Note: There is a bit of switching amongst POV's in this chapter.
Bridgeport Eternal Rest Cemetery
Present Day
Take away the sensation inside
Bitter sweet migraine in my head
Its like a throbbing tooth ache of the mind
I can't take this feeling anymore
Branna
We knew the place as well as our own apartment.
Ricky and I were quiet as we made our way through the solemn
grounds. It was quiet, save for the occasional
chirping of birds. Sometimes it was too
quiet, the silence bearing down on us enough that it actually became like an
overwhelming noise.
Through the gates…quick left…up the hill…near the trees.
We both looked at the granite slab for a long moment, and
then I sat down next to it, as if it would bring me somehow closer to the
person buried underneath.
A fresh, gorgeous bouquet sat at the base of the grave. “Jun must have been here,” I remarked. Jun
was his wife. They had been married for less than two years. Some people would
still call that newlywed.
I pulled one leg up to my chest and rested my cheek against my knee. I just didn't understand how an entire life could be compartmentalized into a dash between dates. I know that it had been said before, hell, I'd even read a cheesy poem about it that some well-intentioned soul had sent after the funeral. But the thought that all we had done in our lives would come down to just this, just a slab of granite stuck in the ground...to call it unsettling would be an understatement.
"I hate coming here so much," I said, breaking the silence.
Ricky nodded, staring off at nothing in particular. "It's not exactly my idea of a great time either, Flaky."
One might wonder, if we hated the place so much, why did we come? Because quite frankly, we couldn't stay away. We both could feel close to him here.
"I miss him. None of this is fair." The tears welled up again. I hated them. I hated crying so much. Call it a remnant of being a youngest child, always running to keep up. I had to stay tough to hang with the big kids, so crying over every little injustice wasn't going to cut it.
But in the past year, ever since he left us, the tears came, often times unexpectedly. I could be at work, or band practice, or just sitting and watching tv and the next thing I knew the tears were streaming down like a river. And I knew it was natural, part of the process. And yet, I still felt weak, like I knew he wouldn't want me to do that.
Drain the pressure from the swelling,
This sensations overwhelming,
Give me a long kiss goodnight
and everything will be alright
Tell me that I won't feel a thing
So give me Novocaine
Ricky pulled me up off the ground and into his arms. I felt his reassuring warmth and smelled his spicy cologne and felt safe and comforted. In a way, I felt selfish too, because I knew Ricky loved him as much as I did, and was as influenced by him in many of the same ways.
"This sucks." I never said I was always eloquent.
"Yeah, that's one way of putting it. But it's reality, Flaky. We have to deal with it. We HAVE been. I wish you'd stop considering yourself weak for crying."
"I'm supposed to be tough."
"Says who?"
"Me."
"You'll forgive me if I don't accept your word as gospel, honey."
"Why did this happen?"
I asked it all the time. And the answer was always the same.
"I don't know, Flaky. I wish I did."
Kiss the demons out of my dreams
I get the funny feeling, that's alright
Jimmy says it's better than air,
I'll tell you why
I don't really know how long we stood there, letting the breeze course over us. I guess we both felt comforted by the feeling, like it was an extra set of hands providing comfort.
After a while we decided to leave. There were things to do, places to go. Life went on whether we wanted it to or not.
We both looked back at the same time, at the words around the dash on the slab. The words that made us ache every time we had to read them.
*Brendan Patrick Kavanagh
1982-2012
Beloved Son, Husband, Brother and Friend*
This sensations overwhelming,
Give me a long kiss goodnight
and everything will be alright
Tell me Jimmy I won't feel a thing
So give me Novocaine
"Let's get out of here," Ricky said, interrupting the oh-so-scintillating episode of "Real Wives of Bridgeport" that was on the tv. We weren't really in the state of mind for anything deeper than that, and playing "guess the plastic surgery" was one of our more enjoyable pastimes.
I looked up at him. "What did you have in mind? I don't think I'm in the mood for going to one of your 'special' haunts, Rick."
"Oh aren't you the little bundle of wit tonight. No, dahling, I was thinking more along the lines of drinks and a game of foosball at the Haunt."
Waylon's Haunt was a dive bar on the waterfront. Nothing much to look at, but people were friendly, they didn't water down the drinks, and there was foosball, or darts if we were feeling particularly spunky.
"You mean you're not enjoying trying to figure out whether Lola Belle has cheek implants?"
"Oh come on, that's fairly obvious. Of course she does. I just feel like today took a lot out of us and we could stand to get out, have some fun, see some people."
"Rick, I dunno..."
"Flaky, don't make me pull out the full force pout accompanied with puppy eyes."
I sighed. "Fine, let's do it."
Waylon's Haunt
Midnight-ish
She's a saint
She's salt of the earth
And she's dangerous...
We were a few beers down and in the midst of an epic foosball battle. I was up two games to one and the battle was on. Ricky's brow had furrowed in determination, you would have thought he was fighting for an Olympic medal. It was cute as hell.
