by T L Harty
“Anna shared an old poem from the tribe of Dan that had been passed down for generations,” Ann said. “She told her husband, Frederic, that the poem best defined the depths of love and then she left him soon afterward. Years later, Frederic’s father died and he found the poem his wife had shared with him and made it into a song.”
“No one paid much attention to it until my great-great grandmother came out of solitude to inform the council what had happened. The council leapt into action, making sure the correct music was attached to it and that it became an Irish treasure- where it belonged,” Ann explained.
“Historians still try to trace the origins of that musical piece, but the council made it impossible with their special brand of confusion. The council even called the tune ‘Londonderry Air’ so Frederic, being English, would accept it more readily. That tune was actually an old Irish folk song, which is exactly why it meshed so well with the words.”
Some of the women talked among themselves, amused by the tale. The name of the tune sounded so familiar to me. Then, one of Grammy’s stories bubbled up and I asked, “Are you taking about ‘Danny Boy’?”
“The very same!” Ann replied.
That song had always been special for some reason, but I never understood until now. Grammy used to cry when she heard it and Dad used to sing it and weep like a baby. There are memories of that song making people in my family emotional as far back as I can remember.
“What about you, Macy and Bridget? What history or event really speaks to you?” I wondered.
They both looked at each other and Macy put her hand up to Bridget to signal her to go first. “Age before beauty,” Macy chided.
Bridget didn’t appreciate the remark, but she blurted out, “Red-haired mummies.” It was just like Bridget to throw out one sentence, letting it hang there, ripening like an irresistible piece of fruit.
Everyone sat silently, looking at her...waiting. She sighed, realizing that we required more information than the two, lone words spoken to understand what she meant. “For me, it’s all about the science. Red hair is found in only 1% of the world’s population, but in 10-15% of the Irish and Scottish population, with 40% carrying the recessive gene for red hair.”
“I’m not following,” Tina said.
Macy added, “You weren’t here, Tina, when our fancy Ms. Bridget got to go to Egypt and study mummies. Apparently, many were discovered with red hair. They invited Bridget to a few archeological digs because she has some freaky expertise in embalming. The scientists thought that maybe the ancient embalming practices had changed their hair color.”
Bridget wouldn’t have minded that explanation if Macy would have dropped the adjectives “fancy” and “freaky. She glared at Macy before she continued.
“A daughter of a pharaoh, named Scotia, came to the region of Ireland and Scotland by way of the Iberian peninsula. She married a prince from Greece, who was part of the Danoi. He sailed to Egypt, likely running his trade route or coming to court a princess.”
“Anyway, being a foreign resident in Egypt wasn’t acceptable anymore, especially because of all the trouble the Hebrew slaves had caused. The reigning pharaoh gave the Greek prince his daughter in marriage. She had flowing red hair, which pointed to the fact that she may have had foreign blood,” Bridget explained. “He did it to protect her from scrutiny.”
“And,” Macy summarized, “we have found out since, that the red-haired mummies truly had fiery locks. The embalming fluids had no effect on their hair color.”
“Fifty percent of all western European men and 70% of men from Britain, Ireland and Scotland are related to King Tut.” Bridget explained. “But, the opposite isn’t true…only 1% of Egyptian men show any relation to European men. Feel free to look it all up. It’s fascinating.”
I stared at Bridget, blinking. Everything I’d heard so far fascinated me, but this scientific evidence became an unexpected part of the puzzle. Macy dropped a book on the table in front of all of us, which broke my trance. She opened it to a specific page and slid the book in the middle of the table.
“My turn,” Macy said. “My epiphany, if you will, reeks of simplicity. You don’t bury dead people. There is still a grave for Scotia in Ireland.” Macy pointed to the picture in the book, which had a marker for the grave. “She had six sons that ruled various parts of Ireland. They didn’t record the birth of daughters back then, but she probably had at least four daughters. Scotia was the namesake of Scotland and her children helped populate Ireland, Scotland and parts of Britain. But, the fact that the location of her grave is still known is nothing less than a miracle. She must have truly been loved.”
We chatted about various topics until the smell of dinner wafted upstairs. Every now and again, I’d jot down a quick note, so information could be researched later.
Once everyone left to go down for dinner, the quiet of the library enveloped me. All the things explained to me played out in visions. To see the history made it more powerful and real. Made it true.
Clio and I never had our planning conversation, Bruce and I didn’t see each other later that night and Deidra had to anxiously think about her suitor on her own. Being surrounded by these women, enjoying their company- I needed to be there that evening.
Every day it became more apparent that I was right where I belonged.
Chapter 5- College
Before my summer break ended, Grammy had talked me into going to college. No applications were sent out before my high school graduation, so getting into school in the fall would be close to impossible. Grammy said she could get me into Trinity College in Dublin, where we visited a couple of years ago.
I shot her a look and said, “It was hard for me to be in Ireland, Grammy. Concentrating on schoolwork would be impossible. Do you want me to go there, hoping I’ll embrace being an Oris?”
Grammy’s eyes got watery, but a tear never fell. “No,” she answered. “I’m not going to push you anymore, from this day forward. There can never be another reason for you to collect heavy rocks. I couldn’t bear it.” She patted my leg three times and went outside.
