Dirzrahel
07-14-2010, 07:10 PM
((Rated T for sexual references and strong cursing))
An Mactíre ina Bhaile
“The wolf in his home, what it says,” I answered a patron at the bar. He was a glassy-eyed sort, full of whiskey and nuts and just about nuts as well. Mr. McKay was a regular at the bar – and regularly did he ask what the sign meant over the bar – like an idea bulb over my head. I didn’t much mind, after all, he tipped well. Worth keeping a good tipper. My fingers tapped in rhythm as the jingle in the background grew and grew, an old song playing that reminded me of old times. I was what, twelve years old when this song came first to my ears? The rare ould times. Haha, ironic that the same song was playin’ in the bar! Mr. McKay ordered another hit, and my hands went to work with a jigger of whiskey and a bottle of Guinness. In another moment, the old codger sat and enjoyed his drink. Such was the life nowadays. Dad gone, bar to meself. He went down in a blaze of glory, the leprechaun bastard. He went skydiving because he said he wanted to do it before he got too old, and decided to go do it over the Scottish highlands. I didn’t recommend the idea, telling him to wait until the storms died down so the wind wouldn’t carry him. I think that egged him on even more, because as usual, he does the opposite of what I say. He went during the stormiest day and refused to have a partner, claiming it to be not his way of life. Personally I think he was referring to homosexuality, not safety. He was a prejudiced man for sure.
So, yes, that’s right. He went into a small little plane piloted by a drunken oaf (keep in mind that’s Scotland, lads and lasses) and got over the highlands, parachute ready. He didn’t hesitate in the slightest when the word “Jump” sounded off, and down he went. The director of operations had nothing more to say to me, other than that me father plunged down and managed to release the ‘chute. The wind took him promptly, and he disappeared into the foliage below. Right when that man called me and told me about the accident, I gathered up all my friends and took a trip to Scotland in the fastest way possible. The highlands weren’t the most forgiving of forests, and although it’s terrible humor, a wolf would consider Dad a small lamb. So to balance things out I had me own wolf, Devil. He knew Dad’s scent like he knew the scent of cooked steak, and also adding the fact Devil would gnaw on father every now and then for shits and giggles. The Alaskan grey wolf looked at me with his deep, round yellow eyes and seemed to nod when we got to the beginning of the highlands; and in moments, he shot into the brush. Good boy. Brally, Tess, Tissandra, and I followed after with our flashlights and a compass to make sure we would not get ourselves lost if we found Dad, or if the situation was on the more negative side. Turns out I was right a little while later when a familiar howl went off in the distance. Devil had found the old leprechaun.
We wrapped his body in the bright orange parachute and I held him in my arms the entire way out of the highland forest. A few tears went down my face, I remember well. But father had always told me, don’t cry for the dead. The dead are gone, and cannot see the tears with their unopened eyes. Instead, yell out, yell far and wide, yell until your life flickers. For while tears simply drip and dampen, a voice can raise the dead with a racket of noise. So, at his funeral, I did as he said. I didn’t much care about the others there attending his death, because that was another thing Dad had told me. Don’t let me see you at a funeral, he said. They’re full of people who think a dead man can change their outlook on the life they still have. Naturally I got looks of terror shot at me while I yelled incoherently into the air, sometimes flooding into the old tongue of Gaelic, sometimes just something that came from the deepest part of my gullet. Devil was there beside me, taking his cue and howling into the air his terrible and mighty call of the wild. The loyal wolf died next, three years later. Here I stand from that eighteenth year as a thirty-one year old bar owner.
Mr. McKay banged his mug on the counter twice with sturdy thumps, a smile edging from his coarse shaven face, and crooked old teeth peeking out from his mouth.
“Gurt story laddeh. Yur fadder wush a grrreat mahn,” he slurred. I could tell right away he was done. Hell, he was always done by the eighth drink. The man had a good schedule.
“Tanks t’ere Mr. McKay, sah,” I said back, pushing him another mug of mix. He deserved another for complimenting my father.
