What Really Happened in Ireland
Here you go.
Here are two versions of the beginning of the saga... tell me which one you like better.
Any comments or suggestions, please feel free.
DISCLAIMER: If you don't want to read about sorta graphic sex, or are under the age of 18, please read version two and don't sue me.
Version One: "A Religious Break"
I had terrible nightmares last night. Though I wasn’t consciously aware of it, they were aligned with the loud roll of thunder and lashing rain moving in over Freshford. Both Jerome and Emma tell me they were awakened by the sound, because while the rain is common, harsh storms are foreign to both them and this country. The dream was one of those paralyzing dreams, where you can’t move your limbs to wake your body and you’re frozen in the odd dream world created by your own mind. Among other strange happenings, a guy- whose face I finally recognize as Amos’, but who had a different name in my dream- broke his arm and was taken to hospital. While he was away, people kept appearing, dressed and looking strangely, and then receding, frame by frame. Now that I think about it, I can’t explain why my boyfriend wasn’t among them, but instead Jimmy was there. When Amos returned, we were all in a classroom, sitting at desks and Amos had no cast on. Instead, his right arm was gone. A nob of bone was all that was left, sticking out of healed flesh.
"What happened?" I asked.
"It was a religious break," he said.
I suppose he meant there was no chance of saving the hand; that the bone had broken clean off. Throughout class he kept rubbing it with his other, good hand, a sadness on his face. He hadn’t come to terms with the whole thing. As I was looking at him, I finally realized who he was: he was the boy with two faces. And then a mirror image of his face appeared at the back of his head; sad eyes, nose, and all, an entire second face looking, at me.
I woke early before my alarm. It was six and I went downstairs, got a yogurt and an orange and set off for work. The ground was soaking from over night, but the sky looked as though it would hold until I could make the top of the hill. I wasn’t aware of how hard it had rained only hours ago, and as soon as I reached the cow field- too late to turn back- the rain came down. It was pouring.
The cows stared at me; the whole herd looking placidly over the ancient stone wall that buffered the puddled road. They were no doubt trying to decide what an American girl was doing, walking, in the rain, in Ireland. I ignored them, pulling the hood of my sweater over my dripping, curling hair and ipod earphones, finding the hood wet too. Oh well, this was no morning to be bothered. One calf, so intrigued, followed me along the road to the bridge, but could go no further as I crossed the water and power walked away.
To my boyfriend:
Baby, it was so good to hear you voice today. I can’t even write this without crying.
Whenever I talk to you it’s just soul wrenching and I can’t do anything but cry. I’m glad I’m writing these emails every night, otherwise you’d never know the reason I call. I love you.
I want to hear your voice again and again and again... I want to just sit on the other end of the phone and listen to you talk to me. The second I got to the phone today I called you. I was going to wait until Sunday, or Saturday, when I had the day to shower and sit down and get comfortable so I could get ready to hear your voice, like a opening a present.
But I couldn’t wait. It took forever to unlock the fucking door. I sat right down in my muddy jeans and all, and just called you. Then it was an eternity to make the phone work... God. I was going to tell you all about my week, but then I heard your voice and couldn’t think, just cry, with happiness, with sadness, with relief.
I want to be with you right now.
***
Paul is the youngest son of country gentlemen, retired thoroughbred baron, and my sort-of Boss, Victor Bowens. Blue eyes, cargo pants and a bomber jacket, pencil tucked behind his ear, Paul is an artist, but right now Paul is a carpenter. The black sheep of the Bowen’s boys, Paul comes over in the rain to fix the gas leak in the caravan and we exchange numbers. Paul is not my boyfriend.
I’m bored. Or maybe I’m lonely. I text Paul on my number, knowing that he won’t remember whose number it is. He was too messed up at the club when Emma used my phone to try and find him. I text him something dirty. He texts back almost immediately, "excuse me, who’s this?" I string it out for a long time before he realizes who it is, but not before guess Kimberly incorrectly.
