Before and After - Chapter 6

Full Moon on the Mediterranean

I am a woman now. As a child, I would have been confined to the inner depths of a playroom. Now I can stand fierce as the wind on distant shores. I feel powerful. I know myself. I know beauty, I know love, and I know freedom. I am sorcha. I am free.

I stood at the salty pool, just below the hotel on the cliff. All around me the stars were glimmering brightly. The day had been pleasurable; casual walks through Corfu city, an afternoon of drinks and dinner at the coast, and now I was settling in for my fifth night in Corfu, Greece.

I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Only 16 and I was able to travel to the ancient cities of Greece. When the ad for the spiritual quest had shown up in the bulletin at church, and my mom had suggested I go, I had thought she was kidding. I was an atheist, and so was she. What good would I do on a spiritual retreat with the Christian missionaries from the United States?

But, she pushed. I wasn’t upset to be encouraged to go to Greece. Even at 16 I knew that opportunities like that are few and far between. I was grateful for my parent’s help, and accepted the plane tickets and trip fare gladly. I would fly through England to Greece, stop in Albania to do some missionary work, and then fly back to England. There I would spend three days with my family in London before coming back home. It was a dream vacation.

It was hot that night, although this seemed reasonable as it was a Grecian summer evening. The sun had set not a minute before on the horizon, and the religious missionaries I had met were jumping into the salt-water pool in order to cool off.
About ten feet from where I stood was a long, rickety wooden staircase that led to the Hotel’s beach on the Mediterranean. I considered this for a moment, before turning to my group of friends.

“Hey, why don’t we all go in the sea? Why swim in a pool when the Mediterranean Sea is at your feet!?” I laughed.

My Korean friend, whose English name was Sarah, giggled. “Nah. We’re already here. It is long walk down,” and turned back to the pool. I already had my bathing suit on, and I could grab a towel when I came back up. It would be refreshing and releasing. I turned towards the steps.

“Alright, well you can all be lame and swim in a pool. I’ll be down at the beach for a little while,” and I took the stairs down.

About halfway down the stairs, every night, you could see the moon sitting above the island to the right. I stood there in my blue and silvery bikini and let my hair blow freely. The breeze moved about my long, thick hair, pushing it away from my face.

“Ah, this is lovely. Why wouldn’t you come down here?” and I laughed again, and continued downwards.

At the bottom of the staircase, which descended along the length of the cliff, was a small sandy beach which led to an open sea swimming spot. Two chubby, younger men ran by, yelling at one another. Besides that the beach was quiet and peaceful. I watched them run out to a wharf and turn around, their silhouettes distinct against the blue skyline.

I stepped into the salty water, which settled around my ankles. It was colder than I had expected it, and I was anxious to get my belly below the water line. I did a quick dip in the water, dropping below the surface for a moment. I pulled my hair and head out of the sea, letting the water slide down my arms and back again. I felt so peaceful and alive. For a moment I believed in mermaids again, and wished I was one.

I crouched there in the sea for a few moments, inhaling the freshness of the Mediterranean Sea. This would be something I would tell my children one day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men who had been running stop on the shore behind me. The skinnier one turned away from the sea towards his friend and shouted something. He turned back towards the ocean and pulled off his swim shorts, and walked into the sea towards me.

I screamed, loudly and ran for the stairs. How stupid! I thought. You KNOW the Grecian men. They are terrible. The man who had stayed on the shore now chased after me, kicking sand out from behind his feet.

I screamed again. Someone hear me! I ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, and the fear pushed me faster than ever before. Halfway up the stairs I met a group of the missionaries I was traveling with. I almost tripped into my friend, Kristan from Wales.

“Whoa! Are you alright?” he asked, taking his hands to my shoulders to stop me.

I pointed behind me, and gasped, out of breath, “There are two men down there. They tried to … to…” and I bolted the rest of the way up. I heard behind me my friends yelling cusses in every language from Gaelic to Chinese at the men who had followed me up the stairs.

I stopped at the top of the stairs and sat on a marble bench there. I had lost a flip-flop and an earring in the chase. A moment later, the missionaries were back at the top of the stairs. Each of them questioned me. “Are you alright?” asked one. “Did they touch you?” asked another. I could hardly pick apart my friend’s voices.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m fine,” I said, pulling myself up to a standing position. Kristan came over and wrapped his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get you back inside,” he said, and directed the entire group towards the hotel. I followed, glad to be away from the scene.

That was a close one, I thought.

Before and After - Chapter 5

300

This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this. I am not your Queen!

Jason and I sat on the gigantic couch in Jarrod’s brother’s apartment. We were exhausted from our five hour long drive from our university Worcester Polytechnic Institute in Worcester, Massachusetts. Jason, my boyfriend, and I were cuddled up on the sofa, engrossed in the conversation of Jarrod’s brother, Luke.

“Yeah, well, I love working at the patent office here in D.C. We tend to get the most interesting ideas,” he was smiling, fully. He looked just like Jarrod. “Why, a few weeks ago we had a man turn in the famous time-machine patent. He was pretty confident…” Luke laughed, his blond curls bouncing.

The brothers were sitting on the love-seat, catching up on their individual lives. Luke‘s girlfriend, Melissa, was in the kitchen making mojitos. Jason wrapped his arm around my shoulder as the apartment cat leapt onto my lap. She was a beautiful black, soft-furred thin cat, with white fur covering her paws and stomach. Friendly and attention-seeking, she began purring on my lap, shoving her head against my arm.

“Wow, she’s a beautiful cat,” commented Jason, petting her head gently. He had directed the question towards Jarrod, but he was absorbed in conversation. Jason smiled at me, and rested his head on my shoulder.

