Published By
Ria Goff
Worcester, MA
Copyright © 2007 Ria Goff
ISBN 1440416141
All contents here in are property of Ria Goff with the exception of the song lyrics, written and performed by the band Default. All rights reserved and thank you to the band for not suing me!
Copyright July 1st 2008, all rights reserved.
Thank you to those who loved and supported me through this process. Creation is both exciting and painful. Thank you for sharing in my journey, Ria Goff.
Glass shattered across the street in the faded yellow house and the shouting continued. She adjusted her self on the folding lawn chair and looked over at the woman beside her.
“How many times now you reckon she's caught him cheating on her now?”
The other woman rolled her shoulders in a lazy shrug and raised her beer can slowly.
“I'd of left his ass by now” she spat the words as if they had a horrible flavor to them.
“Why you think she stays?” Again she watched her companion roll her lazy shrug and shook her head.
“If Rick ever pulled this shit on
me I'd hit his ass with my cast iron skillet.”
“Terrible
use for such a nice skillet if ya ask me.” she paused licking
her lips.
“But seems the son of a bitch would deserve it.
Should no better than to stick his pecker anywhere other than the
hole it's married to.”
The screen door swung open and Trent ate up the lawn with his angry walk. He wore blue jeans that were ripped at the knee's, scarred black combat boots, a ripped and faded flannal shirt that seemed to have lost it sleeves. His hair was a long, middle of his head, screaming purple Mohawk. In his left ear he wore a skull earing and in his right he wore a plain old regular silver hoop he'd had forever. Over his torn shirt he pulled on an ancient leather jacket. He looked mean as he glared back across the lawn at Shannon as she came flying out the door holding her own skillet loosely by the handle.
“I wasn't done talking to you.” She waved the pan around.
“I'm not talking to you while
you're threatening me” He smooshed his hair with his helmet and
pulled the motorcycle key from his pocket.
“I'm threatening
you?!” she exclaimed in mock exasperation. She tapped her lower
lip with her pointer finger for a moment and thought about his
accusation.
“Well.” she said slowly, trying to sound calm.
“Maybe if you'd quit sticking your dick in everything that moves I wouldn't have to go through this every couple of months.”
She watched as Trent took a deep breath, then reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette. He pursed his lips and drew deeply on it, seemingly pondering what to say next.
“Maybe” he said dangerously low. “If you weren't such a lousy lay I wouldn't have to go get my dick wet elsewhere.” With that he turned the key on his bike and looked pretty happy about getting the last word. He looked over his shoulder and lifted the kickstand on his bike.
“Here it comes!” Jane said to the woman sitting next to her in the equally ugly and ancient lawn chair. That's when they both watched in awe as Shannon swung her skillet.
“Think he's dead?” Ester looked excitedly at Jane.
“Couldn't be so lucky, besides, cheater had a helmet”
Ester shook her head and smiled.
“I didn't think she'd do it.” She looked on proudly across the street where Shannon was violating Trent's bike as he laid unconscious on the cold black top next to it. Shannon lifted the frying pan high above her head and brought it down hard against the front headlight of the bike. She laughed with satisfaction when it broke off and rolled across the drive way. Then without another look at the bike she turned, waved at Jane and Ester and disappeared back inside the house.
“Looks like the shows over.” Jane lit a filterless cigarette and sighed loudly.
“Looks like” Ester agreed and sipped her beer.
Across the street Trent groaned and got slowly back to his feet. He saw his bike and made a choking sound before moving slowly towards the house.
“Looks like Mr. Dick is having some trouble finding his feet” Ester cackled.
“Has no trouble finding his dick in all the wrong places though.” Jane puffed, wheezed and then puffed again.
“Those things will kill ya.”
Ester looked over disapprovingly at her friends cigarette.
“So
won't lecturing me about it” Jane raised an eyebrow and nodded
towards her beer can.
“Little early for a drink ain't it Es?” she looked at her watch and smiled teasingly.
“It's happy hour somewhere.” Ester laughed and lifted her can again.
Across the street the shouting began again. Followed by several moments of silence. Raising an eyebrow Ester looked from the front door to Jane.
“Whatcha think their doing now?” she lifted a new can from the cooler.
“Damn her, she can never say no to him.” Jane sighed and snuffed out her cigarette.
They both watched stunned as Shannon came walking out of the house carrying a duffel bag and wearing an angry expression.
“Where you think she's off to?” Jane frowned and watched her walk down the street. Trent came out the front door and watched her walk for a long moment. He then turned, walked inside and closed the door behind him. After he flipped off the two old hecklers watching him across the street.
