Don't Worry About It

(*This short story will have light references to abortion*)

I forgot what it was like to finally breathe again. I hadn’t felt like this in a long time.

The December deceptive wind was taking its toll on the Irish weather and the Irish people were feeling the cold towards that time of the year.

I was standing in a queue at Dublin airport. The year was 1996 and it honestly felt like it was any other year.

‘Must be about 9 or 10 degrees’ I heard somebody mutter. Ah, the typical Dublin charm.

Be grand like.

We use Celsius in Europe, for those that don’t know so I don’t know exactly how much that is in Fahrenheit.

The queue seemed to edge ever so slightly in front but for those that were standing in it – it felt like an eternity. Smartphones hadn’t been invented yet and social media wasn’t in existence.

Oh, the good old days, as many elderly people who lived on my road would say.

Better things lie ahead.

I genuinely believed that. My life in Ireland was done. I thought by moving to London, a fresh start would ensue. Many Irish had done that as they decided to take the leap of faith across the pond. Some had returned, but many had stayed.

Of course, Ireland was experiencing the Celtic Boom during that time.

Jobs were being created and farmers in rural Ireland were pocketing more money than they ever did in the first five years of the decade. But I had had enough.

There was a reason for it. The money was much better on the other side, for one.

‘Passport, please’ a voice said, snapping me back to reality.

I was distracted and his voice woke me up from my most pensive thoughts.

He flipped through the pages without too much enthusiasm and handed it back to me.

‘Enjoy your flight’

‘Cheers’ I replied, walking through. The walk down the stairs behind everyone felt like it had taken forever.

The moon was out at this time. The frosty nights we experienced around December occurred with such abundance that it was like a skating rink.

Black ice is a real thing.

Winters in Ireland were softer than American winters and less intense.

Surely people were fed up at this stage though.

I suppose I was also but I didn’t have to worry. After all, I was moving to the U.K.

Although I suspected the weather there was very similar to Irish weather. All four seasons in one.

Aer Lingus was – and still is – Ireland’s national airline. That is until Ryanair arrived on the scene.

Most Europeans had heard of Ryanair. Many of them associate Ryanair with cheap flights.

That was partly true but when it was founded in 1984/85, people had very few options. The living wage back then wasn’t the greatest either; which meant that many of us lived below the bread line so to speak. The only way I had been able to afford this trip in the first place was because I had actually saved up money while in college.

When college couldn’t be completed, I dropped out and got a job as a barman in the local pub.

I worked there for a few months and then I got the pink slip. I stayed in Ireland for a further year until I decided I needed to get the hell out.  It was a grey and damp day that bore the resemblance of a cemetery.

Temperatures were realistically under ten or eleven degrees.

A friendly flight attendant peaked her head from behind the cockpit door and then realizing that there was a queue of people to get in, she quickly popped out and began ushering people up the aisle.

‘Sorry, folks, sincerest apologies’ she said, a flock of blonde hair appearing between her eyes. ‘Got caught up’.

I handed my boarding pass to her and she nodded, ‘Seat 23a’

It must have taken me about half a minute to get there. It was a narrow and tight space and there was an overweight guy that was at least 192cm trying to squeeze into the seats.

It would have been inappropriate to laugh.

I got to mine and placed my bag between my legs. It was the only bag I had on this trip.

I had the best seat anyone could have asked for – the classic window view.

The plane started filling up and people from sizes thin to fat began occupying the seats. It wasn’t a big plane per se – a Saab 340 if I remember correctly.

I closed my eyes and waited for the pilot to make his announcement and all the other things pilots say on flights like these.

Like these, I thought

It wasn’t a long-haul flight but it damn certainly felt like one. The flights from Dublin to London take just over one hour. I had heard of some planes finishing the journey in less than forty minutes.

After what seemed a complete eternity, the pilot made his announcement.

‘Ladies and gentlemen a voice croaked on the speaker, ‘a very good welcome to you all’

It was an English accent but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly where. It was definitely English because he sounded a bit like Michael Caine.

 My eyes were still closed.

There were so many things that were happening in the world at that moment in time that got me to this stage of mind –like fatigue.

U.S. President Bill Clinton got re-elected, the UK had something called Cow Mouth disease, and prominent Irish journalist Veronica Guerin had been murdered.  I was moving to London because of a job opportunity but I also decided to step away from Ireland because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was young and foolish and didn’t really know much about the world. It was, in essence, my first time out of the country. Of Ireland in fact.