“So, what do you all say to watching a movie?” asked Luke, already digging through his collection of DVDs.

“That sound fabulous,” I said, smiling as I pet the cat. “What’s her name, by the way,” I asked, nodding towards the animal on my lap.

Luke looked up from his DVD shelving unit, “Oh, that’s Chuck. She’s pretty, huh?” He asked, his head back in the movies.

“Sure is,” I said, placing my hand on Jason’s knee and rubbing it gently.

He leaned over to me and whispered, “I love you.”

I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. True love, I know, silly. But, it happens.

Washington D.C. was a lot nicer in March than Worcester. Jason and I had just come in from a walk through a cherry blossom lane, and were cuddling on the sofa. We weren’t concerned with the movie choice.

“How about 300? Have you seen it?” asked Luke, directing the question outward.

Jarrod replied, standing by the doorway. “Yeah, it’s awesome. Let’s do it!” His blond curls were longer than his brothers. He was thinner and taller, though. They both shared in the rosacea of their cheeks, and had the same sparkling smile.

I took a long glance at Jason, to my right. He was not much taller than me, but much thinner. He had short, blondish-brown hair that settled over his brow quite handsomely. His nose was longer than normal, but it fit the gentle nature of his face. His ears were rounder than other parts of his body, and reminded me of a monkey. An adorable monkey, of course.His hands were masculine, and I loved when they held me. I snuggled closer.

Luke slipped the DVD into the player, and played around for a few moments with the controls. Jason and I had already claimed our spot on the couch, and everyone else settled in around us. Melissa brought in the mojitos, and we all enjoyed our drinks while the movie began.

I hadn’t seen 300 before, but I heard that the visuals were amazing. I’d also heard there was a decent amount of gore, but that it was artistically done. I had doubts, since many people had said the same thing about Saw, so I was skeptical. But, I was comfortable, and satisfied from my food and drink, so I figured why not?

The movie was intense. There was a graphic sex scene in the beginning which I had NOT been prepared for, as the Queen and King separated. In a way, though, it was beautiful. It was the sort of sex that should be in movies, if they’re going to go there. It was love.

I knew I had to be careful with movies, though. Those are the sorts of things that trigger my memories. It had been not quite a year since it had happened, and I was still vulnerable. I am still vulnerable.

I knew as soon as the Queen was alone with the treasonous war hero. I saw the look in his eyes.

I remembered that look. I saw it every night in my dreams. As he came upon her, she asked, “What can your Queen do for you?” She was fearless.

I began crying then, as I saw him pull off her clothes and push her violently against the wall,

“This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this. I am not your King.”

That was the end of the scene, but I couldn’t breathe. I knew what would happen. I knew with every fiber of my being, of my memory, of my soul. I buried my face in Jason’s shoulder and tried to forget. Tried to cry away the visions, but they wouldn’t go.

Jason knew. Well, he didn’t know. Had no idea, but he knew something was wrong. I pretended to fall asleep there, but my whimpering didn’t end. He held me close, and whispered, “Let’s go home.” It wasn’t a question.

Jason stood up and stretched, said how tired he was, how we had to get up early, and told Jarrod, Luke, and Melissa we were going to head home. I didn’t say anything, attempted a good-night, and followed Jason out the door.

In the car we said nothing, but Jason’s hand held mine.

Back at the hotel, Jason carried my purse up to our room, letting me inside. The door closed behind us, and we sat on the sofa-bed, where we slept. Still there was silence. No questions, no prodding. Our hands were together, clasped.

Finally, he broke the quiet. “Do you wanna talk about it, darling?” he asked nervously. He looked into my eyes as he asked. I was afraid to look back.

For a minute I was silent. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I tasted the saltiness on my tongue. The minute took forever, years seemed to stroll by. I squeezed his hand as I replied.

I told him.

Before and After - Chapter 4

The Kyle Richenbach Story: The Planned Kiss

Miss Mar-y Mack! Mack! Mack!
All dressed in black! Black! Black!
With silver buttons! Buttons! Buttons!
All down her back! Back! Back!

When I was in 4th grade, my social circle was rather limited. In fact, it included only me, Katie McBrien and a boy who was destined to be a nerd if only for his name: Kyle Richenbach.

I’ve always had a fascination with boys. Even as a pre-school child I had promised myself that I would marry my cousin, Timmy. He was my favorite man; handsome, smart, just divine. In 4th grade I was no different, and I had developed a crush on Kyle Richenbach.

Well, we’d planned the whole event. Together, eyeing the ground, shuffling our feet, we’d decided to meet at the steps of the school during recess the next day and kiss. Kyle Richenbach had been all for it.

“Siobhan, do you wanna kiss or something?” Kyle Richenbach asked shyly, kicking a stone with his sneaker-clad foot. He always lisped my name so it came out sounding more like ‘Shih-bihn’.

He stood probably an inch shorter than myself and was everything a nerd should be. He had huge glasses taped in the middle, and he always seemed to be scratching his too-blond hair. He was as skinny as a stick and dressed like prep-school drop-out; khaki colored pants, crimson and gray horizontally striped long-sleeve shirts, with a collared white dress-shirt underneath. And when he smiled it was all one could do to not see his lime-green and blue braces.

I was in love.

“Sure,” I sighed, pretending not to care.

“But, you know, not today cause that’d be too soon, don’t ya think?” he asked, staring at me.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” I returned casually.

“Tomorrow, then?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, tomorrow” and I turned and ran to catch up with Katie.