In the morning I ask him to drive me home. He’s not into that idea. I’m a bit pissed off and I don’t want to call Emma because she has to get up early enough. I tell him I’m leaving, and he shouts the gate code to me. I put on my clothes unable to find my black thong. Fuck it, I certainly wouldn’t want to ask him to get up. I grab his sweat shirt, the yellow one with russel athletics on it, as I walk out the door. That’ll teach him. As I’m putting it on and wondering how long the walk home really is, Emma’s car appears at the gates. Thank god. I’m a mess of tired, and not at all looking forward to work, where there is nothing to do but get yelled at for the things I have done and the things I haven’t done. Edgar gives me my weeks notice, I tell him I was going to ask for it anyway, which is the truth. I couldn’t make it until September and there is nothing to do for me in the yard. They seems to think I don’t care, but honestly what do they want me to do? I’m not going to cry about it, it’s what needed to happen.
I text Paul over lunch, "I’ve got ur sweatshirt, u’ve got my thong, keep it if u want I’m sure u’ll look pretty in it." I want to get everything back so I can pack, or so I tell myself. Paul miraculously shows up around five and puts my thong on the table and then comes into the yard to apologize. He says he’s sorry, he should have driven me home. I look at him, he’s wearing a green shirt that says, "the lepruchauns made me do it."
I tell him I don’t care, there are more important things in life, like the fact that I just got my weeks notice. He seems sorry, and we stand for a while, his hands uncomfortably in his pockets. He asks me if I want anything from the shop, "like a mr. Freeze or something." I give him a quick smooch, awkwardly stepping on his toe. As I walk away, I ask him if he got his sweatshirt. "No" he says, "it’s okay."
"Don’t you want it back?"
"No, I’ll get it when I’m cold."
I can’t help but smile at the Mr. Freeze remark, but spend the next couple of days telling Emma what a freak Paul is and how he doesn’t care about anything, except maybe himself, and how I shouldn’t see him again, he’s just someone to fuck around with.
I try to break up with my boyfriend on Tuesday while Emma’s at the races, but it doesn’t work. I hear his voice and I can’t do it. Before I call him I lie sleeplessly in bed thinking about it. When I tell him, he says, " I respect your opinion but I don’t think it’s a good idea." How can you argue with that? I don’t tell him about cheating, only that we need to think about our careers and future and it just won’t work. We agree to try and make it work and I cry myself to sleep. Emma and I sit in Swifts. Time passes, two lager shandy’s go down. I’m bored. My boyfriend doesn’t answer his phone. I text Paul because there is literally no one else in my phone to text: "Can I have a booty call if I can’t pull in newbridge?" He replies that he doesn’t do seconds. I send back lol, because it is funny. Boredom. There is a large table of boys over in the corner, about eight... could be attractive, could not be, but they are boys. Emma says I should go over and talk to them? Why me? Why shy me? But I’m not shy any more, maybe a little nervous but not shy. Which one do you think? I ask her, pick one for me and I’ll pull it. The dirty blonde with baby face and striped longsleeve shirt. Okay. I"m bored, fuck it all, fuck the world. What am I going to say when I walk up to them? But he walks our way first. Emma’s gone to the toliet and as he’s passing I touch his arm. "Can I ask you a question?" I say. "Sure," He says, a little shocked. "How come there are so many guys sitting at that table and no girls?" "Oh, there were a couple girls there before but they’re gone now." "Boys night out then?" "Yeah." "Well I wouldn’t want to disturb that." "It is sacred." "Well," I said, "If you’re looking for company we’d love to join you." "Whose we?" And then I have him, not that I didn’t from the start, I have him because I"m American and she’s English and we’re in Ireland. He says he’s going out for a smoke and when he comes back he’ll bring us over to the table. Two hours later, five free drinks, lager shandy, vodka and coke, baby guiness.... we are knee deep in a table full of boys. Paul texts that there are four of them coming over to the mobile to see us. Emma replies we’re not there. Paul is persistent, where u at? I text that I’ve pulled and I thought he didn’t do seconds? The phone is silent. The boy that I’ve pulled occasionally slides his arm around my waist as he’s going back and forth to the bar, feeling my thong as he goes. We eventually get deep into conversation, he’s a business