I
Christmas Eve
He can’t seem to get it closed. No matter what he did- the pressure on rough, calloused hands against a rougher, more streamlined zip- the thing won’t close. Not that it matters- look at the wrapping paper in the corner. Gift wrapping came to an abrupt halt quickly…. Only got the gifts today. This is hardly as important. To him it seems like it is, but the chances are it isn’t. Still… he got two thirds of his wardrobe in this little suitcase. He’ll get it closed.
He slumped back, finally conceding to the strength that small bag has over him. His hand came to his face again, wiping down the sweat, through his thick beard… sweating just from that. His eyes lifted again to look around the large, cosy bedroom- the double bed, the sliding wardrobe- the window overlooking the estate.
A nice bedroom… a nice bed. Hefty mortgage too. The velvet sheets, the fluffed pillow, the neat desk with his notes only slightly askew, the three empty, suddy bottles of lager hidden under his bed, the ensuite.
All picturesque of a suburban family… red and white is everywhere though isn’t it? Just have to accept it…. It’s not his time of year at all. Not at all. But you know what- it’s so prevalent, something invented millennia ago- we all have to follow it. Must be some strength to hang around for that long-all from that dusty old book. Jesus, it knows how to wreck the bank account. He’s dropping into two figures on the current account and plummeting even quicker.
He stood up, giving the bag a small nudge. Pushing the badly wrapped present away- unsure if the two solitary, mystery books would qualify as a present for her- his eyes drifted out the window. Evening rush.
Even in the estate, you could feel the shimmers, the wisps of the main streets beside it- cars to and fro, the dark night only illuminated the lamp poles all around. It gave him anxiety, this hour. Just five o’clock. Not four, not six or seven. Five. All these men finish work… he is just starting it.
“K!” He pretended as if he didn’t hear the yell, walking over to the empty bottles under the bed. Lucky, he has the assortments- Tesco, Aldi, Lidl bags- at the ready to dispose of the incriminating evidence. The three were the only visible ones too- plenty more than usual. As he says- this time of year is simply seasonal. It is wintry for him- it is dark, cold and grump-inducing. He’s a righteous Grinch.
“K! K!” She kept yelling. “Barry just rang, you’re in at half five!” K finally conceded, carefully scooping the bottles and throwing them in…. the Tesco. Tesco bag fuck it. We’ll go for that today. Half five was strange. He usually did start at five, but Christmas Eve he had an hour’s reprieve. Wonder why this particular mad Eve would be different. Looking once more at the hastily bagged clothes, he decided he would revisit the rival when he returned. Even so, the wrapping-
His phone vibrated twice. Two long vibrates, that indicated it was not stupid nor pointless notifications. K always had the one vibrates, you know, your Facebook messenger, twitter likes, Instagram and the miscellaneous. But, the two buzzes... there’s a fifty percent chance it could be important. Your wife telling you it’s dinner, or an African prince looking for your bank details. Fifty percent it’s the right one.
He took it out… yep, email. Class. He always love a good spam email. It cheers him up before work, makes his miserable apathy feel a little less nothing. Sure, let’s see what Prince Amin has to offer today.
He flicked down the bar on his cracked, blue lined phone- peering through the cracks. No, no spam… an email. Addressed to his name- regarding…
K stopped. His heart thumped, as his finger fumbled to unlock the phone. Who the hell… who the fuck is this? How dare they… how dare they drag it up?
His eye scanned it quickly, his rage rising with every word.
“’Dear K, Wassup. You know me, but not like I know you. I’m here to tell you that you can find the resolution to your problems right here, man. I put the GPS as an attachment. Come here before this revealing season ends. J.’”
J? So, this guy was mocking his name now, right? Practical joke. One of the lads in work… but on such a sensitive topic? Hardly any of them would have the bloody audacity.
K shoved the phone in his pocket again, as his wife screamed his name again. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths.
And, out. “You heading to work then, Kay?” K looked up, flexing his freezing fingers around the kettle. The boiling water attacked his frozen windshield of his Audi, slowly withering away those clear, jagged formations spreading all over this windshield. He looked over at Sean again. Fuck off, Sean. You little beady, lanky cunt. My names K, not Kay- you absolute knobhead.
K simply nodded, rather than unleash the tirade. The boiling water still attacked the windshield- had to make sure he shifted his hand to and fro, remember to cover all the areas. Sean rubbed his hand together, loosening his tie. “Aye, I wouldn’t want to be you now. Sure, has to be done.” Sean laughed awkwardly. “Have to get wee Fionn a Playstation somehow. Won’t get my hole off the missus otherwise.” Sean’s laugh ended abruptly. “Yeah, err…. How are your presents getting along anyway?”
