copyright©2025
Jack, Pete, and I set off for a night out at a disco in Kilkenny. Jack drove his battered old car, the creaking doors barely hanging on as if holding memories in place. Along the way, we sang at the top of our lungs, tossed jokes back and forth, and reveled in reckless joy. Jack weaved wildly through traffic, swerving without a care, and though I shouted warnings, half terrified we’d crash, the night buzzed with laughter and reckless freedom. Miraculously, we arrived unscathed.
The rowdy pulse of the disco left me dizzy, and I guess Jack sensed it. Without a word, he reached out and took my hand—just like that. The weight of his grip was unfamiliar, possessive in a way that surprised me. Usually, he shied away from any touch in public, so this quiet claim spun my head in disbelief.
The three of us made our way to the dance floor. Watching Jack dance was like witnessing a bear lumbering inside a tank—clumsy and awkward, yet strangely endearing. I couldn’t stop laughing. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled me close during a slow song and kissed me. I didn’t resist. For once, he was letting his guard down, and in that moment, hope stirred quietly in my chest. Pete, however, seemed less amused. Later, at the bar, he offered me a drink.
“No thanks,” I said with a sly smile. “Jack’s probably ordered something for me already.”
Pete shrugged. “What you two have is just passion. It’ll fade. Won’t last.”
His words were meant to sting, but they barely grazed me. That night, Jack and I shared something real—no one could convince me otherwise.
Weeks later, Jack called to say he might miss our meeting. He was stuck in Waterford, caught up in something urgent. So, I canceled my plans and arranged to go with Paddy instead—he wanted to register me and Marketa at the local social insurance office. Supposedly a quick ten-minute errand.
As we drove through Bagenalstown, Paddy suddenly glanced back with a mischievous grin.
“Didn’t you say Jack was in Waterford?” he asked.
“Yeah… why?” I replied, confused.
“Well, he just sped past us,” Paddy said casually.
I spun around in disbelief. Jack’s car was already gone. Paddy rambled about having a plan, but I said nothing.
When we arrived at Paddy’s place, Jack called. I didn’t want to answer—I was furious. There was no way he could’ve traveled from Waterford, an hour away, in five minutes.
I held the phone, torn.
“Give it here,” Paddy said with a sly smile, pride shining in his eyes as he took the call.
“Hello?” he answered smoothly, while I bit my lip nervously.
"Wait, she just went to the bathroom,” Paddy exclaimed, playing along with the act.
“Teri… phone for you,” he said, his voice dripping with mock innocence as he pretended to be my lover, then he put the receiver back to his ear, where Jack was clearly speaking to him in a low, urgent tone, their brief exchange barely audible but filled with unspoken tension.
“Okay, I’ll tell her,” Paddy said, hanging up.
“I guarantee he’ll be at your place in just a few minutes!” he said with a wide grin that lit up his face.
I shot him a tired, annoyed glance. “Thanks,” I muttered sharply, exhaustion and frustration threading through my voice. “So, what exactly did he say?”
“Not much. Especially when I said you were in the bathroom,” Paddy laughed.
Cruel? Perhaps. But he understood perfectly well why he acted the way he did.
Minutes later, we arrived at our apartment. No sooner had I stepped out of the car than I noticed Jack sitting inside his, a deep scowl etched across his face. Without hesitation, I crossed over and leaned into his open window.
“Hey,” I said, feigning innocence, “what are you doing here?”
He said nothing. Instead, Jack climbed out and strode directly toward my apartment. I followed quietly behind him. Once we were out of sight from the street, he finally broke the silence.
“Who was that man on the phone?” His voice was sharp, cold, as though expecting me to crumble under the weight of his suspicion.
But I only laughed—a sudden, uncontrollable burst of relief and disbelief.
“You’re such an idiot,” I smiled, unable to hide my amusement.
Jack’s confusion deepened.
“That was Paddy,” I explained, “He took my phone and pretended to be my lover, just to catch you out.”
He stood there, arms crossed, staring at me as if I was spinning an elaborate lie.
“That wasn’t Paddy,” he said suddenly, his tone low and certain.
“What do you mean?” I snapped, throat dry and voice tinged with frustration. “Who else could it be? Didn’t you recognize his voice?” Even a child would have known.
But stubbornness won out. Eventually, he dropped the subject—the falsehood about Waterford was never mentioned again.
Over time, I made friends among the locals. One was Joy—bright-eyed and lively, a bit wild, with a striking Grace Jones haircut and a laugh that was utterly contagious. People were drawn to her vibrant energy. Her friend Camilla was quieter, more reserved, often keeping to herself in social situations and observing rather than engaging actively. As for me, I met up with the two of them occasionally at Phelans for a drink, usually about once a month. By coincidence, Joy was Mike’s sister, and Mike happened to be a close friend of Jack’s.
One dusky evening, the four of us—Joy, Camilla, Jonathan, and I—resolved to escape the humdrum and share a picnic by the river’s edge. I brought along some leftover roast chicken from work, a humble offering; the girls contributed chilled beers pilfered from Phelans. Beneath the sprawling canopy of whispering trees, we laid out our modest feast and surrendered ourselves to quiet indulgence.
Public drinking was outlawed in Ireland, a shadow lurking over our small rebellion, so we cast furtive glances toward the road, wary of any approaching siren’s wail. We sang softly, traded jokes, and rolled blissfully in the cool grass—a fleeting revolt against the suffocating rules that sought to bind us.
Then, like a ripple disturbing still water, a car eased to a stop nearby. Gary emerged—I knew him instantly, a familiar face amidst the dimming light. He was not alone; others spilled out, returning from a disco in Carlow. My eyes were about to wander away when, to my dismay, Jack clambered out of the vehicle as well.
A knot of anguish twisted deep within my stomach.
Why was he with them? Why hadn’t he told me? How many nights had he slipped away with Gary while I waited at home, heart clenched with dread? Every weekend, perhaps?
His presence there was a bitter draught, choking and raw. Worse still, he carried on as though I were but a ghost, invisible and inconsequential.
He slipped back into the car, Gary explaining their need to ferry the others home. I remained motionless, tears blurring the world into a haze as the headlights disappeared into the ink-black night. The girls laughed on, but all appetite for life drained from me. All I wanted was to fold myself beneath a blanket and vanish from the world.
Life with Jack was like navigating a tempestuous waterslide—one moment scaling the heights of Everest, triumphant and breathless; the next, lost amid a barren desert, parched for a single drop of solace. My thoughts spun relentlessly—I teetered on the precipice. To understand Jack, to fathom the depths of his feelings, was to dive headfirst into a black hole—an abyss with no return.
I was forced to let life flow around me, to feign indifference. But apathy eluded me. Was I merely a plaything in his lonely hours? I wondered. When I tried to reach out, he seemed to listen, sometimes truly hear me. Yet nothing ever shifted.
“It hurts,” I confessed one evening, my voice heavy with sorrow, “when one day you hold me as if I am your entire universe, and the next, you treat me like a shadow, unseen and forgotten.”
He took my shoulders with a gentleness that belied the turmoil within, pulling me close, searching my eyes—yet all I saw was my own reflection staring back, hollow and uncertain.
“Teri,” he whispered, “I’ve told you how it is. I know it’s hard. Sometimes I am cruel—like a shark circling its prey. But it’s because of what I’ve been through. I would never want to hurt you. That pain is etched deep in me. Please… be patient.”
His words hung between us, fragile as a confession whispered atop Everest’s peak—or whispered from the depths of a black hole, from which there was no escape.
copyright©2025
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