‘...And the visibility is just under 1000, we’ll be flying into London at around quarter past ten..’ the pilot’s voice trailed off into the abyss of the aircraft’s shuffling and muffling. Two flight attendants – one in the front and one at the back – began the demonstrations. I almost never watched them but this time I decided to give it a go. The one closest to me – at the front – looked Spanish or Mediterranean. Very pretty indeed. I imagined myself walking up to her and introducing myself but I knew that I wouldn’t have the guts to stroll down that aisle. I could just watch. I turned to my right-hand side and looked out the window. The sun had nearly retracted from view and all that was left were the clouds. The ground staff were standing motionlessly on the tarmac in that weather. I felt sorry for them.

‘Evan?’ a voice said my name. I recognized the voice and turned away from the window.

‘Oh gosh, it is you’ the woman gasped. She was olive-skinned with brown eyes behind huge glasses that made her look a bit lost. Her hair was dark and curly, a scent of honey suddenly tingling into my nostrils. I recognized that smell too.

‘Elaine?’ I blurted out. I couldn’t believe it. I hadn’t mentioned but she was one of the reasons that I decided to get away from Ireland. Women.

‘W-What are you doing here?’ I could hardly mask my anxiety. My right-handed was rested on my lap and it started to shake.

Elaine was French but educated in England, so her accent sounded quite posh. There was the tiniest of French in her accent but you wouldn’t really notice it. She was vibrant and cheery. That was the first time I met her.

Now she had a bit of a concerned look on her face. I never had seen that before. She was usually happy for no reason and was the reason many people had good days because of her genuine smile. Her teeth were straight and white.

I met her in a coffee shop in South Dublin about one year ago. We started off as friends but the more time we spent together caused the inevitable; an attraction. Then lust.

I would then start frequently going to the coffee shop like I was going to Sunday mass. Just to see her. Frequently then turned to almost every day. I would borrow my friend’s car – the one I had mentioned before – to pick her up and drive her home.

I always drove the long way. Just to talk to her more. Whenever I dropped her home, she would then ring my home from the host family’s phone she was staying with. It was a viable form of communication in those days. On weekends, she would come to mine and watch films on the VCR.

I always wondered if I liked Elaine more than she liked me. My neighbour Pat Murphy mentioned one time that she purposely lied, saying that she was sick. Apparently, she didn’t wish to see me after a period of time and surely enough, that was exactly what happened.

My calls were ignored and she was nowhere to be seen after a while. There were rumours that she eloped abroad with a mystery man or that she got a job in the States.

I knew the latter was utter rubbish because she had mentioned to me – before she had decided to ghost – that she disliked the US due to its scandal with President Clinton and an intern called Monica. I never fully knew why she had made that decision.

I last saw her three months ago.

I didn’t expect to be seeing her as I thought moving from Ireland would help me forget.

Go figure.

Now, by some miracle, she was sitting next to me on the plane.

I didn’t want to think of it as a miracle, though.

If freezing time was in the realm of possibility, then I would go back straight away.

I had almost begun moving on with my life; this was the last piece of a key that needed to be thrown away.

She still sounded beautiful when she spoke.

‘Well, I guess the same as you’ she said in an attempt to make a joke.

It either flew over my head or I didn’t find it funny, I’m not sure.

There was a brief pause and then she said, ‘You’re also heading to London, huh?’

Her voice also sounded nervous. Not like mine but you could tell.

It made sense because we were sitting next to each other. I felt the plane starting to move and commence its taxiing. The pilot reaffirmed that we were getting ready for takeoff and flashed the seatbelt sign again.

‘Yeah, I’m heading for work. I got an offer as a construction worker over near Battersea’ I answered eventually

She nodded. ‘I know it, actually. I’ve been there a few times’

‘Oh yeah? You’ve been there?’ It didn’t really surprise me. Her father was English and traveled frequently when she was little.  

‘Yeah, so I’m going to start a job and get on with my life’

I know that sounded mean but I felt a satisfactory feeling from it, I don’t know why.

Maybe this was my version of vengeance.

Elaine looked at me through her glasses. She didn’t say anything.

It was one of the few qualities that made her stand out from the rest.

She really knew how to think before she said something. Her eyes glanced at me.

