I Met the Gancanagh in Glendalough Forest

Although I didn’t know it was what he was at the time, I came face to face with the fae for the first time when I was twenty-seven. I had taken my camera out to the forest in Co. Wicklow and was running my hand back and forth through the water at the lakes edge, shifting through the stones as they caught the sunlight in sparkles of cobalt and sterling. A movement out the corner of my eye catches my attention. He was watching me. Across the shore, half hidden by the shade of the large oak trees, a younger man with dark hair and too-wide mouth. The shade of the leaves cut slashes across his face, and, unable to think further, I pick up my camera from around my neck, and walk towards the grove. 

“I don’t mean to pry, but would you mind if I took some pictures of you? With the light and everything- I’m a photographer. Trying to be-“ I stumble over the words, suddenly unsure. Up this close his eyes shone too brightly, dark hair more like oil, gleaming even where the sunlight didn’t touch the strands. He was almost beautiful. He also agreed to my request rather quickly, and we talk while I photograph him from behind, against the view of the upper lake. He rarely looks back, just nodding and speaking out towards the water. I find myself talking freely, cherishing any conversation I could steal after the past few months. I tell him of my photography, of the lakes and mountainsides I loved, of my failing business and ability to convince buyers that they should love the images too. I tell him how I rarely did portraits, but he seemed one with the forest and lake and I just needed to capture it. He turns back at that, smiling, but he doesn’t comment. I should leave here now. I walk closer still.

At that moment two young women cross the beach towards us. They had noticed us taking pictures and were curious if I was a professional. I tell them I am. The taller one, Saoirse, seems pleased, turning towards me to get a closer look at the viewfinder on my camera as I show her some of the pictures we had already taken. The man was looking right at me now, unmoving. The smaller woman, Fiadh, asks if I would take a few of them. Before I could answer, the man tells her to come up, reaching for her hand to help her onto the rocks beside him. Her attention fully on him now as she stared wildly, lips parted. He doesn’t let go of her hand. She grins and doesn’t turn to look at the camera as I take her picture with him, hesitating, her friend still beside me. He is no longer holding her hand, but she is clutching his, knuckles whitening as she leans in closer. After a few more shots the woman beside me fidgets. 

“Alright then, we should go, the sun is setting,” urging the girl on the rocks to come along, but she doesn’t react. Finally, Saoirse grabs her free arm, pulling her down. The girl’s faee falls as the man uses his fingers to free his hand from her grip. Her eyes shine almost as brightly as his, and I swore she would cry. She keeps talking at him, arm slightly outstretched as her friend says their goodbyes for the both of them, guiding her to the path back towards the car park, arm around Fiadh’s waist. 

“Your one seemed ready to stay!” I try to laugh. He just smiles.

“Ah, she was grand. Of course she’d stay.” She hadn’t, though, but I suppose she probably would have if her friend hadn’t pulled her away. He looks at me. “Just have to touch them, help them up a step, guide them here or there, tuck their hair. They’ll just keep talking, do whatever you say.” I laugh at the arrogance, but he doesn’t seem phased. I tell him I don’t talk to many people. I tell him about my failed love life, about how women like that never want to talk to me. I tell him how all I want is for it to be that easy. I laugh, but I’m sure he catches the disdain, the truth, in my voice. He nods. I haven’t touched him, but just like with Fiadh and her sudden need to be closer to him, his very presence seems to pull the words out of me. I’m standing right beside him now. The women were right, though. The sun is setting fast. He stands, rangy and wild-looking with the dimming light, eyes and hair still gleaming. He is about to leave me.

“I’m Declan!” Suddenly realizing we never got around to exchanging names. He smiled far too widely at my introduction. He reached out to grasp my hand. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Declan. You know, I don’t think you will have any trouble finding more people to talk to now. You saw me with those women just now, how I was. Think of that as my gift to you. Just do what I did. They’ll all love you more than anything.” His voice had taken on a soft, smokey quality. I blinked. “Slán, Declan.” His Irish sounds like a promise.

“Slán,” but he was already walking back towards the tree line. It was as he disappeared from view when I remembered that I never caught his name.

———

I watch as the bus turns the corner, already heading towards Dublin without me. I had been so caught up in my sorrow upon never getting the man’s name that I had forgotten about the timetables. I wasn’t sure if there were any more busses coming. I keep replaying his goodbye in my head, his wide smile already etched in my memory. A woman in a blue t-shirt stands near me at the edge of the car park, looking down at her phone. I tap her forearm, asking if she knows if any more busses will pass by. She looks up from her phone, lips parted as she stares at me. She says she doesn’t, but that she drove and I could ride with her. Before I can answer she’s gripping my hand, pulling me towards her car. I tell her I’m heading to Dublin once we’re already on the road. She doesn’t let go of my hand, now limp in her grip.

She talks the whole way into town, and into the pub we’re now sitting in. With a pint in front of me, I’m beginning to enjoy her company. She clearly likes mine, leaning into my body as if she can burrow beneath my skin. Her hair is dark and smells like fresh linens, and her lips taste of good gin. I remember what the young man told me earlier, and I keep touching her elbow, her hand. I tuck her hair behind her ear at one point. He was right; she seems to love me. Maybe it really is that easy.

It is, and I hate it. She won’t leave. She tries to drive me home, and I give her the wrong address, one near a Luas stop close enough to my actual apartment, just knowing that even after a few hours she would not relent. She didn’t, even after I told her that I would see her tomorrow, with no actual intent to do so. I slipped behind the wall at one point and walked the red-line tracks all the way home, since no more trams were coming for another few hours. 