K just stared at him through glassy eyes- his hand moving to the side windows. Yeah. Fionn. You’re wee ugly son that thinks all toilet paper have the texture and feel of baby wipes. Sure, pamper him since you only have one, right? Aye, my wife would love a son like that- You think K is an eligible father? Not a hope, man.
Leave it to the Sean’s of the world- they can have their comfy office jobs; their ties and their shit dad jokes. They can get away with it all and seemingly face the little consequence of it all. The kettle finally went empty- K glanced down.
The ice was about two thirds of the way there. The runny water was doing it’s job, steaming away that stubborn ice… but, here. How long would it be before that water froze? He’s just delaying it, isn’t he?
It’d have to do. “I have to go.” K told him, not even looking as he opened the silver door to his car. Wife’s probably already wondering why he’s not gone.
J. J, right. What a dumb name. Hahaha. Who would call their kid J?!? K’s fingers tapped off the wheel, as the sounds of ‘Black and Gold’ filled his car. Sam Sparro, he thinks the singers called. Figures that music is welcome for the season it is- a bit hopeful, to pick him up a bit. Hopeful in its instrumentals anyway- the lyrics are a bit more inconspicuous.
He glanced again at the lights- red. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Walkinstown roundabout. One of the worst and most dangerous roundabouts in the world- not just Dublin, not Ireland. Nah, the whole world.
Ah come on man. Don’t be so depressing. It won’t be that bad at work; you can get to work mindlessly on the pipes again and just chat to the lads. See how Jamie’s getting along with that podcast of his- some fella with the rugby, he is. A fucking encyclopaedia at times.
K looked at his phone in the phone holder again. The email was open- he just reread it. A resolution… does this person, in this joke or twisted prank, think he could resolve…. this? Look at him. He has a bottle under his driving seat, for Christs sake.
He’s tempted to take a sip and try the drink driving craic we all know- you know, what is there really to fear? Probably just the guilt of someone else’s life in your hands. Anyway, you can’t resolve that.
K glanced at the email. Slowly, he reached a finger up- and pressed the GPS. He watched as Google maps opened- didn’t even need to look to see the light still red. He l- what the fuck. What the actual fuck.
K leaned in closer to his battered iPhone, his eyebrows slowly scowled. That’s… that’s five minutes away. And, it’s in the middle o the forest.
The Jamesies forest is massive. Some people have navigated the whole thing in little under three whole days on foot. Sure, there were pavements and all to drive in… but, you could hardly go at it now. Barry’d have his head if he shows up to work late, and rough around the edges again. And, the wife…. Blah blah blah. The stupid bitch would give his permanent relocation of the couch- maybe even relegate him to the brown armchair. Man, he hates the brown armchair. Just a little bitch chair compared to the red couch.
Yeah, he has to finish the piping down by Kylemore. There’s no ifs….
The light began to flash amber. K glanced down, waiting patiently for cars to move. The flashing was slowing… and finally, the green came. The green light came on solid- and the cars began to move- a parade of dull silver and black.
In that moment, K jammed his hand down on the indicator- and everyone knew he was turning left. Turning left on the inside of a roundabout. His eyes flashed. Resolution… a sick joke, a twisted game. He’ll have a few Baileys about doing some good, finally.
‘We bring you blank and blank!’ Scratched out- or, the prophecy faded over decades. K felt the leaf strike his face once. It stuck there for a moment, stubborn in its refusal to move. Why would K move it? It made him feel a bit sheltered. He liked the leaf- it only gently covered his cheek, it massaged it. Leave it, to fuck. It’s like his nice, grey hat that warmed his ears, his short hair- it’s nice.
‘You never show up too late.’ What does that mean? Didn’t even know these Protestantism’s properly. A bit less flowery and blunt, it seems. Catholicism are a bit more boasty and arrogant- always just dance around the subject. Never get a clear-cut answer from us Catholics. But, sure- it’s a twisted joke. K doesn’t have to repeat that.
He took another big swig of the bottle. The Orange Hall. K didn’t even know there was one in Walkinstown. People never were hugely racist and bigoted in the big city, in fairness though. A far stretch from Derrymen, that’s for sure.
The door was ajar too. In this old, weathered shack- the door was open. The windows were smashed and boarded up- the ceiling had been half bashed in and splattered with hints of a defiant bright green. But the door was still open- revealing a dim, grey surroundings through a little reach of light.
