Anna #2
There was one short week with the father of a holidaying family from Leitrim.
I thought that I would have to fight myself not to fall for him.
That I would want so much more than a week, and that when it was over I would think of him all the time; that I’d be crying into my pillow, trying to feel the last of him on my lips.
But in the end, a week of being pressed up against him was more than enough.
Besides the very odd occasion that somebody mentions Leitrim, I don’t think of him at all.
That was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a relationship – what do you make of that?
I couldn’t really count the afternoon with the man whose name I can’t recall in Cork city.
Or the scattered winter nights I shared with Niall Schumaker, an unmarried schoolteacher in Fernmore. He was good to me, he really liked me. I could tell. But there was more passion in five minutes of conversation with Milly Hayes. More love in just the suggestion of your smile. Imagine. Pathetic.
I don’t remember these affairs often, or with any particular fondness. They were exciting when they were happening, but as soon as each one ended I was just embarrassed.
Just things that happened, void of romance. Void of meaning. I try to convince myself that I used those men in the same way that they used me. I wouldn’t want Betty to know that I had so little regard for my virginity that I threw it at the first man that came my way.
It’s too much for me to think about, and so I know it would be too much to tell her. Instead I wait for myself to reveal another new opinion.
‘There’s nothing wrong with being somebody’s wife. I think I just want to try being independent, that’s all.’
It sounds like an impressive, forward-thinking idea; at the very least, it smooths over my mistake.
So I commit to it, even when, really, independence is the very last thing that I want.
What I actually want is for somebody to hold on to me so tightly that we become one thing, never separating.
To be married with children tying me to somebody.
To have a sister, the bond of blood keeping us together.
To have anything more than meaningless sex and adulterated friendships.
‘You could have independence, Anna. Of course you could.’
How quickly and easily she validates me.
That’s what it is. I realise now, Betty validates me.
She makes me feel like a person. That’s why I want to be around her so badly.
She sees me as new, without my siblings and without my past, and makes me feel like I am my own clean thing.
My own woman. That perhaps I don’t need to lean on my brothers so much.
Perhaps they don’t define me. Perhaps my past doesn’t need to follow me.
Exhilarating. Betty could show me how to leave everything that happened behind me.
How to close the door on it and start living a new life.
‘But I’m glad to hear you’ve no intention of immigrating. It’s nice to have a new family in the town. The young people are always leaving, it’s good to have a few coming in for a change.’
Betty could be the person I’ve been looking for.
Somebody with patience for me. Somebody worth my patience.
Who could give me more than a few scattered nights, more than a week of her time.
Who might want to stay in my life, always.
Don’t you think that I deserve that? Suddenly I want to hug her, to have her wrapped around me.
So tightly that I would melt into her skin, and stay warm inside her for a while.
‘Would you ask your small girl to call up to me after school on Monday? I want her to make a few Brigid’s Crosses for me. ’Tis a way easier for little nimble fingers.’
I nod, in awe. What a good woman. Taking my worry off me. Taking my responsibility off me.
Leaving her house, I feel a foot taller than everybody. Ready to enjoy myself, to be a new person.
And I think of her hair caught on the grass. If she ever does that again, I will catch the hair and keep it in my pocket.
The sky is darkening as Tom and I go.
‘Would you ever immigrate, Tom?’
When I ask, he rolls his eyes. But he surprises me with an honest answer.
‘I used to think of it often. New York. Boston. Philadelphia. Those kinds of places. The big wide skies and the skyscrapers.’
He looks up at the sky. It’s years since he talked about leaving Ireland. I thought he had it all forgotten. But perhaps it’s lingering inside him. I didn’t expect this.
‘Wouldn’t you feel lost, so far from home?’
I would feel lost without him. Tom is one of the great weights in my life. He keeps me on the ground. I can’t believe the idea is still in his head.
‘I would. Absolutely.’
He smiles. I can’t understand why that would make him smile. The idea of being one little Irishman among a million Irishmen among millions of Americans. Such startling insignificance.
We come into the warmth of the house. Tom blesses himself.
Jack is nudging the fire back to life, telling a fairy story of some sort to Peggy.
I realise now that he must be the one who taught her ‘Weila Waile’.
I suppose he thought that was funny. I suppose he didn’t consider how it would reflect on me.
I think sometimes we have to remind ourselves that Peggy is a person, not a pastime.