That was that. As Katie and I rode the bus home that day, I divulged everything to her. Our plans, the date, what I would wear. Together we surmised that the experience would be blissful, and that the kiss I was to share with Kyle Richenbach would be an unforgettable event.

As soon as we stopped outside of my house, on Manchester Road, I, and the brother and sister from across the street, got off. I crossed in front of the bus, hardly looking where I was going and waved goodbye to Katie from my driveway. I leapt for the door.

Inside, I dropped my backpack next to the dog crate and let Juneau, our beautiful lab husky, outside. It was always a struggle with her and it took what felt like precious minutes to attach her leash, allow her to drag me across the hallway to our backdoor, and then down the stairs to the backyard. She did her business, which I always turned away from, and we leapt back inside.

I tore open the dog food bag and poured out her dinner. In the kitchen I took her bowl and gave her some water, and then I abandoned her to her sad life while I retired to my bedroom. I began my plan.

First, I started cleaning. This is what I always did when I was nervous or excited. I threw the laundry all in one basket, I cleared and organized the piles of homework assignments and art projects from my desk, and I even vacuumed the hideous puke-green carpet that covered my floor.

Then I began my true project. I dug underneath my bed and pulled out a yet unopened package of yellow post-it notes. I unwrapped them and took out my favorite purple pen. I then proceeded to write the notes as follows:

I littered my walls from as far as I could reach on the wall, all the way down to the floor. Every bare space of ugly blue and white wall-paper was covered with little purple and yellow pieces of love. I thought of kissing.

I wondered what it would be like. I wandered over and flopped into my bed. I licked my lips and kissed my pointer and middle finger of my right hand. I hoped that kissing wasn’t like that. That was boring. I was incredibly restless. My room was already clean, so I slipped off of my mattress and ambled into the kitchen. I began washing dishes, kneeling on a dining room chair.

“Siobhan? Is that you?” I heard my Dad yell from the living room. I shoved the mug I’d been cleaning into the drying rack, and dried my hands on a towel before shutting off the water. I slid off the chair and meandered into the living room, through the dining room.

Dad had been sleeping on the sofa, and I’d missed him in my excitement to decorate. His glasses were lying next to his elbow, so I picked them up and put them on the ground. “Yeah, I got home a little while ago,” I said, adjusting my skirt.

“Oh, ok,” he mumbled. He flipped over on the couch. “Please be quiet. I have to work tonight.”

I tucked in his feet with the blanket and then walked back to the kitchen.

The dishes almost finished, I wanted to do something else. With a sudden inspiration, I ran to my newly renovated bedroom and grabbed my pink and purple jacket before running outside the back door to the porch.

It was a lovely autumn day. Our rented house was situated right on the edge of a forest. In actuality, the probably 3 acres of woods were sparse and easily navigated, but as an imaginative child I always imagined other worlds within those trees. In the late evening on wintery days we would see deer in the forest from our back picture window. After living in seedy towns like Portland, Wallingford, New Haven, and Meriden, the wooded beauty of Glastonbury was a magic that is still indescribable.

I trudged into the woods and went for a short walk to a nearby stream. I pretended that Kyle Richenbach was there besides me, holding my hand and kissing me. A part of the earth, I knew all about everything. I melted in with the trees and the animals, and became one with the forest. I felt glorious.

What felt like hours later I ran back home, through the woods. In the backyard, I stopped to examine some of Juneau’s leftovers. I had just finished a story, I forget its name now, in which a young girl was alone in the world, abandoned. She lived in a little cement, square home without a toilet, and she had to do all of her personal business in a corner of the room. I stood up and went inside, glad to have a bathroom.

Mom was inside, with my little baby sister, Maeve. The tiny, wrinkled thing was crying furiously. I wondered if Mom had noticed the cleaned dishes. Most likely, not. But there was always a possibility.

The television was already on, so I sat on the floor in front of the love seat, resting my head on the cushion. Mom was feeding Maeve, and was absorbed in her sobs. Dad was asleep, on the couch. I already felt bored.

“How was your day, Siobhan?” Mom asked, not looking up from the baby.

“It was great! I got to read a book called Little Bit of Blue, and although I didn’t finish it I really loved it. Then, Katie and I played ‘Tigress’ on the monkey bars, you know, where you pretend you’re a female tiger! Rawr, and then we had a math quiz later. I’m not sure how I did on that,” I rambled on for awhile, neglecting to mention Kyle Richenbach of course.

The day continued on in much the same fashion. At around 6:30 p.m. I began rummaging through the pantry in search of dinner. Mom had to leave for rehearsal, and Dad was still asleep. Maeve went with Mom to Aunt Theresa’s house, which was about 20 minutes away. I found some cheetos, and assumed they would suffice.

I watched a few more television shows before moving to the computer in the dining room. My mom had been working at COX Communications for several years, and had gotten a cheap computer when they had first come out for general home usage. My Dad had installed Civilization II, which I played incessantly.

I would rule the great Celts, and dominate the other civilizations which attempted to corrupt my world. Building spaceships and networks of cities and towns, I felt in complete control of the universe. Time always disappeared as I played, though, and before long Dad was waking up to go to work. He scolded me for playing so long, and told me to go brush my teeth and go to bed.

In the bathroom I rubbed some toothpaste on my tongue, and ran water over the toothbrush. I brushed my thick, auburn hair ferociously with my mom’s hairbrush for a few moments, before turning out the light and going to my room. I played with my barbies in bed for a few minutes, wishing I had a Ken doll so we could practice kissing.