major working security, etc etc... Emma waffles around but eventually ends up with the boy she likes named breen, and they start talking. Somehow it’s one o’clock and the only ones left at the table are the four of us. THE boy, nicknamed Geezer, has his hand on my knee. We go up tot he club. As soon as we’re inside I’m making out with the boy, full on, dancing like whore, or just like American’s do really. He keeps asking if we can leave the club, if we can go anywhere really, just to have sex, is what he’s thinking. I can’t leave without emma I presist. We dance until the club closes at three or half three and then we all pile into emma’s car for the long drive back. The boys are mortified at where we are taking them and the speed at which emma is doing it. I make out with the boy in the back just to keep him quiet. He calls me "chicken" a lot, and I don’t like that. I much prefer "pet". When we do finally get back to the caravan, the two boys are even further shocked that we do actually live in a caravan, though we did tell them we did. They keep on about it until it’s time for bed. The boy and I get down to business drunkenly, while emma has hers. "No condom" I say. He goes on about "why did you pick me? Why did you touch my arm?" I hadn’t the heart to tell him he was the first thing to walk past the table. He can’t kiss well, and I don’t like it. He sticks out his tounge each time before he uses his lips , his tounge is tiny and wet and I imagine it being baby pink. He’s not as attractive as I thought, his body’s not great either, it seems fatter than I remember with celluite that doesn’t match his young face. I find a condom, because I need to have sex now. He bangs away, bangs hard and fast and we shake the entire caravan. We stop for a while when I mention that the place might actually fall over. Then we start up again. The next morning the ceiling has fallen off in places from all the banging. Emma tells me she has never heard someone getting fucked before. But this is only after we get the boys up and dressed to be driven back to newbridge before we go to work.
I don’t give him my number, emma exchanges numbers with hers. The day is rough on me. That night we text paul about Time. He says he’s not sure about the taxi and doesn’t know if we want a ride with him or not because he is planning on bringing kimberly home tonight. Right, Kimberly. We decide at the last minute not to go to time, we are too tired from the other night. I realize that I don’t have enough money on my phone to make the calls I need to make so I decide to walk into Dunlavin and back to get food and top up. The walk is long and the day is hot, but I have time to think. I say to myself: "What do I Care about Paul? I don’t need him, I don’t want him. The only reason I slept with him is because he was the first one I saw and I felt like it. I’m not a nice person. I don’t like people. I don’t need people. We are the same person and we’ll make great friends, but we don’t need to fuck anymore. I don’t want to, it hasn’t been that good anyway.
Paul texts when I get back, "R U at Home?" "Yes." is my simple reply. I know he’s been in the other mobile all day, with kimberly. "Can I come over?" "Sure." Why not, I guess. I want to brag about my weekend, he wants to brag about his. He comes over, looking wiped and disheveled. We cuddle on the couch together and he asks me if we’re going to have sex. I say I thought we weren’t goign to do that anymore. He says that he doesn’t remember that. I ask him how time was and he goes on about pink pills and how off his head he was. Kimberly was riding him for like an hour while he was passed out, and he only passed out because her skin was starting to look like bubble wrap. It took him half an hour to get it up as it was. And she thought he was such an innocent boy. He had dropped her home apparently. He had a conversation with another lad in the smoke room about a bag of sand in the corner and the price of squirels. The guy was fucked up as well and went around asking the bouncers where the bag of sand was as he needed to shovel it. I have to feed that horses, and Pual actually offers to help me. I’m surprised, but he does help. We went to dunlavin to get food, talked about abortion and his child. Sandra is a vegetarian and pro life, she wanted a baby. We talk about ability to pull for a girl and a guy, I tell him about my night as well. We watch a movie on emmas bed, "Conan the destroyer." Paul falls asleep and I nap with him. Were not touching and that bothers me. I like sleeping with other people. That is afterall why he’s come over here. Or is it? Paul moans in his sleep moves. We finally cuddle together and