This was the usual day of the bar. Mr. McKay drinking, me at the bar rambling, and the occasional passerby stopping in for a couple drinks. Killorglin was a rather modest town, but located a bit far away from the usual tourist attractions. I leaned on the bar, breathing deeply, letting the breath out slowly as my eyes closed. They opened and there was an apparition of my father, his arms crossed, spiritual corpse floating in the air. I suppose this was so he could actually look me in the eye for once, the damned leprechaun. His mouth opened and he chuckled at me and shrugged. No sound came out, and I tossed that aside as eerie. I closed my eyes and opened them again, the apparition was gone. Immediately I looked down at the shot glass between my hands and saw the tell-tale green liquid. I sighed audibly and tossed the shot in the icebox, slapping myself in the forehead as I remembered some youthful memories once more. Absynthe. The stuff was like LSD and alcohol mixed into one, and it didn’t help that the liquid blackout was made with wormwood.
I was sixteen years old, about four months away from going to live in America for a while. My good friends all gathered over at my house in the morning while I slept and were busy packing things up. Father didn’t really mind, in fact, he helped. A quick trip in the kitchen and he brought out four bottles of our own homebrew scotch. That was his helping action, I suppose. Good enough for me. I woke up to my birthday that day, and to the sight of four backpacks filled to the brim with supplies. I blinked a moment on the mahogany staircase; my hand supported me through means of the rail. While I thought about why four backpacks were lined up; Brally, Tiss, and Tess came out from below the staircase and yelled “Breithlá Sona!” straight into my face. That was a more sobering event than most, considering my hangover immediately disappeared. That was when I learned that hangovers can be cured by getting yelled at in the face, but then later in life, I learned that girlfriends don’t do it as well. That was also about the time I learned nagging only makes hangovers worse. My feet kind of faltered down the steps as I came down, whirled around the staircase and finally planted my feet on the floor; only to be swept up in one of Brally’s giant gorilla hugs and then a group hug with Tess and Tiss. Love was blooming everywhere, seriously. They were telling me about their plan for my birthday, and the plan was about backpacking Europe. But first came the day, and that was spent at the bar.
"Oi yah bloody brutish bonnet o' baby's quim c'mere and get yer doom yeh cornholin' squabba o flamin' fag!"
"Haha yeh drunk ole' ass rimmin' bastad, coom and get me loik yer chasin' teh ass o' yah male lova!"
A cursing contest, something that usually went on during the evenings of bar life. This was particularly special, since it was between me and Brally. I had gone first, and he had gone second, and now it was my turn once more—
“OI a male lovah yeahs? Lessh see wit yer doin wit yur pants ‘tere next tah Tess ‘dere me boyo and shee dat ‘ittle bit of pride yah cull eh dick yeh chicken arse fockin’ goat gropin’ horse fondlin’ wee man!”
Brally just stared at me, his eyes solid and a bit hazed over from the alcohol. For an Irishman of six feet and seven inches, he looked like a leprechaun from how soaked he was. The man had had nearly twenty car bombs, myself only seventeen. Though it seemed I had won the contest. He collapsed on the floor and blacked out for the night, we all laughed. I closed up the bar for the night and picked up the big brute with some effort, trying to stave off the drunken vision as I climbed up the rickety steps and placed him in the living quarters above the bar. I had added on this little part myself one summer, so I could just sleep at the bar and open it up, as well as close it. Better for business, because after all, I was the keep. The night waned away quietly, unlike the snores of Brally, and the morning came rather swiftly. In fact, it came coupled with a hangover. Though, I saw that coming, and didn’t pay any mind to it. Once you have enough, it’s easy to ignore them and act like you’re fine.
“I cull bullshat on that boyo,” Mr. McKay interrupted, banging his mug on the counter like he usually did.
“Hangovas feel turrible! Don’ matta if’n yeh had em a lot. I kin this,” He continued, mumbling a bit afterwards.