I remember that stare – she usually got serious when she gave that look.

I tried to open my mouth but I couldn’t form a sentence. My throat was dry.

It seemed like time had slowed down as everything had frozen at that moment. The plane had now reached the end of the runway and began to turn around.

The lights were dimmed and the silence was unnerving; almost as if everyone had shut up just for the sake of us nearly arguing. The darkness was looming and I had a look at my watch for the first time since I left for Dublin airport. It was nearly eight – fifty.

Elaine looked like she wanted to shrink into her seat, and to be honest, so did I.

‘Evan... I don’t know how to tell you this. This feels almost surreal and I never wanted any of this to happen, I swear’.

She was calm but clearly agitated like she was doing a speech in front of a large crowd.

I remember her as a pretty matter-of-fact, type of person. Sweet but direct.

She tried again. ‘When we were together... It was the best thing that happened to me. I mean that. Our moments together were definitely special. I cannot ever replace that. It was one of the best moments of my year here in Ireland’

I was stunned. Not because of what she said but because she never mentioned any of this. She would compliment maybe once or two times but never go into details. She wasn’t as profound as she was now. I felt queasy.

I felt something coming.

The plane’s engines began to rumble and suddenly it jerked forward.

‘Do you remember the time we went to that place, you know with the grass and the place beyond the trees? The place we smoked-‘

‘Yes,’ I muttered, more to myself than her. I recall it. We went there to have a smoke and one thing led to another and I remember waking up next to her on a pile of sticks. It was the first time we had slept together.

It was also the only time.

‘...The place we smoked that...yes, what about it?’

She adjusted her glasses and I then saw tears welling up. Somebody coughed.

‘After that morning, you know the morning I said I had an appointment at the doctor?’

‘Yeah’ my heart started to thud hard in my chest.

‘I did have an appointment but it wasn’t because of that cough I had. It was because I was worried I might have been pregnant’

The plane fired up and started to accelerate.

‘Ladies and gentlemen’ the pilots’ voice announced, ‘Get ready for takeoff’

It wasn’t the best of times to be having a discussion like this on a flight. I heard a cough again. Somebody had decided to light up a cigarette.

‘We..were..were you pr..pregnant?’ I managed to ask. I swore I saw one of the flight attendants glance in our direction.

'I am pregnant’ she ascertained

The plane had nearly lifted off the ground. Perhaps one could link that to having one’s weight ‘pulled off their shoulders’.

I’m not sure I felt the weight off my shoulders, to be honest.

‘Then why did you leave? Were you scared? You could’ve told me some-‘

‘I’m a twenty-nine-year-old woman living in a foreign country, Evan’ she stated as if I didn’t know that. ‘I have... my whole life ahead of me. I’m not ready to have this baby. That’s when I knew I had to do something. I contacted my aunt, I don’t think I told you about her. She lives in Drogheda. She helped me with the ticket and also with the...with the costs’ Her voice trailed off.  

We were mid-air now. The landing gear came back into the plane.

Costs?

‘What costs, Elaine?’ But I should have known what she was going to say.

I should have copped it a few minutes before when she said she wasn’t ready to have a baby. That should have made it obvious.

Thousands – and I mean thousands – of Irish women made that jump across the sea to access safe and legal abortion. The laws in Ireland prevented women from making their own decisions with their bodies. The Church ruled. Abortions were illegal.

Women were criticized and ostracized by society and families alike. I knew this.

I wonder how she must have felt.

I looked at Elaine’s abdomen. I couldn’t really tell if she was pregnant or not.

‘How many months?’ I indicated.

‘Nearly three months now’

Suddenly I saw an array of stars flash in the corner of my eye. The plane had to be at least twenty thousand feet high by now.

‘You’re planning to.. get rid of it?’ I felt awful referring to the baby like that.

Was it even considered a baby?

She nodded to my question and suddenly became quiet. She glanced forward. She had, apparently, decided it was time to stop talking.

I thought that was cold and heartless.

I thought of a lot of things, to be honest. I thought about holding her. I thought about crying.

I thought about –

‘Is that... baby mine?’ I blurted out. The silence was so cruel now. It was almost mocking me. The seatbelt sign had beeped and turned off.

Elaine never answered that question that day. It was the last time, in fact, that I had spoken to her.

 I guess she didn’t need to know the answer because I should have known.

Or should have I?

We’ll never know.