I take off my pants. "Getting a bit ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?" No, I say. Emma picks this time to reappear and I go out to help her put the horse away, telling paul that he needs to move out of emmas bed. We The two of get back paul is awake on the couch and I sit with him. "Have you been shaggin on my bed? Emma asks. No, I say just watching a movie. Paul says that he’s upset because I’ve cheating on him. And emma tells him about the caravan rocking I got. Later when paul has left emma says that he sounded jealous and upset that I had pulled another boy. I brush it off, it would be the only way to get his attention anyway, I suppose. Paul starts tickling me on the couch, and I kick him. You haven’t showered since last night, I say. No, he says, I haven’t, why do I smell? I say the smell of sex is wafting off him, and I suppose it is. I’d better shower then, join me? Yeah okay I say. We get int eh shower together and refuse to let him kiss me. But I give him a blow job, finally getting rough with him, feeling into it. As the water runs down him and over me on my knees, he says, "How did I get so lucky?" to no one in particular, "where are you puttin all of that?" "I’m not supposed to talk with my mouth full, I reply, deep throating him again. I stand up, the water runnign full stream over me. To fuck with that paul says and tries to kiss me. We have sex in a number of positions, fairly talented, before emma gets upset and we turn the water off. We’re back on the couch again.We cuddle, We watch the clips on his phone and see the pictures. His daughter is featured, and a short clip of him saying, "Hello, my name is paul and this is a rubber duckie." It’s actually a nice moment a normal one. We go to sleep together and he plays with my breast and says, "you know I haven’t had sex sober for a long time." The sound and look of him is that he’s happy about that. "It’s something oyu should do oyu know." I say.
He has trouble sleeping, coming down from all the drugs, I ask him if there is anything I can do for him, and he says he’s not really horny, I say that wasn’t what I meant. In the morning he’s up with the alarm and dressed for work. He kisses me goodby.
The next night he texts me to watch a movie, v for vendetta, but I’m already asleep having caught some sort of cold. I text him in the morning that I really wanted to see that, could I see it tonight, or maybe him? Sure, he says, we can watch it later. I"m happy about this. I’ve been sleeping in his sweatshirt because it smells like him, or it smells like boys and I’m a sucker for big sweatshirts. He knows this as well. He calls and asks, "what you at?" but the reception is bad he says he’ll call back in few minutes but doesn’t. It’s nearly ten. I’m bored, expectant. I call him. He’ll be over in a few minutes but in his work clothes because he’s still at work now. I feel bad for rushing him. Emma gets back before him, " I thought you’d be with paul." He’s coming over now I say. He arrives wearing cargo pants and a bomber jacket and looks uncontrollably sexy. I’m attracted. We smoke outside before he comes in and we play the movie, cuddling on the couch. We kiss before he leaves.
I’m starting to feel things for him. A sweetness is coming over the relationship. I don’t like it. I don’t like it that I like him. He’s perfect for me, but I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not. It’s a good thing that I’m leaving at the end of the week. I’m leaving at the end of the week and where am I going? I don’t know. I won’t text him again and when the weekend comes I won’t see him. I’ll be in England with emma and he’ll be getting his dick pierced.
He texts me at three this afternoon, "How about some casual sex later?" "Yes," I text him "Yes" twice just to make sure it’s gone through. What’s wrong with me? But that is what I want from him. That’s what I want from him and I don’t want to be in a relationship with my boyfriend anymore. I don’t want to be in a relationship with anyone, I want to be free, on my own, away from this world. I can leave him behind now. I can leave Paul behind and I can even leave PW behind. What have I Come to? I don’t know but I want Matthew over here. I talked to him on line and said I could send him either an Irish boy or Irish booze. He said put the booze in the boy and send him over. What did I ever do without Matthew. He said I should move back to NYC and share a flat with him. God I’d love to, but he’d only suck me into his world. I’m not that like Matthew. Anything he says I’ll do it at the drop of a hat, we’re perfect for each other, and I’m afraid that’s the same problem I’m developing with Paul. Fuck.
