A bit more of the beginning...

Immediately following yesterday's post:

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Now again...if truth is to be told, while I loved the idea of escaping Houston, I did not want to return to Derry. It's a city of ghosts, to me. Some of whom I had known. Some of whom were still living. But familial duty has its demands, and despite what people have said against the once-was-me, I honor my duties.

Once in Glasgow, I'd shift to a short-hopper to Derry’s Airport on Logan Air. It was faster than American Express had come up with, but was not as cheap. Still, from the moment I'd heard of Ma’s cancer I'd focused on 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. So it was settled. 

When I’d revealed my planned date of departure, Uncle Sean had offered to buy the ticket. Which grated on me. 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, so he knew full well I wanted nothing from him. And I knew full well he was glad to be quit of me. 

But he had stupidly made the offer in front of my Aunt Mari, certain I would refuse. Instead, just to be difficult, I’d politely thanked him, told him I’d bought the ticket, already, shown him my receipt for the cost, and then sweetly added I’d be happy reimbursement. In cash, as I had no bank account. He had grown tense and angry, but he was caught...and the next day I had the money, also done very deliberately in front of Aunt Mari. 

Perhaps I should have fought him, openly, or argued with him or condemned him. Revealed him to be the conniving, vicious bastard he truly was. But a threat he’d made against my younger brother held me back. And now he was not even worthy of my contempt, so the point would be moot. 

It’s funny. As hard as my Da had been with his fists and words, not once could I could think of a time where he'd threatened harm to any but Ma, Eamonn, or myself. And even then, it was only when he was in his cups, caught in a sickness and secrets that made him desperate, at times. As a child, I’d never thought his actions honorable in any way. Just brutal and cruel. 

But in comparison to my uncle's, they were almost forgivable. For that man had no honest excuse for what he’d done. 

Aunt Mari had noticed our childish game, of course, for little escaped her sharp eyes, but she had just returned from her own trip over and feeling the jet-lag from it, so had said not a word. Not once. I did not blame her for that. 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, as if I were carryin' guns or drugs." 

"Or cash," said Uncle Sean, sneering at me. 

She cast a glare at him, saying, "That they found in my purse, and didn't they make an issue of it?" She was nearly shaking with anger. "Naught but two-thousand pounds, and that only to help me one sister have a decent wake and burial." 

"It’s good you had an American passport," I said. 

Aunt Mari nodded. "Those with Irish or British passports did have 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 burst through the door--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. 

I went out to have a smoke by the pool, and count the minutes until I could leave. 

Aunt Mari had been there when Bobby Sands began his hunger strike, so had seen the demonstrations and heard about the deaths. And the brutality. And the stupidity of those in power thinking batons and rubber bullets would put the stupid taigs in their place. All of which she told me, in full, during one of her midnight smokes and beers.

I had much to look forward to.

As for the confrontations between her husband and myself, how much she knew was of no matter. It was she wed to him, not I. It was just to my sorrow she had chosen husband over blood.