Outside, I heard the squeaky red car, a Dodge Shadow, pull into the driveway. I heard Mom and Dad part ways, and the night settle silently. I stole over to the lightswitch and threw it down, turning my lights off.

Throwing the barbies in a Tupperware container, I exited my room and gave Mom a goodnight hug. For once, Maeve was silent.

I fell asleep that night imagining that Kyle Richenbach and I were getting married. I wore a beautiful orange fairy dress with glittery slippers. He wore a black suit and had contacts in his eyes. Just as we were about to kiss at the alter, my dad runs in screaming.

That is what I awoke to, my dad screaming. I opened my eyes, and there he stood in my doorway glaring furiously at the walls. I had forgotten to take down the post-it notes! “What the heck is this!?” Dad yelled, pulling a post-it off the wall.

I began whimpering, trying to complete some form of explanation. Dad stood in the doorway before calling my mom’s name, “Maureen!” he yelled.

I heard the scream of a baby, and my mom’s groan of just waking.

“MAUREEN!” Dad said it a little louder, although a great deal of red had disappeared out of his cheeks.

The door opened down the hallway, and Mom came ambling in, her eyes half-open. “Look,” he said, much quieter now, pointing at the walls.

I was shivering now, and my stomach lurched from side to side. Were they going to kill me? No, they can’t do that. They’d go to jail. I let out a small sob from my bed, and Dad and Mom turned to me.

“Alright, this is what you’re going to do,” said Dad, moving towards the bed.

“You’re going to go to school today and tell this Kyle Richenbach that you are in no way going to kiss him. I am going to drive you to school, and I will be in the office while you do this.”

Dad told me to get dressed, and walked out of the room. Mom stood there for a moment, looking at me. She gave me a little smile, encouraging me to do as my dad had asked. “Well, there you go. Up and at ‘em,” she said, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

Openly crying now, terrified of the social rejection that would come of this pull-out on my part, I grabbed clothes at random. My striped leggings and striped (but non-matching) dress-shirt, and a pair of green socks. I opened my door stealthily, making sure no one was around. I could hear Mom and Dad talking in the other room. I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth ferociously, until my gums bled a little. Sobbing, I tried brushing a huge knot out of my hair that had formed in the night. Unable to manage the thing, I left it.

Dad was waiting for me in the living room, my backpack in hand. “Let’s go,” he motioned for me to follow him. I did.

The car-ride to school was unbearable. I thought I was going to throw-up. We didn’t speak, accept for a mumble about ‘boys’.

Once the car was parked in the lot, Dad and I got out of the car. He was still carrying my backpack. I wanted to carry it. I wanted something to hold on to, but I was afraid to ask him. I followed him inside. Dad walked up and said something to the principal, who always stood outside of the office in the morning. I cannot remember her name, but she was a tiny woman, maybe an inch taller than me. She was thin and wore long, floor-length skirts. She had short, blondish-gray hair and smiled whenever anyone passed. She looked concerned, now. “Hmmm, well, let me call him down to the office. I’ll have to contact his parents, too,” and she disappeared into her office, leaving Dad and I in the school hallway.

Everyone was walking to their morning classes, and my friends stopped and said hello. Katie walked by, with her twin brother John. “Are you sick or something?” she asked, looking up at my Dad.

“Something like that,” I muttered, staring at the ground.

“Ok, well I hope you feel better soon!” and she headed off for class.

The principal stood at the door. “Alright, Mr. Barton, if you and Siobhan could come this way,” she motioned with her hand. We stepped into the office and there, sitting in an office chair was Kyle Richenbach. He looked terrified, and he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I thought I saw little beads of sweat forming on his eyebrows.

“Kyle’s mother will be in later, but she’s asked us to deal with this immediately,” said the Principal, taking a seat next to Kyle.

Kyle denied everything, down to the fact that he even knew my name. I was furious at him for lying. He was supposed to be my boyfriend, and one true-love. How could he lie like that? When they asked me, I told them the almost-truth. That Kyle had come up with the idea, and, after lots of persuasion on his part, I had agreed. That was the ‘almost’ part.

The morning ended like that, Kyle and I sitting in chairs opposite one another, denying everything from attraction to friendship. The adults nodded to everything we said, and they simply asked that we apologize to one another, which we promptly did.

Dad took me home. He had the social intuition to know that my day in school would be incredibly uncomfortable and wasted after the morning.

When we got home I had to take all the post-it’s off my wall and throw them away. I pulled one after another off the wall, sticking them together and tossing them in the trash.

I felt defeated, but also relieved. I was nervous that as a kisser I wouldn’t do a very good job. I was also glad that I had been saved from kissing Kyle Richenbach. He obviously wasn’t a great boyfriend. He couldn’t even stand up for me. I suddenly hated his taped glasses and white-collared shirt.

I left my room to go watch TV with my dad, the wire wastebasket in my room full of yellow and purple post-its. I was saved.

Before and After - Chapter 3

Plane Home

May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

Compared to the farm where I had spent the past two months, the airport in Shannon was a zoo. I felt like I could hardly breathe as heavy-set Irish women and broad-shouldered Irish men politely shoved me out of their way.

I focused on the board which displayed the flight times. Shannon to New York – 10:25 a.m. I began searching for a clock, and found a simple one hanging on the wall. It was black-rimmed, and had a white, glossy background. 9:30. I sighed, deeply.

I trudged over to a black leather chair near a window. Collapsing into the seat, I dropped my luggage underneath the chair. I took my red knock-off Prada purse, and carefully placed it between my blue hiking sneakers. My jeans were dirty, and I began fingering a hole in my pants. I was trying not to think.