All of this was after a foreign woman had already cornered me as I was getting into the car. I had bumped into her earlier on the stairs on my way to the toilets. She sounded so surprised I was leaving, her voice cracking as she asked why I would go home with this other woman. I couldn’t answer that question; I hardly knew myself. She continued to cry as we drove away.

I lay awake in bed, noting every beat of my heart, tracing my fingers over my hands, thinking of how they touched her. I want to smile at how easy it was to make her want me, even if it ended up making me uncomfortable. It has never been this easy before. The woman who drove me has already messaged me multiple times since I managed to slip away from her earlier. My chest tightens as I think of responding, as if my body can feel her madness from across town, my connection to it. Maybe I’ll go back to that pub. I have never won my luck as well as I did tonight. 

The woman is there tonight too. And the next. My hand brushed the bartender’s at one point as she leaned forward with my pint, her chest on show. I keep talking to her for a while at the bar. She later throws her handful of glasses she was picking up as she sees me with the other woman. I stay away from that pub for a while after that. I also stop taking the bus to and from work after a woman follows me off and into the gallery. I thought I liked her at first. We had such lively conversation as she sat next to me on the bus. It takes me hiding in the downstairs toilets for her to finally leave. Around the same time, I started talking to a younger girl online who was finishing her Masters in the city. I tried to talk to her as I did with the others, but it was stilted over the phone. I was back to how I was months before, unable to keep the conversation going naturally. Still, she agrees to meet. I shake her hand at the entrance to the cafe she chose, and she is incredible! It’s nothing like how it was online. She keeps staring at me, leaning closer and closer. She even goes up to buy more coffees when I make an insensitive joke that she should have paid since I came all the way to the south side to meet her. She seems ready to come home with me afterwards even though it is still the afternoon and seems disappointed when I refuse. I like her, though, and I tell her to come by tomorrow evening. She does. And doesn’t leave for four days, cooking and cleaning and putting her head in all the nooks and corners where I didn’t need her. I finally end up at a hotel just outside of town and blocked her number. I stay there for a couple nights, and when I finally return to the apartment, she is gone. I have a feeling she is out looking for me. I keep anxiously waiting to hear her high-pitched voice and light heel-clicks outside my door.

———

It is as if I have become a walking magnet, just pulling the madness right out of people with a single touch. For the first time in my life I am the center of attention, and woman after woman seems to crave my presence. I’ve always been alone before, and now I find myself alone again, but this time I’m hiding. I call my sister Cara and ask her to go on a hike with me out by the cliffs. It’s been too long, and it would be good for us to catch up. We were never close, but she agrees. She always loved the cliffs and looking for seals along the waves and rocks below. I don’t know where else to turn, but I’m guessing her being my sister and being out where there’s unlikely to be many people this late in the season is safe. I still tell her to wear long sleeves, though, for the wind. 

Cara meets me near Howth station, just north of the city. It’s cold and misting today, and, like I imagined, few others appear along the path. She listened to my advice, wearing a thick blue jacket with a hood and loose sleeves. I keep my hands in my pockets as we walk side by side along the cliffs, going so far out to step carefully along the rocks right at the edge to see further across the sea. It’s hard to see far through the light mist, and the rocks have an oily slick to them under my boots. I take care not to slip as we step between the rocks and mud.

I tell her everything. About the girl from the forest, Fiadh, the woman from the pub, about the young man and his too wide smile. I tell her about the rush of being, the way my heart tears as I think of touching the girl I met online, because I know she wants me, but I feel like my touch will tear her to pieces. I tell Cara all of it. The air seems to cut off in my lungs as I speak, and my mouth dries out, as if the words don’t want to be shared. Cara stops walking for a moment and laughs. She laughs!

“You can’t worry this much, Deco! She sounds nice, buying coffees for you!. It’s okay to just want to be around her. It seems she enjoys being around you well enough” My mouth stays dry, gaping. She doesn’t understand.

“It’s like every time I touched her she wants to be closer and closer to me, be under my skin…”

“And maybe that’s new, or it’s been a while, but I don’t see what’s so wrong. You should be grateful she wants to listen to you,” she keeps laughing. No, I don’t want that. “Is it the man from Glendalough you’re thinking about?” I hesitate. “You said you don’t even know his name, and he was just talking shite. Let it go.” I hadn’t showed her the pictures from that day. His face was at most only half-visible in them, but if she saw, she would understand. I still don’t show her. I had stopped walking, my hands clenched in fists at my side. She half-turns back to me, hand outstretched, “Come on!” I immediately look away from her hand, shuffling past her, my hands secured back in my coat. I just need to stay away from everyone, but Cara seems to be enjoying the hike, smiling knowingly at my wild confessions, and so I keep going.

We’ve been walking for a while now as Cara’s breath suddenly hikes as she loses her footing on the muddy path right on the edge of the rocks. I lurch towards her. Her nervous laughter coming too loud, covering the half-second of fear of falling into the churning water, as she rights herself.

“Go for a swim, why don’t you,” I laugh along, still looking out over the rocks.

“You think?” I feel her turn as I keep laughing.

“Do it!”

“Are you coming too?” Her voice had turned breathy, her eyes blown wide as I finally look over, my hand still grasping her bare wrist. The icy mist fills my chest, freezing my breath as I release her. She doesn’t bother to keep herself upright anymore.

I could still hear her, her laugh soft and smokey, even after she vanished beneath the waves.