What am I going to do after this week? I certainly don’t want to stay in this yard, the people are fucking crazy. But I’ll miss emma. I’ll book a hostel in Dublin for the week and then come back to the yard for the week end and make plans in the mean time. Screw Paul. We’ll have our fun and that will be it.
So, I did screw Paul again. Emma is gone racing and I get ready for the evening when a text comes from paul’s phone saying that steven will be coming over and ask emma if that is okay. I text back that I will do, so long as steven "rocks out with his cock out" because I cant take another nite of the awkward pre-teen hand holding. I immediately followed that text with one that said, don’t really tell steven that. "Thanks darling this is steven by the way." I text back "oops?" Emma gets back and I text paul to bring food for her, we have none in the caravan. They come over and we cuddle on our respective couches and watch vanilla sky. Play computer games before that and banter with paul and steven. Paul is playful. He asks me what I’m doing on Saturday and I say I’ll be in England. I mention that I might not be back after that... he waits a beat and then says, "You know I may not show it Gabs, but I’ll miss you." "I’ll miss you too I say, but you can’t get rid of me that easily." He’s going to get his dick pierced on saturday, and perhaps dublin next weekend. But do I really want to see him, and why haven’t I heard from my boyfriend? Anyway, Paul mentions he’s fucked and the movie doesn’t interest me. I get up and go the bedroom, take off my bra and wait as Paul follows me. We lay down and kiss passionately for the first time, I let him. Sex. Varied positions, places, kinds. But it’s all sex. A little disconnected, but intense, everywhere. This is a casual fuck, with hardcore actions. His game is up, and my blow job is excellent, blowing his mind completely at one stage, though I couldn’t tell you how. I’ve never gotten so graphic with sex. my body hurts, my abs ache, my thighs, my ass. His body is amazing, his stamina impressive. We fuck. He wants to watch, but there are no lights in my room, only a mattress on the floor. God do we fuck. I finally get adventerous, feeling inside my body as well as over his. Legs over my head, him behind most all the time. It’s good but not orgasmic. Not the same passionate love making as with pw. It’s just sex and I don’t know about it still. He mentions that I might like two boys at once. He mentions that he knows one. He gets me off though.
He says something about being cute and cuddly, and I say maybe cute... and then he tries a cuddle on. We do almost, we talk about a lot of things... about love, and life, sex. He says he’ll have to come visit me in dublin. I imagine he wants to. Emma and steven haven’t done anything yet. We laugh about this. He talks about trying to get Kelley his daughter from sandra by fixing a drug bust. He says he wants to take her and move into a nice big house for her. But he has no money saved up. We could love each other in the least loving way. I say I want to keep him, just to have around... like a pet, and that’s the truth. He asks me if I love my boyfriend. He says things that almost sound heart-ful. We fall asleep. He asks me If I love my boyfriend. I say I do, but it’s not in my plans to love anyone.
In the morning his alarm goes off at half six. We are already making out again, having sex in the 77 position. It’s good, he tries for anal, but it hurts too much for me, I’m sore all day as it is. We are in the middle of him jacking himself off when the alarm goes off again, he comes in my mouth, and then kisses me. He gets up and goes, "sorry pet, I have to go to work." But he comes back for one more kiss.
Version Two: ""Hello my name is Paul, and this is a Rubber Duckie."
We’ve run out of gas in the caravan. It took us two days to figure out what was wrong, and then another two to get in touch with Victor and have the Lithuanian remove the old gas tank, which was wedged under the back of the caravan so we could take it and get a new one. The caravan had tipped slightly since it had been put in and was leaning on the gas tank, making it impossible to move. The Lithuanian finally had to dig underneath the tank to remove it. In the mean time, we had no hot water. When Emma finally had time to drive us into town to pick up a new tank, we end up paying twenty five euro and then lugging the tank ourselves into the trunk of the car, making it back just in time to for evening stables. It’s starting to drizzle as we get done with work. All I want is to finally be able to boil water and maybe take a hot shower. My hair is so greasy. But, first we have to hook up the new tank. Crouching down between bushes after we drag the tank around to the connecting hose, Emma and I contemplate the task. It looks simple: hook hose to top of tank, push down and presto, gas, heat, fire, good. Ten minutes later, Emma is still wrestling with the hose and tank and I’m sitting, butt in the dirt, thinking it shouldn’t be this hard. "Argg, I’m calling Victor." Emma says, throwing down the connector.