All around me people were hurrying back and forth, hugging and touching each other, and pulling large black luggage pieces behind them. I tried focusing on voices and words from the people around me.

“Elle et fatigue, non?” asked a tall, lanky woman of a man whom I assumed was her husband. She nodded her head towards a little blond-haired girl who was lying asleep on her mother’s lap. I searched the little girl’s peaceful face for some sign of life. She was breathing gently, and I watched her chest rise and fall. She had a soft, Irish face. I could tell by the way her cheeks were formed. I don’t know how I always know an Irish face, but I do.

My blue rain jacket felt incredibly hot, and I tore it off of my body, almost violently. I was suddenly very jealous of the little girl who could sleep so peacefully. Why must I be so alone here? I though. I was tired, too. My last night of sleep in Ireland had been a restless one. I tucked my jacket behind my head and awkwardly positioned my body on the leather chair so I could fall asleep.

As soon as I closed my eyes I saw him. He was so tall, and I felt tiny as I stared at his feet. I was afraid to look into his eyes. Afraid of what he would do. I could hear the people drinking in the background. He was powerful. I could tell by his arms. He works on the farm. His jeans were worn and dirty, and his construction boots were covered in mud. I started raising my eyes towards his waist.

My eyes shot open. I sat up quickly and tried to collect myself. I took a quick count of the people around me. No, he wasn’t here. I looked for the clock again. 10:12 am. The airplane would probably start boarding soon. I sat up straight and checked to make sure all my luggage was still there. It was as I had left it. I straightened my shirt, which had gone a little lopsided while napping.

A woman carrying breakfast foods and coffee wandered around the aisles, offering the sustenance to travelers. She stepped into my section, and asked if anyone wanted anything to eat or drink. I slipped my right hand into my jean pocket and pulled out a few euros. I awkwardly stood up and dropped the change into her container. She handed a hearty slice of coffee cake on a napkin, and a small cup with coffee. I mumbled a “thanks,” which she gladly accepted. She smiled down at me and started asking me where I was going and where I was from. I didn’t answer her and instead ate my food. She looked hurt as she walked away. I wanted to feel bad, but I didn’t feel anything.

I munched on the cake, holding the napkin inches from my mouth. I knew it tasted good, even though my ability to actually taste it was missing. I could tell by the way the brown sugar melted in my mouth that on a normal day, I would be happy to eat it. But today was not a normal day. “Flight 608 for New York – 10:25 am,” said a voice over the speaker system. “Report to Gate 3 for immediate boarding, all seats.”

I shoved the rest of the coffee cake into my mouth, crumpled up the napkin, and stuffed it in my pocket as I put on my coat again. I grabbed my small luggage bag and my purse and lumbered off towards Gate 3.

As soon as I was on the plane, I stashed my belongings in those overhead compartments and took my seat by the window. I buckled my seat belt and laid my head against the window, promptly falling asleep again.

His waist was wide. I hate him, I thought. He seemed to be commanding me to do something. I don’t know what. My arms were limp at my side, and my feet were the same. It felt like I had stepped in wet cement and was slowly sinking. He grew taller then, suddenly. His waist rose feet above me. I was still afraid to look at his face, to look into his eyes. What would I find there? My eyes moved upwards.

“Young miss, young miss,” and I awoke to the air hostess’s gently voice and the gentle tapping of my neighbor. “Can you just move that blanket there so I can see your safety belt?” she asked. She had bright orange hair and crisp green eyes. Her cheeks were puffy and red, and her hand that tapped me was adorned with a diamond ring.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said, and showed her the belt. “Cheers,” she replied and moved on to the next row.

I took a moment now to observe my neighbor. He was a man, first of all. I felt anxious and quickly rearranged my blanket over my lap. He was skinny, with dark brown hair and a sharply pointed nose. I turned my face towards the window and tried to slip into the dream world again, but I found it impossible.

“Well, you’re quite a pretty young lass to be traveling all by yourself there, what?” he suddenly said, his face staring at the back of my head. I shifted in my plane seat and lifted my eyes to his face.

“Not at all,” I replied, pulling out the safety information, so I would look busy. I began reading the directions attentively.

“Ah,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t waste your time with such nonsense. Nothing’s going to happen to this good ole Air Lingus plane,” he added, tapping the seat in front of him.

I smiled thinly, but didn’t reply. I wanted him to stop talking to me. I didn’t know what to do or say to make this happen. I considered saying, ‘Sir, please do not talk to be today. If your kind offends me I may just kill you all,’ but decided against it. I was afraid of what he could be capable.

Instead I folded my jacket up and snuggled against the window and shut my eyes tightly. I could hear him behind me joking with some other traveler who didn’t give him the cold shoulder. Ignoring their laughing, I pretended to fall asleep. Eventually, I did.

His chest is expansive and large. Suddenly, the blackness which surrounds me fills with the sound of his beating heart. The beating is not human, though. It is too quick. Suddenly his hand flutters at his side, and I scream.

I jumped in my seat, and was surprised to find the plane over land. I took a look at my surroundings. My neighbor has fallen asleep as well, with a book in his lap, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I began to rearrange my clothes when the pilot comes on over the radio, announcing that we’ll be landing at JFK International Airport in 15 minutes. Something in me becomes frightened. Will they know? I ask myself. I was torn inside. Part of me wanted to shout out into the airplane what had happened and the rest of me wanted to forget. I wanted to forget terribly. If mom and dad knew, how could I forget?

I collected my things together, and reassured myself that my passport was secure in my inner-coat pocket. I tapped my pockets to make sure I knew what was there, and then I folded the airport blanket and placed it in the seat-pouch. I peered out the window looking at New York below. I wanted so badly to be home then. To be safe in my room, away from these things I knew. I searched the horizon.