Openly I sighed and brushed my brow with my hand, drying it of a bit of old sweat. The bar was rather hot today, even behind the counter. I went into the back for a quick moment and turned the air conditioning down. Very odd it was hot in the bar, since the temperature was at twenty-one Celsius.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t what happened that night. That was all a dream. The cursing contest and all. The truth is, apparently I blacked out after twenty-seven Irish car bombs and started moving around. Brally said I grabbed the keys to my Dad’s car and called up my uncle to ask him for a flight. My dear old Uncle Jack was a private pilot. How the recounting of the incident goes, I drove everyone to the air strip and we all huddled onto my uncle’s plane and set off toward destination unknown. That morning I woke up in a hotel and I looked around frantically. Tiss and Tess were laying next to me, Brally in his own bed. I woke them both up with a flick to their ears and looked at them quizzically.
“What the hell happened last night?”
Tiss and Tess looked at me and giggled a bit at each other. The twins were always so very devious.
“Mmmmmmm, we raped you!” Both of them started to giggle madly, and I rolled my eyes in turn.
“Seriously lasses, where are we? I don’t remember a thing.”
“Oh, we’re in Amsterdam. You blacked out and got us here, you stud you!”
It didn’t help they answered each time in unison. They had it out for me, I swear by Lou’s beard. Brally was chuckling in his bed, leaning on his hand as he lay sideways facing the three of us. He pointed to the backpacks and then to the door, giving us a wink.
“Well now, since you lovers have woken up, let us go on our trip, eh,” Brally said as he got up off the bed, “and let’s not let a drunken person drive us around or lead us, for that matter.”
The start was rough but worth it. We were in Amsterdam, after all. The air smelled ripe of fresh marijuana and broken bottles dotted the street here and there. We had breakfast at a lounge of some sorts and all of us had the special pancakes. They were definitely something, because I swear the blueberries were the best I’ve ever had in my whole entire life and the syrup was the richest tasting stuff shy of getting it straight from the tree. Later on I blamed the weed. Damn stuff is a great gimmick to make shitty food taste like a five-star feast. We loitered around in the district a bit, playing games like “Spot the Cumdumpster” and “Trip the Hoe”. The latter game was my favorite, since it involved expertly tossing a stone under the heel of a hooker so when she stepped, she fell on her knees. Yeah, it was an assholish game—but it was a damned lot of fun. Soon enough came the night when we went to the most exclusive club in the place, Bitterzoet. That was when I was introduced to something called a Neon, which was a shot of absinthe and cream liqueur. That was also the night where another interesting thing occurred that Tiss and Tess never let me live down for the rest of my life. That night happened to be my first experience with absinthe, and I can say, it was the last. After about fifteen shots of Neon, I sat down at the bar with Brally and blinked my eyes in amazement at what was before me. Somehow a Tyrannosaurus Rex was on the dance floor, and once it saw me, it stopped. Slowly it crept toward me, its mouth agape, and my own nearly hitting the floor in surprise. By report, I leaped off the bar stool and ran out of the club, the T-Rex chasing me the entire way. Of course, I was the only one to see this fabled dinosaur. Brally had been laughing at the bar hysterically until he fell over and started shaking as well as flailing around. Tess and Tiss said he kept yelling about squirrels and their army was attacking him. I used this to my advantage later on. The day after that night extravaganza we were walking along a row of trees and I stopped, pointed up and yelled, “Squirrel!”, like a madman. Brally ducked and ran like an idiot, he nearly ran a half mile before he realized what was happening then turned around and shot me the finger.
“Aye dat wash a bitch move boyo,” Mr. McKay interjected, taking a swig of his mug and then smacking it against the countertop once more. I looked at the old man and sighed, bringing my hand to my chest. It felt like I had a cramp, and it was still relatively hot in the bar. I breathed deeply and let it go, and the pain subsided.
