----
Now if truth is to be told, I did not want to return to Derry. It's a city of ghosts, to me. Some of whom I had known. But familial duty has its demands, and despite what people have said against the once-was-me, I honor my duties. So here I am, about to leave a city I had never chosen to be in, or ever really existed in, though I had.
I was set to fly out of Intercontinental on to Glasgow, where I'd shift to a short-hopper to Derry’s Airport on Logan Air. It was neither fast nor easy nor cheap, but from the moment I'd heard of Ma’s cancer I'd been saving harder than usual, so had well-over enough to cover it. I was even assured I could catch some sleep on the long haul across the water, if I wanted.
When I’d revealed my date of departure, Uncle Sean had offered to pay the ticket, he was so glad to be quit of me. Which grated on me, for he knew full well I wanted nothing from him. In the more than four years since my sister, Mairead's visit, I'd found any polite excuse I could to leave when he entered the room. Aunt Mari had noticed, for little escaped her sharp eyes, but had said not a word. Not once. How much she knew of the confrontations between him and me didn't matter. It was she wed to him, not I...and to my sorrow, she had chosen husband over blood.
Perhaps I should have fought him, openly, or argued with him or condemned him. Revealed him as the cold, vicious bastard he truly was. But his threat against my younger brother made me hold back. Now, in my eyes, he was not even worthy of my contempt. For as hard as my Da had been with his fists and words, not once could I could think of a time he'd ever threatened harm to any but Ma, Eamonn, or myself...or to those who had caused him immediate irritation, in a pub. And even then, it was only when he was in his cups, caught in a sickness and secrets that made him desperate, at times.
At one time, I would never have thought his actions honorable in any way. Now, in comparison to my uncle's...they almost were. For this man had no honest excuse for what he’d done. That’s why I turned down his offer, and he’d snickered I was independent to a fault. The first time he'd said that, so many years ago, I'd thought he meant it gentle. Even at the ripe old age of seventeen I'd wanted to be my own person. Beholden as little as possible to anyone else, and never mind what I had just been through. It was my childish way of reasserting myself. Him repeating it now meant only that he had learned nothing about me.
Aunt Mari had said nothing, having just returned from her own trip over and now feeling the jet-lag from it. She had gone through Shannon and taken a bus the back way up, and it had been quite the chore.
"No trouble through Letterkenny," she'd said. "Oh, but the moment we reached the border. My little suitcase was rifled through as if I were carryin' guns or drugs."
"Or cash," said Uncle Sean, smiling.
"That they found in my purse, and didn't they make an issue of it?" she'd huffed, nearly shaking with anger. "Naught but two-thousand pounds, and that only to help me one sister have a decent wake and burial."
"You're lucky you had an American passport," I said.
Aunt Mari nodded. "Yes, those with Irish or British passports had it worse. Some men were physically searched. And the words used on the women! It would shame Judas. What do the British think they're achievin' with this sort of nonsense?"
"Just reminding the little people of who once ruled the world," I chuckled. "They haven't the strength to admit they're nothing more than a tiny island of little significance."
"They're more important than you let on," said Uncle Sean.
"Aren't we all unto ourselves?" I smiled back at him.
"Even with Thatcher runnin' things, now?"
"Just more proof to my point."
He was about to growl at me, but that was when the B-girls had arrived home, Brandi from Rice University and Bernadette from her last year of high school. Seeing their mother returned, they had instantly begun their interrogation of her, so Uncle Sean had simply cast me a glare then carried her bag upstairs as I went out to sit by the pool and have a smoke. Calm the anger within myself.
The fact I would soon be gone from this place is all that cept me calm, these days.
I cashed all my savings into pounds, at American Express, finished all my projects and took no more on, despite some very tempting ones. Those I could not sell I donated to Goodwill, who were quite appreciative. Elliott let me use the Chrysler to do my carrying. It still amazes me how large the trunk is.
Now it was the day before I was to leave. It was the same attic space I'd been in when I first came back from my catatonia. Unchanged. The gable windows still looked down on a pool and back yard that in need of tending. And would still need, long I'd left. The pool house was just as reclusive. Poor old Angus was lounging in the shade of the trees. Aunt Mari’s new Aires wagon was sitting where that old Volvo once was, but that was the only difference. It was as if the back yard had frozen time, and could be disconcerting were my mind wandering.
I was packing the last of my things into my duffel bag when I heard someone coming up the stairs...pause for a bit...then knock. The heavy tread told me it was Aunt Mari so I said, "It's your house. Come on in."
She entered my room, her face caught in uncertainty. The month she’d stayed with Ma had been hard on her. In the two weeks since her return, she'd been more quiet than usual and would sometimes let her mind wander while fixing a meal or rinsing a dish for the washer. Then after a moment she'd snap back. If I was around, in any way, she'd cast me a near glance, huff at herself and continue on.
At night, she had taken to having more than one beer and, if the weather wasn't too chill or raining, she'd now sit at a table by the pool and smoke a cigarette. She'd shifted to Virginia Slims menthol, as they were milder than the Kools. On those nights, I sometimes caught her looking up at my window, as if trying to decide to come talk to me like she had before she went over, but she never did. So far as I knew, she never spoke with anyone about anything that might be troubling her. Just sat and drank and smoked, for an hour, then went inside. So her entering, this time, was something of a surprise.
"Just checkin' to make sure ya got all ya need for the journey," she said, almost apologetic, her brogue more in evidence. She noticed the passport for the me who was not me. I'd deliberately left out for any and all to see. She also saw my pound notes; the rest was in traveler's checks stuffed in a couple pairs of socks, in my backpack. Not the safest method of transport, but not easily noticed.
"Ya...um, ya changed yer look," she finally mentioned.
I'd had my hair cut close and asked Everett to put in some reddish highlights. "The less I look as I once did, the better," I replied.
"But, Bren..." she said, her voice still uncertain. "Is that really a concern, now?"
"You mean, don't they think me dead?"
"No! No. It's only...well...surely they aren't still on about the...the..."
The silence and blinding white swirled around me until that leg was twisting and twirling in the air as it whispered down to land before me and blood splattered me and--
I froze, my mind a blank. That memory hadn't cut at me in so long. I had a pair of socks in hand, and my duffel open before me but had no idea what I was doing. I took in a deep breath and deliberately made myself think--
You've got socks in your hand and your bag half full, so you’re packing, Brendan. Isn't that right? Packing. Keep at it.
Which I did.
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