favorite person in the world is Professor Christopher Vickery. And it’s Pride
. It isn’t a private party that is operating on one man’s guest list, Ronan.” She grasped my hand, leaning towards me, eyes intent. “Listen to me. You’ve only got a shot at this if you choose to take it. I can’t force you to go to Dublin with me this weekend, but I honestly think it’s the best shot you have. Do you want to let it go without knowing that you gave it everything?”
She was right. There was no way I was going to let what might happen between me and Fergal go without a fight, not now that I was sure of what I wanted. “You’re right. It looks like I’m going to my first ever Pride.”
The week passed at an agonizingly slow pace. It seemed to be Monday for six days, Tuesday for twelve, and the rest of the week turned into years. I did my best to focus on things that needed to be done—I rounded up a letter of recommendation, notified my undergrad school to send my transcripts to Trinity College, and booked my temporary return flight home for the following Tuesday. I even got Grandma Murphy to dig up Mom’s birth certificate and began the complicated procedure of applying for an Irish passport. Whatever it took to keep me busy.
When Saturday finally came, I was already awake when Hannah knocked on the door at seven fifteen to let me know I should start getting ready. We didn’t want to make a mess in the kitchen before leaving, so we ate simple cereal for breakfast, neither of us talking very much.
Hannah wore the gay pride flag-pattern sundress.
“The dress turned out great!”
“Thanks. Mom ended up helping me. And by that I mean taking it apart and completely redoing it. I’ll tell her you like it.”
It was close to nine in the morning when we got on the road.
“There seems to be a lot more traffic than usual,” I commented, watching a few cars zoom past us at speeds that were unsafe for any road but the Autobahn.
“Duh, it’s Pride today.” Hannah scoffed good-naturedly. “Everyone and their mother is going to Dublin.” She noticed the stony look I gave her. “Come on. You know I’m just kidding!”
I shifted petulantly in the seat, knowing I probably looked like a child to her. “I’m not really in the mood for joking right now. I’m on my way to my first Pride, which I’m attending only so that I can hopefully win back a guy that I fell head over heels in love with in the course of about a month, who very likely will tell me to fuck off. None of that sounds joke-worthy to me.”
Hannah was silent for a moment—but only a moment. “I’m sure someone somewhere would find something funny in all that.”
I exhaled loudly through my nose. I might have been imagining it, but I thought I heard Hannah choke back a chuckle. Glad at least one of us is enjoying ourselves.
The closer we came to Dublin, the worse the traffic got, and soon we were creeping through the streets at a speed that could be outpaced by a Welsh corgi, tiny legs and all. After what felt like ages, Hannah pulled the car into a parking spot—after paying the attendee ten euros—and we were out and amongst the revelers in the street.
There were people from all over the UK and Europe there, as well as from farther away—I caught snatches of Chinese and Koreans at different points. Many people were sporting big flags, or else wearing something with the Pride logo—and not just the gay pride colors, but the flags representing the more specific groups with the overarching LGBTQI category. My favorite that I saw was the gay, black pride flag. It was stunning.
Marching along the streets were men in various states of undress, or else sporting a leather harness on their chests and nothing more. I caught sight of the occasional protest signs—the regular things like “God Hates Fags” and “Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve”—but for the most part, everyone there seemed there to celebrate the existence of the LGBTQI community.
Even with the black cloud of my hopefully impending conversation with Fergal looming over me, that fact touched me. I’d never realized that a sense of safety and belonging could come from attending one of these events. I always envisioned them as just a bunch of queens getting drunk and being snarky in fancy underwear. Boy, was I wrong. This was a community, no doubt about it.
“It’s about a ten-minute walk from here,” Hannah said, pointing eastwards, the same direction the crowd of people was winding itself. I was content, for the moment, to follow along, watching the people in their various forms of happiness. There were couples holding hands in the streets, kisses exchanged while taking Snapchats. The energy was contagious, and I found my own sour mood lifted slightly.
We wound around a street that was lined with coffee shops, bakeries, and pubs. Each establishment seemed filled to capacity with revelers. We ignored all of those places and turned right at the next corner.
“It’s right over there.”