"Okay, as much as I hate to admit it, you were right," I told him, while hopping back and forth attempting to get the little ball in his goal area.
"Stop trying to distract me, wench. I'm coming for you." It happened every time, turning into a fun dance between us, moving like lightning to maneuver little men skewered on metal rods. It was the same with pool, or darts. A few beers and we were trash talking like a couple of NBA players, battling for barroom supremacy.
Suddenly Ricky darted with an unexpected left, and I watched in amazement as the ball skittered into my goal.
I mock pouted. "You got lucky."
"The hell I did! I was stealth, like the ninja. You didn't have a chance in hell."
"Keep talking. Your ass belongs to me next game."
We kept jawing, not noticing anyone else in the place...at least, not at that point. That would change in fairly short order.
Vigilante
Missing link on the brink
Of destruction
Ciaran
It had been a fairly uneventful evening up until then. Finn and I doing our usual, having drinks maybe meeting some women, maybe taking them home. Well, Finn did that more so than me. Behind those Buddy Holly glasses was the soul of a true player, one that would have possibly made Hugh Hefner green with envy. He wasn't a jerk about it, which he knew I wouldn't have tolerated. If he met someone he fancied, he let them know the score straight away.
Now, while I also enjoyed the occasional company of a pretty bird, there came a point where meaningless sex got a little old. Color me a boring ass wanker, but it really wasn't what I was in the market for.
Besides, Finn tended to get enough action for the both of us. The nerdy appearance was deceiving. Women flocked to it.
"Check out the fine thing over at the foosball table," he said, nudging me in the arm. I turned away from the bar and damn near got knocked on my arse.
"Fine thing" was a fucking understatement. She was absolutely gorgeous. Pale as moonlight, with jet-black hair she'd had streaked with red. She was tall, slender, and toned, with wide eyes and full lips. In spite of her beauty, it was pretty obvious that she didn't spend a huge amount of time fussing over appearance; indeed, she was obviously stunning without even trying.
"That, my friend, is a hell of a woman right there," Finn exclaimed, breaking my reverie.
"Hands off, plonker. I'm calling dibs on this one." Finn's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Well as I live and breathe, Sister Farrell the Chaste is finally interested in a lady!"
"Fuck off."
She's the one that they
Call old whatsername
She's the symbol
of resistance
and she's holding on my
heart like a hand grenade
"So are you gonna talk to her, then?" he asked me.
"Have ya noticed she's with someone?"
Finn looked at me like I was thick in the head. "Him? Trust me, he doesn't play for our team. I can tell. What do they call it here? Gaydar? They're just friends."
I kept my eyes on her. She was laughing at something her friend had just said. It was a real laugh, not one of those silly affected giggles girls did because they thought a genuine belly laugh was somehow unladylike. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. It shone, even under the dim bar light.
"Jaysus, you wait much longer and I'm gonna have to trump your dibs, mate."
"If you'd like my fist down your throat, you go ahead and try that."
Right as she turned her back to set up their next game, a blond guy walked up to her friend. The guy was obviously piss drunk, he could barely keep upright as he wove in front of the taller man. "What makes you think you have any right to be here? Go back to one of your fag places. I don't want you here, staring at my ass."
I watched the exchange, ready to step in if need be. Turned out I didn't need to.
what I'm thinking
Is she the mother of all bombs
gonna detonate
"Who the FUCK do you think you are, talking to him like that???" The raven-haired goddess had suddenly turned avenging angel, getting directly in the drunk bastard's face, coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to spring into action if further provoked.
I know what you're thinking. I probably should have stepped in at that point. But I don't know, I just had this feeling that she could take care of herself.
"Flaky, come on, don't worry about it, I've heard worse." Man, I hoped that was a nickname and not her given name because if it were, well...I'd have to call her something else.
The drunk looked at her with a mean glint in his eye. The booze had obviously put a decent set on him. "Whatya gonna do 'bout it, bitch?"
That pretty much did it right there.
like I'm trouble
make it a double
twist of fate
or a melody that
Before even her friend could react, she had hauled off and socked the dude with a right hook the jaw. I noticed she had several rings on her hand. That had to have hurt the guy. Good.
He went down onto one knee, holding onto his jaw in pain. The fact that he was drunk was probably part of what made it so easy for her, but I had a feeling she'd probably have taken him sober too.
the dawning of our lives
she brings this liberation
that I just can't define
nothing comes to mind
Like a cheetah on a gazelle, she was on him again, this time holding his collar with one hand while she pounded his face with the fist of her other. Her friend had given up trying to stop her; she obviously had a temper he'd dealt with before. I didn't want to be prone to stereotyping but...had to be an Irish girl.
Still, it was getting out of hand. The guy's face was becoming a bloody mess, with his nose and mouth both oozing, and he was probably going to have a hell of a black eye in the morning. He was barely even conscious.
Yeah, enough was enough. I looked at Finn and he looked at me.
"You're going in, aren't you?" he asked, pretty much already knowing the answer.
"Yep."
You want to know the one sure-fire way to send me into a blind rage?