"No, he’s not going to be able to do anything anyway. I don’t even think he’s home this week. I’m sure we’ll figure it out." I hate giving up. But Emma’s already pulling out her cell phone, wandering around the yard looking for the elusive reception. Hmm. Well, if I can program a VCR, I should be able to do this. Independent woman. I stare at the hose connector, toggle it a bit, stare at the tank, turning it from side to side. Yup, okay. Putting one to the other, I push down and this is where the hose should lock into the tank. It seems to fit, but as I take my hand away the hose cocks to one side, disconnected. Fine, I place the connector back on the tank and do what any woman would do when lacking duct tape or DW40, I kick it, hard, and repeatedly. It’s worth a shot right? Besides I really want a shower tonight. The toggle stays in place. It seems to be connected. Emma is just hanging up the phone, as I run into the caravan and turn on the gas. A bright blue flame shoots up and sparks with the flint, staying lit. Hey, it worked! "I fixed it!" I yell out to Emma as she walks back towards the caravan.
"Really?" Emma seems skeptical peering at the flame, and insists on going back to look at the connection. "But, Victor’s on his way over," she doesn’t seem sure that it’s not going to blow up. Apparently she’s never programmed a VCR.
"Well, call him and tell him not to." I don’t really want to see Victor.
"It’s too late now." Emma says, and I shrug. If Emma wants Victor to check the connection, that’s fine, but I want to boil water!
Ten minutes later, the rain has picked up and a black Volkswagon pulls into the drive. It’s not Victor’s car. There’s a knock on the door, and thinking it’s probably the Lithuanian or Victor’s older son, I go over to open it. Emma comes up behind me, both of us in our sweat pants pajamas. It’s neither the Lituanian or the older Bowen’s boy.
"Hiya, Victor said you needed your gas fixed?" There, standing in the light rain is Paul, Victor’s elusive younger son, yellow Russel Athletics sweatshirt, olive cargo pants, work boots, and holding a really big power drill in one hand.
Visions of a bad porn movie pop into my head and before I can censure my mouth, "What are you going to do with that?" My eyes are really wide and I know I’m staring at the power drill thinking of all sorts of inappropriate lines, absurdly amused.
Emma’s mouth forms a little "O" of horror, like she can’t believe what I just said, and honestly, I can’t really either. "Oh, um, the drill? This is for Victor. Is it okay if I leave it with you?" He doesn’t seem to catch on, thank god. Emma just stares.
"Sure, here." I say, taking the cumbersome drill from his hands and trying not to blush or laugh as I set it down near the couch, the long drill bit sticking up against the cushion. He continues to stand outside the doorway, and we continue to look at him as if he’s from Mars: A real boy in the yard! Hell, another person in the yard!
"Was there a problem with your gas?" He asks again, looking around.
Emma seems to remember that she can speak, "Oh, no, I mean we fixed it. It’s okay now." Then Emma goes back to gaping.
"Are you sure? I can check it if you like." He says, starting to look at bit damp in the rain.
"Yeah, no problem. I just kicked it a few times it seems to work just fine now." I smile.
"Would you like to come in out of the rain?" Emma has a look on her face like she should have thought of that one, and steps back inside the caravan, silently seconding my words.
"Sure," he shrugs and steps inside, taking a seat on the other couch and making himself casually comfortable. Emma is on the edge of the seat opposite him, and I retreat back into the kitchen, and lean on the counter. He looks different than when I first saw him, almost like an American boy. Maybe it’s the sweatshirt, maybe I’ve just been away from home too long, but we have company!