I looked at the coffee shop she was referring to, a two-story building with a second-level balcony covered by an awning. There was a group of people up there, loud and boisterous, laughing and having fun. I couldn’t say for certain, but I was pretty sure I caught a glimpse of Fergal.
The hunch was confirmed when Hannah made her way to the door of the place. I hesitated at the opening—not because I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through with it, but because I didn’t know if I could handle Fergal’s rejection. I had no choice, though; it was either rejection or never knowing, and I had no doubt about which one was worse.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I walked inside. We went right upstairs, squeezing past the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd until we reached the next floor. The balcony was visible from where we stood, with a sign on the doorway that said private party. So Fergal and his friends booked a private space to watch the parade from. From where we stood, I saw Fergal leaning on the rail, watching everything going on down below. I also caught sight of his friend—Mike—talking with a girl, most likely the Courtney he’d mentioned when he dropped off the sleeping bag.
“Jesus. I don’t know if I can do this, Hannah.”
“Your choice,” she called to me without looking back. “I’m going to go out and enjoy the parade. I worked hard on this dress.”
“Don’t you mean your mom worked hard on it?”
Hannah flipped me off over her shoulder, making for the door.
I followed, steeling myself for what was coming, my eyes on Fergal.
“Hannah!” someone called, greeting her with a raised beer bottle.
That caught Fergal’s attention, and he turned. He gave Hannah a small smile in greeting before his eyes settled on me. The smile died instantly. He straightened, and I could read tension in his posture.
Other people noticed too. Mike’s eyes turned towards me as well, and hardened. If I had to guess, I’d say that Fergal told him what happened. He muttered something to Fergal, who just shook his head, not breaking eye contact.
Something in my eyes must have had some effect on him, because he pushed away from the railing and walked to me.
My heart thundered in my chest so loud, I feared I’d be unable to hear anything Fergal said.
“What are yeh doin’ ’ere?” The words were cold, and it almost physically hurt me to hear that tone in Fergal’s voice when he was talking to me.
I gestured limply towards the railing and the crowd in the street below. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“There are a lot of places yeh can watch the parade.”
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. “Listen, Fergal, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oi don’t really want to talk to yeh about much of anythin’, so….” Fergal started to turn away.
“Please,” I said, desperate, knowing I probably sounded pathetic. “I need just a few minutes, that’s all. It’s about the camping trip, and, uh, everything.”
I was sure that Fergal would say no and was ready to turn about and go find somewhere to drown my sorrow, shame, and regret. However, Fergal pursed his lips and nodded. He turned and walked to the corner of the balcony farthest from the door. He leaned against the railing, propping his right elbow up on it, and looked at me expectantly.
I glanced down at the loud, boisterous crowd and tried to gather my thoughts. It was hard to come up with where to begin. I doubted he would give me very long, though, so I forged ahead without a real plan.
“Listen, when I came here, I was a wreck—I’d just lost my mother and was still in a state of depression. I had no plan for the future. Honestly, the future was the one thing I didn’t want to think about the most. It meant thinking about a world that didn’t have my mother in it, and I couldn’t face that idea.
“When I met you, I started to think that the future might not be so scary, and where it might take me, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I remember seeing my mom every day, and part of her was always missing here, always missing her home. I didn’t want to do that to you, and I didn’t want to do that to myself.”
Fergal’s eyes softened a bit, and I started to have hope that I might come out of this yet.
“Talking to my family—and my father—helped me realize that I wouldn’t necessarily be doing that to myself.”
“What do yeh mean?” It might have just been my brain forcing my ears to hear something they didn’t really, but I thought I heard a flicker of hope in his voice.
“I mean that—damn it, I promise I can explain, my words are just jumbled in my head,” I said, everything threatening to tumble out of me in a great big rush. I paused, forcing myself to take a breath. “My mother, she was in love with this country—and I can tell you are too. I never really felt that way about Atlanta. I did, crazily enough, feel at home the moment I stepped off the airplane. I don’t know if that happens to a lot of people, but I think for me it’s because, like my mom, my heart has always been here.”
“This is yer first time in Ireland, aye?”
I nodded. “I know. I know it sounds crazy. I think that it’s because my mother has told me stories of this place since the moment I was born. She literally sowed my mind with her love of this country, and my heart has always wanted to be here. And when I got here, I met you.”