Merrick

‘Thank you for the lovely roses.’

Shona said.

We were in at the restaurant in Central Park, enjoying late Winter sun, I was a-glow, as

we’d made love the evening before and Jesus Wept, it was brilliant.

Roses, the fook do I know from roses, asked

‘What?’

‘This morning, after you left, I was lying in bed, replaying…………um………you know,

stuff……

Gave a wicked smile

………….’And the flowers came, with a note, signed, ADB, I thought you’d tell me what

it stood for?’

I said

‘Wasn’t me alanna.’

Alanna…………what is that?’

I was trying to figure out the initials, stopped said

‘Alanna, it’s a term of deep endearment back home.’

Her smile was something to memorize, she asked

‘And is it, deep?’

We’d finished brunch and I was waiting for the cheque, only Americans could come up

with a full meal betwixt break fast and lunch. I said

‘Oh yeah,’

Meant it.

But she was a woman and what do they do?

Probe

Question

Push

She did

With

‘Why do you still wear your wedding band?’

Holy fook, you have a moment, intimate almost and a woman, she’d dissect it to frigging

death, till it loses all of it’s original meaning. I had already told her about the Cladding

wedding ring, the two hearts and how the really old one’s had a gold ring welded to the

original heart N’ Hand ring.

I said

‘The ring was my mother’s, passed down from nigh three generations of Claddagh

women.’

She liked it.

Took my hand, then using her left one, she slid the colored wrist band she always wore,

slipped it onto my wrist, said

‘Comanche.’

From fooking urban cowboy to Indian, you go to guess, God is taking the piss.

I said

‘Gur a mhile maith agat.’

Before she could ask, I added

‘Thank you in Irish.’

She liked it, a lot, asked

‘You want to hear some Comanche?’

I said

‘Weren’t those shrieks last night, a war cry?’

And she was about to be offended, but went with a lush vibrant laughter then nearly

marred it with

‘You have cop eyes.’

It was open air so I could smoke and simmer.

Lit a Lucky, exhaled slowly and she said

‘I’ve offended you.’

She had.

But what the fook, I lied, said

‘Just I don’t know what that shite means?’

She was still holding my hand, her band on my wrist catching the late evening sundown,

casting shadows that suddenly seemed ominous or maybe I just needed a Jameson, fast.

She squeezed my hand, said

‘Ryan, everything is not a threat, I meant, you are always vigilant, checking out every

exit, watching every person’s move.’

I tried to ease down a notch, said

‘Is bronach an athas ar fad.’

She looked at me so I translated

‘Happiness is my deepest sorrow.’

Might not always make sense but it was always, for me, true, more’s the fookin Irish-ed

pity.

She had called it right on one thing, I was afraid, afraid of the one thing I truly didn’t want

……………..to fall in love.