“Did you have a nice nap?” I turned and the sharp-nosed man was smiling at me. He stretched his arms in the air and leaned back in his seat. I was suddenly extremely aware of his hands, which scared me.

“Indeed,” was all I said, before nervously folding my hands in my lap and watching the clouds shift over the city. We were coming in for a landing, now.

There was a jolt, and I began shifting my jaw to keep from hurting my ears. I yawned, I hummed, I chewed absent-mindedly. Still, I felt the ear-pain rise dramatically as we descended. A tear ran down my cheek.

After a few minutes of screaming children’s yells, gentle parent’s soothing, and my own adrenaline rush, the plane touched down on the pavement. We bounced a few times, my elbow slamming the armrest as we did so. I wanted off this abominable technological device. I wanted the fields again.

We sat awkwardly for a few moments before grabbing our things. I moved quickly. My urge to see Mom and Dad was immense. I wanted more than anything to have them know and understand what had happened. They needed to know! I bolted off the plane into the air tunnel, and finally into the airport terminal.

Ah, what had happened the old days when as soon as you were off a plane there were your loved ones, waiting. Now, I had an infernal number of checkpoints before I could hold them close. I stopped as I reached a security checkpoint and customs, but due to my small luggage and European Union passport, was moved through quickly. I shoved my slip on hiking sneakers into the tray, along with my purse and luggage, and bounced through the metal detector. I waited behind a man with an infant patiently, as he collected his things. I pulled out my stuff and found a seat by the door. My shoes on my feet and my luggage in hand, I headed out to meet my parents.

I found them by the luggage terminal. I saw them first, as I came down the escalator. Mom was sitting in a blue-leather chair by the window. Her hair seemed browner than before, its fierce orange color softened by her years. She seemed heavier, too, and I imagined that she was in a great deal of pain from her hip. My Dad was sitting next to her, a collection of notebooks in hand. No doubt he was writing something, either for his blog or for his novel. They were so strange together; Mom limping and chubby, approximately 5’2, next to Dad who towered at 6’2 and stood straight and lean. I ran towards them, ready to tell them everything.

They saw me and pointed. Mom smiled, and Dad gave me one of his smirks. I ran to Mom first, and hugged her before turning to my father. The books in his hand made it impossible to hug him, but he mumbled, “Hey! Who are you?” with his look of complete seriousness, his eyes almost angry.

I laughed, “Oh it is so wonderful to see you!” I began feeling anxious. Could they tell?

“How is everything here?” I asked, my arms almost outstretched for love.

“Fine, fine,” said Mom and Dad in unison, standing and walking towards the door. Dad picked up my luggage bag. “Nothing’s changed here.”

I stood awkwardly there for a moment as they walked towards the door. I could feel a head-ache and unwept tears forming. I leaned down to pick up my stuff and walked defeated after them. I knew they were wrong. I knew what they didn’t.

“Everything’s changed,” I mumbled, and disappeared out the sliding automatic doors.

Before and After - Chapter 2

The Birds and the Bees


The tree is so big. I crouch on a branch and it seems that the ground is hundreds of feet below. Maybe millions. Gagillions. I close my eyes and feel a breeze bring to life little shivers on my neck. When I open my eyes, I see the yellowy-green leaves of the weeping willow tree twirling, like a ballerina, in the wind.

Summer days, when the sun passes in between perfectly formed, puffy cumulus clouds, and the grass is green and soft to the touch, and the smell of the pine trees and flowers are inhaled, and the sound of crickets and birds fills the air; ah, those days are the making life to a little child, such as myself.


When I was only 4 years old my parents moved in to the adjoining side of my grandparent’s duplex. My parents were both rather poor. At this point in my life we had already moved 4 times, once every year. This was a great opportunity for them to save up some money to move out of our foreclosable apartments to something a little better. And we did, eventually.

My grandfather, a dark, quiet, and enormous Irish man owned the property, but for some reason we all called it “Grandma’s”. Grandma had such an interesting personality. She has a brilliant, talented woman who hides her beauty away from the world. Perhaps it is a form of protection.

I remember summers at my Grandma’s in a sort of bright blur, like a picture you take in the sun’s glare. Everything shines and glows, and I can simply see myself existing in the world with everything else, the trees, the bees, and the birds.

A great deal of my time would be spent with my Aunt Kathleen, one of my mom’s younger sisters. My mom had me at the age of 19, and Kathy was only 18 that year. I admired her, despite her youth. She always had such straight, long auburn hair. She was strong, too, but in a rather pleasant Irish way. She always bought me little things of chapstick and earrings. I adored her and followed her everywhere.

When we went out to the store together, people would mistakenly assume that she was my mother, we looked so much alike. I loved that I looked like her, and I loved the idea of her as my mother. She was funny, too. We used to play the “cup game”, in which we’d hold our hands in an open fist and fill it with all sorts of imaginary gross stuff; hair, toenails, teeth, and coca-cola.

On certain sweet-weathered days I would be allowed to run free outside. The duplex was on 2 ½ acres of land and was surrounded by fields and other homes. When I was released from the confinement of Barney, the purple dinosaur inside, I was the most joyful child. I’d pretend I was a fairy, and I would climb the ancient weeping-willow tree as high as I could.

On this particular day, this is where I was perched. Like a bird, I gripped my feet onto the branches and commanded the willowy leaves to be still. Then, as though a magical spell had commenced, the breeze died down and the world was mine. I giggled with childish delight at this power.