*********Talk: exchange numbers, go out for a drink, play video games**********
He leaves. We both stare at the drill. "Can’t believe you said that! Gabby, what are you like!?" Emma screeches, in hysterics. Emma is delighted and we debate whether to go over and play video games with "the boys" or wait to go out for a drink this weekend. After all, we don’t want to seem too eager. I’m all for going and playing video games. I’d love to hang with the boys. I think it’s one of the things I’ve missed the most about home, sitting in a room full of testosterone and being perfectly comfortable with it. I can just see myself wedged on the couch between two boys with controllers in hand, all of us staring at the screen: "nice kill! Want another beer?" It’s odd that I would miss that of all things. But we decide to wait for Wednesday and go out for a drink. Oh, well.
********* sorry not finished with this part, but boy are you missing a lot in here!***********
I’m bored. Or maybe I’m lonely. I text Paul on my number while Emma and I are sitting around the caravan on our day off. There’s nothing to do anyway and I know he won’t remember whose number it is. He was too messed up at the club when Emma used my phone to try and find him. Emma had been texting Paul all morning to see what went wrong yesterday, but he has yet to call her back. "I know how to get him to reply," I say and text him something dirty. He texts back almost immediately, "excuse me, whose this?"
"U don’t remember me? I can’t forget u, or last nite." I string it out all day, trying to get him to guess who it might be, flirting, and I think annoying him. Either one works for me. He clearly has no idea, but keeps texting. "Com’on guess" I send.
"There’s only one girl who talks to me that way. Kimberly."
"No, not kimberly." Whose Kimberly? Emma’s getting a pizza from the shop for dinner and I’m sitting in the car, as she comes back I update her on the most recent text. We have really got to get cable.
"Ah, an american girl then." Damn, found out. When I inform him he’s made the correct answer, he texts, "where u at?" prepared to come over and claim a prize, which is only fair with the way I’ve been teasing him all day. Emma grabs the phone and texts, "at the pub out all nite."
"Have a good nite." he texts back and that’s it. I’m a little disappointed, and feel it’s a bit unfair to lead him on and not invite him over. I suppose that’s what I was going to do all along, but it’s too late now. I don’t tell Emma that, and we eat our pizza in the caravan and go to bed early.
*************sorry not finished with this part***********
Fine. So we spend a miserable, and really cold night on the couch. When morning finally rolls around, I ask him to drive me home. He’s not into that idea. I’m a bit pissed off and I don’t want to call Emma because she has to get up early enough as it is. It’s not fair to make her drive over to pick me up and then back to work. Honestly. I tell him I’m leaving, I’ll walk. I can’t find my underwear, and have already said my goodbye, so I pull on my pants without them. It’s the most dignified way I can think of to exit. I head for the door with no reply from him. As I pass the couch, he shouts the gate code to me, not bothering to move, "4471!" It’s still cold, and now I’m really not looking forward to the walk to work. There on the floor near the door is the yellow, Russel Athletics sweatshirt. Fuck it, I grab his sweat shirt as I walk out the door. That’ll teach him. As I’m putting it on and wondering how long the walk home really is, Emma’s car appears at the gates and I see her wave from inside. Thank god!
*********
Hard at work, I’m forking muck up on top of the muck heap when Victor roles past with his denture smile and loafers, a wheel barrow full of a little girl who has the face of a boy named Paul. I smile politely at his nod in my direction and say how cute she looks.
Victor looks down his nose at the little girl in pink, "Ah, yes, Mrs. Bob the Builder, and do you know who she belongs to?" The corners of his mouth turn down a bit.
"Yes, I do." I say.
"Tell Emma if she’s not careful she’ll end up with one of her own." He smiles again and half nods in a leprechaun, or is it Irish, way.