Her words punched me in the gut. How did she know what happened at the lake? When did she find out? Of all the emotions that could have been felt at that moment, embarrassment took center stage. If it was up to me, there wouldn’t be further conversations on the topic.
Later that evening, Gramps, Grammy and I sat down for dinner. Gramps shared a story that we had heard before, but we never let on, while still laughing in all the right spots. He’d begun repeating himself more and more, but no one wanted to be the first person to point that out. Family, visitors, friends…we all individually decided to keep loving him like we always had and listen to his stories no matter how many times he wanted to share them.
The next day, I loaded up my car. We hugged, promising to write and keep in touch, knowing that it would be Grammy accomplishing the bulk of it.
“Before you go,” Grammy said, “I want you to promise me that you’ll look into schools as soon as you get home.”
“Isn’t it enough that you’ve convinced me to go to college?” I asked.
“Be safe driving home, Muriel. I’m going to tend to the dogs,” Gramps said, as he started back toward the house. He didn’t look back, but stuck his arm up in the air and waved. Gramps may be repeating himself, but he could still recognize an argument brewing on the horizon. He was the bravest coward I knew.
“Don’t worry about tuition or other expenses,” Grammy told me. “You worry about getting registered and let me know the costs, O.K.?”
I agreed and was soon on the road, blasting my music and thinking about all the summers I’d spent at Grammy and Gramps and how those months shaped my life more than any others.
After arriving back home, Dad and I spoke about college plans. There had been interest in me for a college basketball scholarship, but that opportunity had long past. Plus, the college was another state away and I had no desire to move that far.
>
It took about a month to get my act together, but with registration completed around October, I would start in January, at the beginning of the second semester. Originally, my dad and I agreed that it would be best to go to a community college, get my feet wet…see if college life agreed with me.
However, the run-away train, that was my father, had me enrolled at San Jose State and packing my bags to live in a dorm within a week’s time. As the oldest public university in California, he believed the age of a place made it better. He had very distinct ideas for my schooling, telling me that private colleges tend to be snooty. He also deemed San Jose State acceptable because it was 45 minutes to an hour away- his idea of the perfect distance.
All of the orientations and welcome events had already been completed. Going to school the second semester would be accomplished without a lot of fanfare, which couldn’t have worked out better. Because a few students had already dropped out in the first months, we received notification that I could be housed in a single room in the upper-classmen, co-ed dorm.
My father accepted the apparent upgrade, but I wanted to live in the all-girls dorm, where I was originally scheduled to be housed. Even if I’d have a roommate to contend with in the girl’s dorm, there would be no forced socialization with boys.
On move-in day, we loaded up my small car. Many students were returning from break, so we purposely left early to beat the rush. Dad told me to follow him, which was a good idea because I didn’t know how to get there. The entire day before, he kept singing “Do you know the Way to San Jose?” After a while it got stuck in his head and he couldn’t stop. I found myself singing or humming the tune on the highway while driving, desperately wishing my radio worked.
After arriving, items were hauled into the room on the third floor and placed around haphazardly. Dad said goodbye, letting me know that if I needed anything, he could be there in an hour. He also said it would be nice for me to come home at least once a month. Little did he know, I planned to come home every weekend.
As dad exited my room, the door swung open across the hall, revealing a couple engrossed in a heated, make-out session. They didn’t notice my dad standing there, with his mouth agape. He looked back at me, while pointing to the spectacle. The two remained intertwined, all manner of noises escaping their beings.
“Ahem,” my father cleared his throat. It was the loudest throat-clearing I’d ever heard.
The couple broke apart, becoming two separate individuals again. The girl wiped her mouth, while bowing her head in embarrassment, but the boy was quite brazen, smiling proudly.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, sir,” the boy said to my father. “But, this is college. Books and babes, am I right? Happens all the time.”
The boy put his hand up for a high five, but my dad wasn’t about to touch his hand. My dad stared at him for a minute, while I did my best not to laugh. Dad couldn’t be described as a prude, but he preferred a chaste environment at all times around his daughter.
Dad had to know that the boy spoke the truth. College was probably a hot-bed of sexual experimentation for some students. However, having witnessed a hint of it right across the hall made him uneasy.
“I suppose it does,” my dad said. “Why don’t you go back to your room and leave the ladies to their moving in?”
The boy laughed. “This is my room.” He pushed the girl out and addressed her. “Thanks. I’m going to take a nap. You tired me out.” He then winked at my dad, gave him a knowing head nod and shut his door.
The girl scurried down the hall, while my dad turned around toward me, his face a bright scarlet. The urge to laugh was so strong that I had to pinch my leg.
“When the message said co-ed dorm, I thought they meant alternating floors for boys and girls, not everyone living together willy-nilly.”
Pinching my leg or not, his choice of words made me grin. I put my hand on his shoulder, leading him down the hall. “It will be fine, dad. I’m a big girl.”
“I know,” he relented. He pointed past me, to my door that remained open. “Don’t leave your door open like that, you might come back to find a boy in your room.” He looked worried and genuinely afraid that a wandering male would find their way into my open door.