But then, oh! A terrible monster was climbing down after me. With enormous purple-teeth, and shiny yellow scales he began sliding down branch after branch. Terrified, I leapt from my branch and down to the ground. I had fallen softly on the grass, and my hands had prevented my complete collapse. The green blades squished between my knuckles. Just as I was about to rise up and command the monster’s end, I noticed it. There! Amidst the green was a little bit of blue.

My imaginary monster disappeared above me, as I brushed the grass from off the object. It was round and ever so small. I placed my tiny fingers on its edges and gently picked it up. The way it rolled in my hand was so beautiful, and I slowly stood up in absolute wonderment. I cupped the egg in my hand and sought out my Aunt Kathy. I found her on the front stoop listening to her stereo. I looked up at her smiling blue eyes and with childlike adoration told her “I want to take care of it, Kathy.”

Kathy was just as enamored of the egg as I was. “It’s a robin’s egg,” she told me, her eyes glittering. I didn’t want her to touch it, and she didn’t take it from my hand. She twisted her auburn locks and helped me understand about the egg.

“Well, if you’re going to take care of a baby bird, you need to know where baby birds live. Do you know where a baby robin lives?” asked Kathy, confidently assuring me that I did know the answer. She was destined to be an elementary school teacher.

I nodded, and excitedly shouted, “Nests!”

Kathy laughed, and said, “You’re absolutely right. Now, where are you going to get a nest?”

I was baffled for a moment. I ran to the tree and began searching the branches with my eyes. I couldn’t see a nest anywhere. I returned to Kathy, defeated.

But she did not give up so easily. “Well, if a bird can make a nest, I bet you can make a nest.”

The idea hadn’t occurred to me, although now that Kathy had suggested it, I immediately knew it was the correct answer. I collected dry grass from the yard and started carefully weaving together a home for the egg. Kathy leapt at the opportunity to help, and went into the kitchen to get a jug of water. Together, we poured the water into a dirt hole I had made with my hands. Fingernails caked in dirt, I began mixing together the water and soil to make mud. I churned and, using the mud and grass I began the project of being a mother.

I felt honored, excited, and powerful as I took on the sacred duty. In my blue gingham dress I was simply the earth and love, all wrapped in one. I could paste the grass into the nest, tuck the egg inside and it would be safe. I had placed the egg on the grass next to my project. Kathy had told me she would watch it. I folded and weaved and mudded the nest until I finally had a rounded muddy grass thing, which I called a nest.

It was hot and sunny that day, and within minutes the moist soil had dried and hardened. Kathy and I sat, cross-legged on the ground, and watched the nest dry. I took my dirtied hands and picked up the egg. Staring at it now I noticed thousands of details I had missed in its discovery. It was blue, yes, but it was also covered in little speckles. I traced the spots with my finger, and murmured words of love to the baby bird.

“I think the nest is dry now, Siobhan,” Kathy said gently, pointing to the object at my feet.

Cupping the egg in my hands, I gently tucked it into the softest part of the nest I could find. My hands trembled as I let the egg go, but I looked down at it cuddled up with the grass and laughed.

“You know, Siobhan, a bird egg needs to be kept very warm. Usually, a mommy bird will sit on top of the eggs to keep them safe and warm. I don’t think you can sit on the egg, but maybe you could put something on top of it to keep it warm?” Kathy nudged my brain into thinking.

My mind raced with things that provided warmth – sun, blankets, tea, oodles ‘n noodles, stuffed animals – nothing seemed to fit. Then it hit me! The dead grass which now, mid-summer, filled the yard would be perfect. I pulled tufts of the grass up from around me and began padding the baby bird egg. I was so excited, too. I pulled two big clumps of dead grass, one in each hand. I leaned over the nest and pushed them down on top.

Like the princess and the pea, I suddenly knew that something beneath me wasn’t right. For a moment I was bewildered, and then I felt an oozy something around my fingers, which were still lying in the nest. I pulled my hands up and examined them. They were covered in a yellow substance. Already crying, I grabbed at the grass that had covered my beloved egg. There, at the bottom of the nest was the blue speckled beauty, but it was all in pieces!

I don’t quite remember the aftermath. I know that shortly after the squishing I was tucked away inside, safe and away from the death. Grandma wrapped me in my favorite quilt and put on the television. She poured me a cup of tea and made some soup to eat. In between sobs I would try to spoon a bit of broth into my lips, but it didn’t work. I had done something awful, and I knew I should be punished.

The rest of the afternoon I stayed inside on the plastic-covered sofa and mourned the death of my baby. No one spoke to me about it, although Kathy and my Aunt Bernadette offered me sweets and games to try to get my spirits up. Nothing worked.

I sat and thought about the crime I had committed that afternoon. Surely, Grandma had let me off easy. What would mom and dad say? Oh, I had forgotten about them. What would they do? Was there some way they wouldn’t find out? I thought of the Cat-and-the-Hat. Maybe someone would clean up the mess and mom or dad would never have to know. I began crying again.

I was sitting on the couch, contemplating these things when I heard the car pull up in the driveway outside. I felt my stomach lurch, and I began sobbing. I broke out into half-sobs, half-hiccups and cuddled up into a ball.
I closed my eyes, but I could hear the side-door open and my mom’s melodious voice moving through the rooms. “Hello, Ma. How was she today?” Mom asked, and I could hear the smile in her words.

There was some whispered mumbling from the kitchen. I heard a gasp, a laugh, and other sounds equally perplexing. I kept crying, louder now. I was so afraid of what she was going to do to me.

“Siobhan, are you in the living room?” I heard my mom ask from the kitchen.

