CC 95: Seamonsters

‘What’s that?’ I asked.

‘It’s just the dog from the house up the road,’ said Francie.  ‘You’ll get him running about howling in the night sometimes.  They sleep like babies up there, so they let him run around whenever he wants.  He’ll let up soon enough.’ 

The bottle of Heineken had strayed from my hand without my knowing, and it was slumped dead and empty on my lap, my ballsack soaked with the remaining beer.  The wetness triggered some practically lucid feeling.  I seemed to have found the floor again.  Wherever I had floated off to didn’t matter now as I’d come back to the place I knew.  I could feel my heels touching the carpet, and the spasms and itches had left, but a kind of somatic delicacy remained to remind me that I’d burdened myself with intoxicants.  The others seemed to have returned from a faraway place too; some appeared to have been fulfilled by the journey and were all set to show us the photos they’d taken, but others looked shaken as though it had been an alarming expedition, something only worth writing home to complain about.  Paidi was caressing Emer’s hair while she just looked straight ahead in a trance.  I wondered about where she had been, what she had seen. 

‘Where did you go?’ Francie asked me.

‘I just stayed here,’ I said.  ‘Didn’t go anywhere.’

And it was true.  The notion of floating off had simply taken our fancies in the loaded ludicrous rush of it all.  Now that the floor was beneath me again, I returned to where the wool hadn’t been pulled, and realised I hadn’t gone anywhere at all.  None of us had.  We were dwelling in our heads as always, and there was no leaving that place, black milk or not.  We’d just been exploring the streets and buildings and parks and people of our native headspaces, walking mistakenly-remembered lanes, and stumbling into rooms through elder doorways of our lives to find things we forgot we put there ourselves.  Yes, I could feel the floor again.  I certainly could. 

I saw Geary leaning in closer to Emer, and heard him say, ‘I was just talking to Pascal, and I was saying that it’s so great yous’ve managed to be cool with each other tonight, all things considered.’

‘Thanks,’ she replied, but there was something tense and constrained in how she did so.  She looked like one of those porcelain dolls, silent and lifeless, sitting there as Paidi’s slimy fingers fondled her golden hair.

Bastard Geary.  What was he doing?  Was he so fucked up he couldn’t see reason, or was he just a senseless buck regardless, or was he being more insidious here, pernicious, up to no good?  He should have known better than to say any more on the matter, but that was overestimating Geary’s grasp of subtleties in the universe. 

‘I admire that,’ he continued. 

‘What are you talking about?’ Paidi dialled in, his eyes closed, awake somehow, but not.

‘I was telling Emer that I admire the way her and Pascal are getting on with things tonight.  What with their whole situation.  It’s pretty cool.’

‘Yeah, that’s cool,’ said Paidi.  ‘You two are cool.’

‘Fuck, I forgot all about that,’ came Serena.  ‘Jesus, you’re taking it well, hey.’

‘They are, they are,’ said Geary.

‘I’d be on the warpath now if it was me,’ continued Serena. ‘How long since you two split anyway?’

‘Nearly a year,’ I said.

’Ten months,’ said Emer.

‘Oooh, harsh.  Not so long, that is.  Jesus, maybe we shouldn’t be talking about it.’

‘Yeah, leave it,’ said Francie.  ‘They’re a ship-shape pair, these two.  Champions of the banal.  They don’t need us rabbiting on about it.  They’re doing well.  Look, they just had their black milk.’

‘What do ya mean by banal?  That’s out of line now, Francie.’

‘I mean that Emer and Pascal here have beaten the system, ripped through the divine balls and chains of the self-righteous, that forever bind and derange the poor assholes in this country.’

‘Yes,’ added Geary.  ‘It’s like an act of revolution.  Fuck the rings and the speeches.  Marriage is for tools.’

‘Ah, it’s not that bad,’ said Paidi, sleepily.  ‘Most of us fall into it at some time or another.’