"Oh, erm, I’m sure she knows...." This situation is made no less awkward by the fact that I’m now sinking into the muck heap, and trying to lean nonchalantly on the pitch fork. But he’s wheeling away the little girl now, her blue eyes and dimples, dirty hands-
"You’ll tell her won’t you?" He repeats over his shoulder
"Yes, I’ll tell her." I pull my feet out of the pile of shit I’m standing in and go back to forking it up. That didn’t go exactly well, what was I supposed to say, "No sir, I’m the one banging your son at the moment, maybe you saw me leave by the back door this morning?*********
I text Paul over lunch, "ive got ur sweatshirt, u’ve got my thong, keep it if u want im sure u’ll look pretty in it". I can still feel the anger from this morning, but I want to get everything back so I can pack.
Miraculously, Paul shows up around five. This is a first. As I’m throwing hay to the horses, I hear the caravan door open and close. Maybe he’ll just leave. I look expectantly at the gate. A couple of minutes later is opens and he slips in before letting it close behind him. He stands on the edge of the gravel, hands shoved in the pockets of his cargo pants. He looks apologetic. I’m sure I look wrecked. Plucking hay off my shirt and brushing off my pants, I walk over to him.
"I’m sorry," he says, "I should have driven you home this morning." My eyes are level with his chest. He’s wearing a green t-shirt that says, "the leprechauns made me do it." I’m still angry, and also really tired, "It’s fine, no big deal." I don’t bother to mention that Emma was there to pick me up, let him think I had to walk home. "There are more important things in life anyway." I look up at him looking down at me, "I just got my weeks notice."
His eyes seem to reflect that he’s genuinely sorry, and I’m reminded that everyone in Ireland has blue eyes. I look away, out over the yard to where the wheel barrow full of hay sits half empty. We stand uncomfortably silent for a while.
"Can I get you something from the shop, like a Mr. Freeze or something?" He sounds so boyish that I smile for the first time that day, maybe in two days. I can’t help it.
"No, thank you." Still smiling I stretch up and give him a smooch, awkwardly stepping on his toe. As I’m walking away, I think that he probably only wants to go to the shop so he doesn’t have to hang around and help his father. Figures... But the smile from the way he said it creeps back. "Did you get your sweatshirt," I throw over my shoulder.
"No," he says. I hear the sound of the gate opening, "I’ll get it when I’m cold." A few minutes later I hear his engine turn over and the tires roll out of the drive.
I’m tired. After I finish bedding down the horses for the night, I head back to the caravan. There on the table as I climb in is my long lost black underwear. It’s bow flung over the Cosmo, straps draped half in the ashtray. I can nearly smell the sex coming off it, an instant reminder of what actually happened last night.
Hearing Emma come in behind me, I grab it off the table and tuck it into my back pocket, turning to face her as I do so. "So, what did Paul want?" she says.
"Nothing. Just apologizing for this morning. I don’t think he really meant it though." I plop down on the couch, the panties making a tiny lump under me.
Emma moves to the kitchen and gives me a look as she fills our only pot with water to put on the boil. "He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I still can’t believe he didn’t drive me home this morning." I say, vehemently, maybe a little petulantly.
"Yeah, but," Emma, says, lighting the burner and setting the pot down, "he said he wasn’t going to last night."
"Still..." I refuse to let it go. "I’m not going to see him again anyway. I’m leaving soon and he was just someone to mess around with." I stand up and walk past Emma towards the shower. There’s nothing more to say about it, I guess.
"So you want pasta?" Emma says.
The water in the shower alternates between freezing cold and scalding. I really want to soothe some of my sore muscles, from last night as much as work today, but end up alternating between clutching the shower curtain and jumping under the stream to wash the shampoo out of my hair. Frustrated, I twist the nob off. I’m just going to go to bed.
Pasta forgotten, I shut the door to my room and grab Paul’s sweatshirt, dropping my towel. As I pull it over my head, I can smell him. It has that mix of cologne and traces of something I can only think of as pheromes. It smells good. I sigh, it’s huge on me; my hands lost in the sleeves, my bottom well covered by the hem. Climbing under the duvet, I ignore my wet hair as it makes the pillow damp behind my head, curl up into a ball, and fall asleep.
******so much more after this, and you get to see none of it yet*******