“Have a safe trip back.” I kissed his cheek and returned to my room.
The room had a musty smell that hung in the air, so I opened the window, but the door needed to also be opened in order to have a nice breeze run through.
The remainder of the day I organized belongings, while contemplating if college enrollment was the right choice. My schedule hung on a corkboard with a label of “undecided” at the top where a major would normally be listed. It would’ve been appropriate to have that tattooed across my forehead.
Being lost in thought, I didn’t notice that my neighbor across the hall stood in my doorway. His presence made me flinch.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Would you like to accompany me to a party tonight?”
“Wouldn’t your girlfriend be a little upset by that?”
“The girl you saw me with earlier isn’t my girlfriend,” he replied. He feigned humility. “I mean, she wants to be my girlfriend, but so do a lot of girls. I’m having a good time. You know, we’re young…and we’re good looking.” If his gift for the spoken word was any indication of this college’s ability to teach, Grammy had blown her money on my tuition.
“You’re beautiful,” he added. “Do you find me attractive? Do you want to boink sometime? I mean, everything about you is choice.”
It was hard to believe that anyone would want to be with him. In the span of a minute, he had asked me out, dismissed the last girl I saw him with, complimented me, asked to have sex and compared me to a cut of meat. The only emotions coming through for me were pity, with a side of anger.
“Wow,” I said sarcastically. “Thanks for the thoughtful offer, but I’m going to have to pass. Lucky for you, there are a lot of girls out there that want to be your girlfriend. Can we concentrate on being good neighbors?”
“Definitely can do that,” he answered, shaking his head up and down. He seemed pleased that I had deemed the offer “thoughtful,” which wasted my expert-level sarcasm. Instead of leaving, he leaned his shoulder on the door jam. “Since we’re going to be neighbors, what’s your name?”
“Muriel. And yours?”
“Rick.”
“Nice to meet you, Rick,” I lied. “Your name rhymes with many interesting words that would fit nicely into a limerick.” He looked at me curiously. “Have fun at your party,” I said, while closing the door. “And good luck with all those ladies.”
“Thanks.”
When the door shut all the way, a mental note was made to open the window and keep the door closed from now on. A musty smell would be easier to tolerate than another interaction with Rick.
As the days passed, the college lifestyle got easier to navigate. I did forget to eat a couple of meals here and there, but my stomach would kindly remind me by grumbling. Meeting people didn’t come easily, but that was because I stuck to my room or the library most of the time.
Every Friday, after my 2 p.m. class, I would drive home, where the familiar surroundings and habits brought comfort. Saturday I’d finish my studying, wash laundry and play Atari. Dad would barbeque. Sometimes he had a date on Saturday night, sometimes we’d watch TV. Sunday mornings were for football and a big breakfast. The 49ers were contenders for the Super Bowl this year and Dad was a huge fan. But, during the games on Sunday, the thought of returning to school made me fussy.
After this third weekend home in a row, I especially dreaded leaving because, next weekend, I’d need to stay on campus to complete a group project for my advertising class. It was the Super Bowl weekend, which didn’t break my heart- I’d gladly miss dad’s embarrassing run around the block, blowing a big red horn every time the 49ers scored.
The students in my group couldn’t find any time to get
together during the week, so plans were made to become library mice all weekend and knock the project out in a day or so.
“Well, Dad, it’s about that time,” I said. “I’ll call you when I get on campus and sometime next weekend.”
He walked me to the door, giving me a hug before I left. “You drive safe and stay away from those boys,” he barked as I walked to the car.
“So far, so good,” I answered back.
The drive back to school was accomplished with the windows rolled down and sunglasses in place. According to my rinky-dink car thermometer glued to the dash, the temp stayed a steady 57 degrees the whole ride. I arrived on the school grounds around 6 p.m.
I went straight to the cafeteria, wanting to get a tray of food before they closed. My initial plan was to nibble on my meal while I studied, but I didn’t feel much like diving into the books, so I brought my food back to the dorm. After dropping off my clean clothes and book bag in my room, I ventured to the TV room with my dinner.
A lot of kids were usually in the TV room, which would explain why I tried to avoid it. There was a small kitchenette in the back of the room, then gaming tables (pool and foosball), which took up half the space in the room. The other half of the room boasted a mish-mosh of couches and chairs, all pointed toward the TV. The miscellaneous furniture looked like it had been abandoned by past students.
I planted my bottom in an empty recliner that looked inviting. After sitting down, I noticed that my neighbor across the hall was making out with a girl on the loveseat next to me. They weren’t initially visible because of their horizontal positioning. I found myself too tired, hungry and disinterested to move. One of my favorite shows, Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom just started, so I’d ignore them the best I could and enjoy the show.
In the middle of the show, I hear, “Hey neighbor. Neighbor!”
I didn’t know the words were directed toward me until a hand waved in front of me. Rick was attached to the hand and, unfortunately, the hand was attached to the rest of him. Only a single person in this whole dorm I’d ever spoken to and here he is- rudely interrupting Marlin Perkins on the Serengeti. This confirmed my social life had gotten out of hand.