‘Look at him,’ laughed Serena.  ‘He’ll be marrying ya next, Emer, if you’re not careful.’ 

The whole thing was beginning to get on my fucking nerves.  Maybe Emer too, but I couldn’t tell as she still looked off her head, not with it.  The only person who didn’t pipe up was Jane.  I figured she was the only one with any cop on anyway. 

‘I won’t be walking down the aisle any time soon,’ said Serena.  ‘Too many shackles come with that.’

‘Bullshit,’ responded Francie.  ‘If I asked you to marry me right now, you’d say Yes in a flash.’

‘No, I wouldn’t.’

‘Fuckin’ bet you would.’

‘How much?’

‘Hypothetical.  The point is you’d jump at the chance to get married if it was offered to ya.’

‘Maybe if it was Colin Farrell or someone.  Certainly not the likes of you.’

‘Fair enough, but you’d still do it.  Shackles, me arse.’

I looked over at Emer again and saw that she was still staring into the unknown, and not a word any of them was saying registered with her. 

I nodded along with the conversation until finally I thought, well, enough is enough, and I took Geary by the ear, and whispered, ‘Geary, could we bring this talk down a notch, eh?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, just the whole me and Emer thing.’

‘Oh, sorry, man.  Yeah, I didn’t think you’d be bothered.  I mean, that’s what we’re talking about.  The fact that yous are not that bothered about it.’

‘Yes, I understand, but we might end up bothered about it.’

‘Really?  Oh.  I didn’t think.’

‘Yeah, well, you keep going on about it.’

‘Right.  Okay.  We should stop?’

‘Yes.’

‘No problem.  Don’t get up in arms.  I thought you were fine about it.  I was wrong obviously.’

‘I’m not getting up in arms, but you haven’t stopped going on about it, so whatever being-fine-about-it feelings were there are starting to give way a little bit, if you know what I mean.’

‘Fine, man.  It’s all just blab, you know.  I’ll keep my trap shut in the future.  Don’t get your knickers in a twist now.’

A thing of rage started rising up from the deep of me, like a grotesque seamonster hidden for years in the dark poisoned Irish Sea, now determined to publish the anger of those unfortunate waters, and it urged me to stand up, though difficult it was to do so, and declare, ‘No more, I’m out of here.’

‘What’s up?’

‘I’m going to head.  Can’t hang around any longer.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m just not in the mood.’

‘Jesus, Pascal,’ said Geary.  ‘What’re you getting all thick about?’

‘I’m not getting thick, okay, Geary,’ I shouted.  ‘I just want to go home.’

‘Take it easy,’ said Francie.

‘Get over yourself, will you,’ said Geary.  ‘You don’t have to get so dramatic.’

‘Fuck off, Geary, okay, I’m out of here.’

‘You were always like this.  Even at school.  You’d cry at anything.’

‘No need for that,’ said Jane. 

‘Yeah, calm down, the pair of ye.’

‘I’ll tell you what, Geary,’ I yelled.  ‘You’re a fuckin’ idiot.  I told you not to push this, and you went ahead, and did it.  It’s like you fucking wanted to get a rise out of me.’

‘Hey, fuck off, Pascal, right,’ shouted Geary, standing up also.  ‘Nothing much has changed with you, you know.  You’re a fucking cryer.’ 

I moved towards the door, but had to squeeze past Geary, as the coffee-table was in the way.  The squeeze led to some aggressive shoving between both of us, and the others continued the call for calm.  After he pushed my shoulder in a threatening style, I completely blew the roof like never before in my history of blowing roofs off, and I’d blown a few off in my time, and it had never done me any favours, but I did it anyway.  I pulled my arm back to launch something at him.  If indeed there was something there to launch.  I’d never been the best one for throwing a punch.  Those times in the past when I had thrown one, it had either missed its target, or landed to little effect, just weak and awkward.  This one did as previous punches did by not doing much at all.  A fist was formed, but it had none of the normal characteristics one would attribute to formed fists.  All dressed up with nowhere to go.