Hurt someone I love.
When I heard that guy call Ricky a fag, I didn't even think. I just acted. I suppose it was Pavlovian in a sense. Ricky has occasionally called me his "personal Rottweiler" because of it. Yeah, this guy was blind drunk, but I didn't care. You don't talk to my best friend that way, ever. And then decide to gather up those hairy chestnuts you call balls and call me a bitch?
Yeah. You're done.
I could tell he was losing consciousness, and I could see the blood on my knuckles. I could hear Ricky weakly protesting, because he knew better than to try to intervene directly.
The next thing I knew, a guy came up to me, grabbed me around the waist, and slung me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes or something. The drunk slipped out of my grasp and hit the floor with a thud.
"Hey...HEY! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Put me down!" I screeched and kicked like a little kid, but he had a good grip, striding determinedly towards the door.
His reply was calm. "When I get you outside. You can eat the head off then."
I was startled. His accent made me think of my parents and my Gran. They all sounded like him. "Eat the head off" was the Irish way of describing being yelled at.
If I hadn't been so pissed off, I'd have been a lot more curious.
"Let me go!"
"I won't be doin' that until ya calm yourself."
"I can take care of myself! I didn't need to be rescued!"
He laughed heartily at that one, and I studied him as he did. He had auburn hair that was styled like Liam Neeson in "The Phantom Menace," which was pretty much the only good thing about that shitty movie. His eyes were hazel and he had a sprinkling of freckles across his nose. An elaborate tattoo peeked out from the edge of his v-necked white t-shirt. For some reason I thought about tracing it with my fingers.
"It wasn't YOU I was worried about. You were about to kill that poor bastard in there."
"That 'poor bastard' made a homophobic slur toward my best friend!"
"And you made him pay for it, obviously." He continued to hold onto my arms. "C'mon now, you're too pretty to go to jail."
"DON'T patronize me!"
Her eyes reminded me of home. It seemed only the purest Irish girls had those eyes, combined with the hair and skin. Commonly known as "black Irish" it always served to make me red-faced and tongue-tied. I couldn't do that here, though. I had to find a way to calm that temper that was now being pointed in my direction like a blowtorch.
"I'm not trying to." I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. "I just want to you to realize that that eejit is fuckin' hammered, he's probably not even gonna remember what he said, but he'll know something happened when he sees his face, I can tell you that much."
She stopped struggling so hard, but she was still angry. "He called Ricky a fag." she said indignantly.
"Not sayin' he's not a wanker, but he's pretty much out like a light now, would be pretty pointless to go in and continue beating on him, don't ya think?"
The fight seemed to leave her then, and she sagged against the wall. Bit by bit I loosened my grip on her arms until I let go. It was kind of reluctantly, if I'm to be honest. I liked touching her.
She sighed and looked up at me. "You're from Galway, aren't you?"
I smiled, surprised. "How'd you know?"
"My Gran is from there. Well, my mom too, obviously. You sound like them. My dad's from Cork."
"Well, I'll forgive him that." In Ireland, our version of hillbillies are folks from Cork. It's more of a playful thing than an actual intolerance. They are funny to listen to when they're piss drunk, though.
She laughed. "Mom and Gran tease him about it too."
"I'm Ciaran," I said, holding out my hand to her. She took it.
"Branna"
"Ah...'beauty with hair as dark as a raven.' Seems your parents made an accurate choice when naming you, Branna."
"You're quite well-versed on Irish names, sir," she said with a bit of cheek.
"I do my best."
"I'm fine, Ciaran here calmed me down." she told him. Hearing her say that kind of gave me a bit of butterflies. I don't know exactly why.
"Well then I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude, man. I can't calm her down even when she's not throwing punches." He turned to Branna then. "Oh, me and Finn here dragged your victim out the back and put him in a cab. You owe me twenty bucks."
"You would ask me for cash, you shithead, considering you make three times what I do."
"I gotta be me."
She shook her head at him as if he were an incorrigible child. "This is Ciaran, by the way." I shook his hand.
"I'm Richard Hades."
"You write for the Times, don't you?"
"Yeah, among other things."
I looked at Branna. "You guys have a band?"
She shrugged and gave a bit of a half-grin. "Yeah, mostly cover band. We call ourselves Under the Radar. We play around town a bit."
"Ricky invited us back to their apartment to look at their setup!" Finn exclaimed, as excited as if a redheaded Suicide Girl with 36 double D's had given him her phone number.
"Oh he did, did he?" Branna said with raised eyebrows, giving me the vibe he was the social butterfly of the two.
"Well, we can make it another time if it's late for you." I told her, rather reluctantly.
She smiled her full smile at me, the one I'd seen her give to Ricky earlier in the night. It made me feel like the only guy in the place.
Song: "Give Me Novocaine/She's a Rebel" by Green Day
Edit: I need to thank the lovely Stacey, aka klauseconfessions on Tumblr, for her kindness in allowing me to use one of her gawjus Sims to play the role of Ciaran. You rock, bb!