She had never been so angry. Those two old crones had sat across the street deriving satisfaction from their fight. She hated that house, those women, this whole stinking town. She had been here too long, it had grown too old and it was time she move on. She turned onto the main street and flagged down a taxi. She didn't need Trent. She had talent, contacts and places to go. The world was her oyster and she was going to start taking advantage of it. She gave the driver the name of the airport and leaned back against the seat with her eyes closed. She didn't open then again until a half an hour later when the cab came to a stop at the front door of the airport. She paid the driver hastily and went inside. There she stood looking at a huge board of flights that had arrived recently and others that were about to depart. Closing her eyes she pointed at the board with her finger and opened her eyes. She frowned at the destination but decided to honor her mental commitment of 'I will go where my finger lands'. She scooped her bag up from the floor and made her way to the ticket counter.
“One ticket to Logan, please.”
The attendant typed feverishly and shook her head.
“That flight is full” she smiled apologetically and offered to help her go anywhere else.
“What flights do you have openings on?” Shannon bit her lip and waited. The attendant rattled off a list of locations, none that really appealed to her.
“If you had talent a credit card and the desire to get the hell out of Hurley to find yourself, where would you go?” She watched the attendant think it over.
“Before you tell me, take that location and turn it into a ticket for me.” Shannon nodded to reassure her. The attendant looked unsure as she typed and frowned at her.
“My dream destination and yours may be different.” she warned her as she printed the ticket.
“Maybe my dream destinations have all worked out wrong.” Shannon said under her breath. She took the ticket, handed over her credit card and frowned.
“Really, this is where you would
go?” she raised an eyebrow at the attendant.
“No other
place like it.” The attendant smiled.
“Well then, I guess I'm saying good bye to the east coast.” With that she picked up her bag and fastened the tag on it the attendant handed her.
“Thanks” she smiled over her shoulder and left to check her bag. She boarded the plane less than 15 minutes later. Her life had changed so drastically that morning. She was no longer Shannon of Crimson Bitch the band she had fronted for 2 years with Trent on the lead guitar beside her. She was Shannon, the-fuck-up-who-could-never-catch-a-break, again. She twisted her necklace and hated her father for slipping into her head just now. He had said she would never be anything. Maybe he was right. She shook off the uneasiness of being her fathers one great failure. She had never been smart enough, strong enough, girly enough for him. He had never been a man for her. He had never picked her up when she had fallen, he had never held her after a nightmare and he certainly never held his head up proudly and proclaimed, that is my daughter!. So what? She asked herself. Wasn't it his loss or something like that? The flight attendant stepped into the middle of the aisle and began explaining to them all what should happen in case of emergency. Uneasily she closed her eyes as the plane began to taxi down the run way and dreaded the flight ahead of her. She hated flying. She let out a deep breath and thought for a long hard moment. This could be good for her right? She had 15 ½ hours to think about it. The plane lifted itself from the runway and she looked at the window for the last time at New York. She hoped coming down in Clare County, Ireland would take her breath away half as much as leaving the only city she had ever known, was.
She landed at the Shannon airport at 4:30am local time and she was exhausted. Her flight had been long but luckily she had fought so hard with Trent that she had slept 13 hours of the trip. They had landed barely an hour later, ahead of schedule. Her knee's were weak and her stomach pitched slightly as she stepped off the plane. What in the hell had she been thinking taking off to Ireland and leaving her life behind? She blew out a breath and tried to steady herself.
“You are looking a bit lost.” His hair was as thick as his accent and she was taken aback a moment before she smiled and nodded.
“I had no idea I was coming here till about 16 hours ago.” she laughed. He smiled in return and smoothed the baseball cap he had in his hands.
“Why the sudden trip then?” she stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head and lowering her eyes.
“Well that's fine then. You will tell me when you are good and ready. When I am behind the bar in my pub people tell me things. Maybe you will come by, have a pint...talk some.” he smiled widely at her, then looked past her and smiled.
“Here she comes now.” Pride flowed in his voice like warm honey. She watched him curiously for several long moments. She turned and watched as a younger woman came off her plane and ran to him excitedly. She studied the way the older mans eyes danced while he stood embracing his daughter and something inside her chest ached.
“Do you know where you are going then lass?” he asked her softly as he stood patting his daughters shoulder affectionately. She shook her head and tried to smile bravely.