Here, work has gotten fucked there. He’s bridged that last burn- he’s burned that last bridge in his life now. He’s bridged that last path to chaos now- a wee bit of poetry for you. K has to go with this-even if it’s a big joke, a big painful, elaborate scam. He’ll enter this little Hall, and he’ll be impressed in some way. He can at least convince himself of this.
K looked around. A small pew, orange splattered walls, tiles smashed on the ground, faint light, and a frozen desk. What, you want more description? That’s it. That’s it, and it angers K. K is angry, and K should be angry. This is it, after all this. Where’s my resolution then? Where’s my solution? No. Come on out then, big J. Come out, and tell me-
Look there. K stopped, his eyes focusing on the desk. He did look. He looked…. And he saw. He saw it spiral through his vision, almost out of sight…. But it was a piece of paper. A letter. A letter, that had some distinct black ink on it. Very large black ink.
K rubbed his hands, glancing around once more. He was certain. No scuffles, no breathing, no strange movements. He was alone- and whoever’s playing this game, is leading him on some treasure hunt.
K picked it up in his red hands, turning it over slowly. He looked at it back and forth- but it was basic. K didn’t want to read the big writing yet… the two massive sentences that covered both sides of the small A5 paper. He just turned it back and forth, and he breathed more rapidly on his hands. He needs warm hands at least. He needs his hands to be in condition to read, that’s all.
Finally, he looked at it. He looked at the text blandly, stoically and stupidly- he just reread it. Over, and over- he reread the one sentence. Neat, cursive handwriting- distinct little flicks, and all that shit. Someone who likes to write- write…. Sh-sh…. Messages like this.
I know about your son.
K’s eyes finally stopped rereading, as he stood still. His eyes only glanced over the arrow in the corner- barely concealed. With warmer hands, he turned it over slowly. The moisture was already coming into his eyes. This sentence- K knows this will sound dumb. But this sentence here just was harder to read. I know, that first one is haunting…. But this…
Let me help you.
K nodded, pursing his lips. He carefully placed the letter back down on the table, and once more found himself circling the shack. He looked very carefully- so carefully, he looked. He had to make sure- here, you never know these days. Someone could be watching… no, there’s not. You’re just an idiot for coming here.
K found himself back at the desk. His hand gently wrapped around the chair, staring down at it. Let me help.
K had it in both hands, and he tossed it across the room. It collided with several smashed tiles, knocking them astray all over this holy Orange hall. . Let me help you. With a grunt of utter hopeless emotion, he grabbed the frozen desk- almost stuck to the ground- and he pulled with all his might. Finally, it seemed to budge- and he overturned it violently, his panting slowly becoming more animalistic. Let me help you.
He grabbed a table leg and pulled. It did not budge. He pulled again, almost falling from the slipperiness of the floor. “FFFUCK!” K screamed, pulling the leg with all the strength left him. It finally came off- and now, he unleashed chaos. He slammed it against the low roof- more wayward tiles fell in a heap, smashing violently against the floor. He was just smashing up that roof… just smashing, crashing, destroying. And, finally- he threw it at the window- imploding it loudly on impact.
K stared at the window for several moments, watching the glass shatters sprinkle all around- some finally falling, and striking the tiles. But there was no difference between the glass and the tiles. They were both broken.
K didn’t shout this time- he only felt a strangled noise came from him. He flopped to the ground, his hands wrapping around his face and back of his head. He curled up right in the foetal position, his head buried into the cold, cold floor- that’s when he began to bawl. That’s when K burst into tears, that’s when he kicked the bottle of lager desperately away. That’s when he lost all the bottled self-control.
The tears streaked down his face, warming his hard, frozen cheeks- as he blubbered. He felt himself gasp for air, his tears only coming more frequent and vicious- draining all his energy, all his willpower. He managed to sit up…. His head slowly leaning against the wall, as he sniffled. His head looked up at the ceiling. His son…. His son. You’ve made Christmas so much colder.
Why are you doing this to me? You’re a rapist, God. You fucked me, God. You fucked me; you fucked my son. You keep fucking me, over and over and over… stop.
Now, you get one of your sick followers to fuck me with my memories.
“Eh… man.” K stopped sniffing. He slowly turned, to see someone standing at the doorway. His illuminating yellow jacket and trousers almost blinded K with its viciousness- but his nappy dreadlocks were even more surprising. His dark skin reflected against the grey walls, as he stared at him in curiosity.
“What’s up?” His brown eyes studied K, and K just looked back. What’s the point? He doesn’t have anything to explain. He’s not even embarrassed at this point- he’s past that. Back to the apathy. He just doesn’t have anything to say. All he has is his pathetic foetal position.
The black lad lifted his hand- revealing a brown leather wallet. “You dropped your wallet out there.”