I didn’t reply, but I knew she’d see me as soon as she moved through the doorframe. Surely I wasn’t hard to miss, a sobbing little ball on the sofa.

“Honey,” my mom said, and she was next to me now. I felt the couch sag a little as she sat down next to me. The plastic covering made crinkly noises beneath the added weight, and my head sunk down a tad. “Honey, are you alright?” she asked, clearly concerned.

Sobbing, I sat up and told her everything, down to the last detail. I buried my face in her large breasts and moaned. “Shhh, Siobhan. It’s alright. Everything’s alright,” she said, trying to show affection by patting my back.

“It’s – all – my – fault!” I cried to her there. “Are – you – going – to…to spank me?” I jerked away, momentarily.

“No, no, no, darling,” mom said, pulling me back towards her, “it’s alright. It’s not your fault, sweetie. How were you to know? Don’t worry about it, ok?” she murmured quietly.

My sobs were less-frequent now, and I was quieter. I lay wrapped in my mom’s expansive arms and closed my eyes. I felt sleepy and everything felt dream-like. I heard Grandma talking to my mom, about the day’s happening. I felt the extreme summer day’s warmth melt into a softer, cooler dusk.

As Mom and Grandma continued talking, I sat up on the sofa. There was a large wet spot on my mom’s shirt, from where I’d been crying. I folded my hands in my lap and sat deciding for a moment. Then I slid off the couch and walked towards the side door. I turned around to make sure no one was paying attention. Engrossed in their conversation, the adults seemed distant. I reached up for the doorknob, and went outside.

The day had passed while I’d been inside. Although not dark, the entire Earth seemed to be blue. Shadows melted with one another and the first stars were beginning to appear. I searched the pine trees and the willow for some sign of life. Everything was quiet.

Nervously, I tip-toed towards the center of the front yard. There, beneath the berry-tree was the mud-hole that Kathy and I had made earlier. I peered inside, but the mushy soil had sunk deep into the ground. The black depths of the hole mixed with the blue grass, and I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. I didn’t care. I was looking for the remains.

I anxiously gazed at the ground, expecting at any moment to find the destroyed nest and bird body. After a few moments, I sat down on the ground, puzzled. There was no nest to be found. It had disappeared while I was inside.

I began biting my fingernail, which had broken at some point during the day. I searched the sky for an answer, although I knew there wasn’t one there. I listened to the sounds of the bats flying overhead, and to the distant yell of coyotes.

It was then that I realized that maybe the day hadn’t happened at all. I began replaying the day in my head. Surely, I didn’t find a bird egg! That’s silly, I told myself. I must have imagined I’d done all those things. That was the word mom and dad were always using. Imagine.

I stood up, lightly. The air suddenly felt fresher, and I danced around in the yard for a few moments. I tried to do a jig, which my Grandma had taught me a day or two before, but I only fumbled around, my arms and legs flying in all directions. The sun had set, though, and the evening was colder than the day. I listened to the call of a bird somewhere off in the distance, and then trotted inside where I knew a cup of tea and a bowl of soup were waiting for me.

Before and After - Chapter 1

Aftermath

I arrived back at the house with cuts and bruises on my knees and feet. I hurt everywhere, my soul, calves, thighs, and head. I sat in the upstairs bathtub and washed my legs with a white washcloth. I couldn’t feel the temperature of the water. It could have been scalding, I wouldn’t know. The cloth turned red and brown.

The aching in my chest was powerful, impressive. I couldn’t register the pain which traveled from the unknown regions of my body, parts I didn’t want to know anything about, back to my skull and heart. I wished to not breathe anymore. I went to bed.

My great-aunt Mary had made up a room in her home in Ireland. I covered my head with the blankets and fell asleep, anxious, scared, cold.

I awoke. It was brighter than the nighttime. The smell of meat was coming from somewhere. I thought of red.

I pushed the covers away, just like I’d pushed him away. Get off, I thought. Nothing on top of me, nothing. I stood up instinctively and walked to the bathroom to take a shower. Ah, cleanliness.

Downstairs everyone was there. Right, this is my last day here. I’d better smile. I did. I gave hugs, though I didn’t want to touch anyone. I exchanged a smile with my cousin. Hey, Paddy. Thanks for abandoning me, thanks for letting him take me away. But he didn’t. It was my fault. I was sure.

Great aunt Mary made me eat breakfast, though the concept of ingesting food was horrific. I sat, I smiled, I tasted, I breathed. I went outside.

The sky was beautiful; no, Ireland was beautiful. Every moment had been splendid and divine. My little darling cousin Niamh came out to keep me company. So innocent, I thought. So pure.

Then came Timmy, my cousin and adoring big brother figure. Could I tell him? Should I tell him? He helped me carry my bags to the car, and packed them away, laughing and smiling. His Irish brogue seemed reminiscent of something from the past, something unclean. I stopped thinking.

I said goodbye to everyone, and passed out passionate hugs and words, though everything seemed false and tasteless. I slid into the passenger seat of Timmy’s car and waved goodbye as we drove out of the driveway, away from the farmhouse, from Tuam, from pain.

I looked at Timmy. He was short and chubby, but sweet. He kept conversation going, though I don’t remember what he asked. I answered, abruptly, disjointedly. He didn’t notice.

And then I cried. I was staring out the window at the overhanging clouds and distant mountains, when, without noticing I began crying. Then sobbing. I stopped again.

Timmy asked what was wrong, I’m sure, although I don’t remember him asking. I cried and lied and said that I would miss Ireland. I would miss my family and the people who I had grown to love. I cried and I lied.