“Well then. Let's get your bag. Our family owns an Inn here in county Clare.” The young woman smiled at her before gently taking her hand and leading her to the baggage claim.
“I don't want to impose.” She began.
“Tis not imposing when you have an invitation.” her eyes danced at her. Shannon smiled slowly.
“Besides, we also own a pub, there is plenty of work to be had by those we are wanting it.” Her mischievous eyes continued there dance.
“You don't even know me.” She was breathless from everything that had happened.
“In county Clare there is no need for formalities. When you come into our country we will take care of you.” she smiled at her warmly. Shaking her head, Shannon shrugged and gave in, where else would she go? Already she felt like she was at home.
Walking up in another country was almost completely too much for her. Shannon rolled over, opened her eyes to the scene outside her window and felt the urge to cry pressing in behind her eyes. She needed a lawyer, a job...a clue as to what had caused her to run so far away from home. She squeezed her eyes closed for a long time, refusing to think, refusing to feel. She had just forced herself to sit on the side of the bed when someone knocked on her door. The door opened slowly and Ceara O'Neill's hair was as red as fire against her lightly brushed freckled skin. Her skin itself was paler than Shannon was used to. Where she should have looked shabby, she shined here in her room in the morning light. Her smile was wide, bright and real. After living in New York for so many years she considered herself a pro at spotting false smiles. She blushed slightly but her smile survived the scrutiny somehow.
“Do you stare at everyone in such a way?” she walked around the room gently touching things.
“No.” Shannon cleared her throat and looked out the window again out over the hills.
“Long way from home. You must be missing your family by now.” Ceara looked over at her sympathetically.
“No, not really.” Shannon shook her head but didn't offer anymore. For a few minutes Ceara didn't say much, she just sort of flitted about the room straightening up some as she went.
“I came to tell you it was time
for breakfast. My sister's Dealla and Nessa have been making a royal
mess downstairs in the kitchen.” she smiled warmly at the
memory.
“You are the first New Yorker to ever stay in our
Inn and they are dreaming up a million things to ask you.” She
smiled apologetically at her and stopped the flitting very suddenly.
“No formal dress, just whatever you would wear at home for the day.” she smiled warmly again and took her whirlwind of energy back downstairs as quickly as it had come upon her. Several long moments had passed and Shannon was still sitting on the side of the bed wondering what she should do. When through the air vent in her room wafted the scent of something heavenly. Without another thought she was dressed and down the stairs. She walked slowly into the kitchen and felt the heart warm in her chest immediately. The old kitchen table could seat 12 easily. It was long, scarred and full of people. The two girls she assumed were Dealla and Nessa where in their early teen years. They argued amiably over the puppy who lay with his head resting on his paws under the table. Three young men sat on the opposite side of the table, eating from brimming plates and not wasting time on conversation as they female counterparts were. They were in varying stages of youth, the oldest male, Deven she was told, was 19 and looked nothing like a 19 year old New Yorker. He wore no Mohawk, he had no piercings and his clothes looked freshly washed. All of which were clear signs she was no where near home. The next older male was 17 and had fire engine red hair like almost every other person in the room. His name was Bram and though he resembled his siblings, his features were fuller, his nose slightly wider and his hands could have easily palmed a basketball. His older brother had him in age but Bram had both his brothers in size, standing a full foot and a half over them, even seated. The last male was roughly 14 years of age, she heard one of his sisters squeal the name Keelan and assumed this was him. His hair stood in bright red spikes, though it did not seem intentional, more than likely he had not brushed his short hair after his shower. She walked further into the room and did not sit at the table right away. She was met by 7 pairs of sea green eyes and felt slightly self conscious till every single face smiled back at her. The O'Neill's were noisy, were messy, were disorganized and were one hundred percent open to having her sitting at their foreign breakfast table eating muffins and some of the best eggs she had ever had. Then the bacon, sausage, toast and orange juice they piled onto her. Nessa and Dealla assaulted her with questions about New York, what was popular there? What music did she listen to there? They were both thoroughly impressed, as young girls should be by there guests. The boys however ate in quiet concentration, absorbing every word that was spoken and packing it away for later. The last pair of sea green eyes were those of the older man from the airport. She learned quickly that their father was a quiet man and his children respected him. Quite a feat these days she thought to herself. He was older, broader and quieter than his brood. He had a long scar that ran the length of his left cheek of his face. It made him seem tougher, but the toughness melted under the light that shone from his eyes. He had the same screaming red hair as his children. His however was toned down some by age. He smiled while she struggled to eat some of everything on her plate.