The weekend

I meet James on Monday night as usual. Mondays are the worst, the day unfolds tediously , teaching first years ,wondering how they’ve managed to make it so far. The pub is slowly filling in and there I am at a corner booth on the low,padded bench watching the perfect white creamy froth topping the coffee-like brew . James is late again but today , it doesn’t matter. I clench my fist under the table as I make out his figure making his way through the throng of patrons patiently waiting to get the favors of one of the bartenders. He is still sweaty from training and carries his sport bag in one hand as if it was filled with feathers. Stuffed inside are his cleats, shin guards, the suit and shoes he wore today. He gives me a cheerful smile as he crouches down on the low stool in front of me.

“Sorry Pal, late as always. How was the weekend?”

The weekend. After a long confinement, this word , this stretch of time had been eagerly looked forward to by everyone everywhere in the country. All those plans, all those imagined and shared moments that people had hankered for over telephone or computer conversations had eventually materialized. No more drinks shared around a lonely screen, no more looking out the window counting days, hours ,then minutes. This was it, along with the pleasing prospects of resuming the Monday evening pint with James.

We had talked about it for so long and so, on Friday evening, I had circled the M-50 to reach the M-11 along the coast southward passing Enniscorthy and taking a by-road to reach my parents’ cottage in Curracloe. What had been almost a ruin ten years before, had been turned into a peaceful haven. I stepped out of the car and felt the warm breeze of May blowing the salty air from the nearby sea. I pushed the creaking gate open and parked my car next to the woodshed leaving plenty of space for Denise and Damian. The thatched roof gleamed orange under the setting sun. Shadows stretched long and thin on the white walls. The red kissing gate stood invitingly , begging me to be opened as if it too, had been biding its time in the loneliness of the rainy wintry days to finally meet with me.

I did not know which room to choose. I decided that Denise would sleep in my parent’s bedroom. Damian would enjoy the comfort of my single-bed bedroom while I’ll be crashing on the couch. I didn’t mind it, we had planned on drinking anyways. I fetched the red wine case from my boot and stored the bottles safely in the coolness of the cellar. I smoked a cigarette laying my shoulder on the doorjamb taking in what remains of the day. As James’s sister, I wasn’t surprised that Denise should be late. Back in the days, in Galway, I would patiently wait for her to come out of church on Sunday morning under the Spanish arch. I would intently look at the walk path along the metallic waters of the Corrib rushing oceanward. I would always despair at first. Then, the bobbing silhouette of Denise could be seen apologizing as she threaded her way through groups of churchgoers on their way for lunch. Blond and freckled, green-eyed and pretty with a slight snug nose and the nicest of smile. She would glue her mouth to mine. Sundays were always sunny days.

James and I had been buddies for as long as we could remember. He was elated when he caught us in the back garden of their parents’ house on a night when they had moved out of town for the weekend. He‘s always been the teasing type and as I recount the weekend for him, he smiles, winks , shoots with an imaginary gun when I mention the case of wine in the cellar. He could not make it for the weekend. He had driven back to Galway. “ The sweetheart couldn’t take it anymore”. Another wink. I freeze inside. He is way too happy. He and I had left on the same summer for the university and had shared an apartment in Drumcondra. Denise visited at first, for holidays. Even though he liked seeing each other together, he never left us sleep in the same room. Her stays became less and less frequent, church, her leaving certificate examination. “ I need to work on that if I want to join you”. But the whole thing just eroded. When I went back home that summer she had flown away to France.

We met again two or three years later. She was taking French classes at the university. “ We should meet for a drink” before she ran away to her next class. We did meet for a drink. James was here that night . I hated him for it. She talked about France, Besançon, Aix-en-Provence, all the wonderful things she had done, the friends she had made, this guy ,William, from England. Living,while I had been unearthing dusty books , reading them compulsively while trying to blot out her image from my mind. We settled on Mondays. Three old friends around a pint, Irish music, the clinking of glasses, the patter of conversation, and my heart aching for Denise.

With the confinement, Mondays were no more. I sullenly sat around , reading piles of books, sometimes staring at the raindrops trickling down the windows of my apartment, watching the empty streets outside. A monotonous routine, woke up at 7 , reading, lunch, window-staring, some more reading, heavy beer-drinking , start over. Same boxer-shorts and Tee-shirts for days on end , questionable hygiene as well as eating habits. A phone call from Denise. I could feel a tingling at the tip of my fingers, a double-knot in my stomach and a foolish smile I couldn’t wipe off my face. She called again. And again. And again. The weekend was planned.

Life gradually took back its course. At some point, it meant that Mondays were on again and when travel restrictions were lifted , a date was set. Before leaving on Friday, she texted me that this Damian would be tagging along. I waited for them as stars twinkled weakly in the waning blue sky. From behind the hilly road, I spotted the glow of their headlights, which slid down the slope and blinded me as she drove the car through the gate. She stepped out, one of these woolly beanies of hers thrust on her head with a beautiful lock of blonde hair over on eye, smiling her nicest smile again. He came out from the passenger side, blonde, blue-eyed and the milkiest skin I had ever seen. I greeted them with a raised hand unsure if I could get up after downing a whole bottle of Bordeaux by myself. I woke up the next morning, slightly hungover , empty bottles of wines on the kitchen counter with my half-finished glass standing lonely next to them. I did the dishes as noisily as I could hoping to see Denise’s sleepy face coming out of my parents’ bedroom. But it was Damian’s I saw.

Saturday’s a blurry memory. I think we went to the beach for a picnic along the endless stretch of sand that is Curracloe beach. After lunch, I walked alone as the sea was chasing my feet. I didn’t even bother to elude it, I actually wished it could swallow me up. Sunday was boring as hell with the couple waking up late and telling me that they would not have the lunch I had so carefully and lovingly, at least for her, prepared. They drove away. She must have seen me wave with a limp hand as their car sped through the gate. I spent the afternoon tidying things up ignoring the hateful pang in my chest. I locked the cottage up hoping I would never have to come back.

            The drive up North was peaceful as purple and pink were slightly tinging the sky. I enjoyed the view as the immensity of the sea stretched on my right, I knew traffic would be a bitch. I must have spent a solid two hours on the M-50 trying to get back to my place. The radio said something about a car accident. Once I got home, I turned the TV on and fell asleep instantly and…

           I can’t do this to you James. I can’t go on. The whole thing is too painful. It will be even more so to you. I ‘m even surprised you are here right now. They must have been unable to identify the bodies yet. But when I drove past the mangled body of their cars, I didn’t stop. I couldn’t do it. The Garda was there , I just had to park on that shoulder , step out and tell them that inside was the crushed body of your sister. My first love, my last hope, hopelessly stuck into the folds of unforgiving metal , a lover at her side and another one driving away. I cannot tell you that. Not now. Not with you smiling, the ghost of your sister walking up to us, as pretty as ever.