As the trip goes, we went all over the place. We went to Russia, drank an obscene amount of vodka. We went to Italy, ate an obscene amount of pasta. We went to England, punched a Brit. We went to France, punched a mime. Went to jail. Fucking Frenchies. We were about finished with our backpacking adventure when Brally stopped us and offered his idea. He decided for our last stop, we would go to Ethiopia. Personally, I thought this idea was bollocks. Tiss and Tess agreed. Unfortunately, Uncle Jack flew us there anyway. I think Brally might have paid him off. There we were in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, if you could even call it a city. The place was desolate, empty; no life whatsoever we thought could live here. We all walked into the middle of the city through the medinas and stopped, looking around as we saw stark naked children running around and adult men and women skinny as bone. I brought my water flask to my lips and drank deep, it was hot out. Only then did I realize I had done the most bastard action in the world, drinking water in front of Ethiopians. Brally’s eyes went wide and we immediately turned around and went back to my Uncle Jack’s plane. He had stayed, apparently, because he knew we would come back as soon as we got there. Good man. As our last stop we went to Scotland and mulled around a bit, mingling through cities to get to Castle Inverness over the loch. We always visited Castle Inverness every year, since it was the place where we first made our vow to always be there for one another. A childish notion, yes. Under the castle’s gaze though, that vow was made permanent by the lives of thousands of our ancestors. We took it quite seriously. After we got through all that sort of drama, we trekked back to Glasgow and got back on my uncle’s plane for home. I paid him back for all the flying he did, and he accepted it grudgingly. He didn’t like being paid by family, because he usually did everything for free for us and thought nothing of it. I wouldn’t hear of it. He wasted a lot of fuel.
“Aye er gurt end ‘tah the store boyoo,” Mr. McKay slurred. I could tell he was quite drunk at this time. The pain came back in my chest and my body was burning up, my eyes grew wide in shock. I held my chest with my hand and tried to breathe slowly; a customer took one look at me and immediately dialed his cell phone for an ambulance. I collapsed on the floor, I was shaking, and then I blacked out.
A day later I was in Dublin at a very nice hospital. Tiss and Brally were beside me, they were asleep, their hands entwined. They were married now, after all. Tess was on my right; her head was propped up against my thigh. The fabric was a bit damp near her eyes, so I figured she had been crying. I brushed he head softly with my fingers, her red locks dancing around my index and tangling themselves within my grip. Her eyes opened slowly and she raised her head, her eyes red and puffy. She took her hand and held mine, kissing it softly and then rising and hugging me while I was still in bed. She backed away a bit, and from the way her mouth was twitching, I knew she was about to say something.
Slap.
Her hand came across my face so hard I swear I was seeing stars when I looked back at her. Brally and Tiss had woken up, their eyes a bit teary as well, but their mouths were upturned in laughter. Tess looked at me with anger and pointed her finger at me.
“Don’t you EVER do that shit to us again you fucking bastard!”
I blinked in astonishment and shrugged, a smile coming to my lips. Her face suddenly got a bit brighter too, hugging me again as she giggled with joy. Tiss and Brally started talking then, regaling me of what happened after I had the heart attack and then explaining what the doctors did to me. They had watched the entire time. I could tell they were with me the entire time, because when I looked down between my legs, “We were here” was marked on my penis in purple sharpie pen. Wonderful. We’re middle-aged and still pulling pranks that make us look like kids!
“So, what happened after you found our prank,” Brally asked, “did you freak?”
I told him no, and sighed deeply. I had been in the hospital this entire time, telling them the story of how I ended up in the hospital and then the events surrounding it. They wanted to hear their part in it, so I added it, of course. They already wanted to meet Mr. McKay, since he sounded like a fun guy to have around at the bar. I told them sometime to come by back home and stay at my home for a little while, and that they were always welcome. I told them an old wolf could use his pack back.
An Mactíre ina Bhaile
“The wolf in his home, what it says,” I answered a patron at the bar. He was a glassy-eyed sort, full of whiskey and nuts and just about nuts as well. Mr. McKay was a regular at the bar – and regularly did he ask what the sign meant over the bar – like an idea bulb over my head. I didn’t much mind, after all, he tipped well. Worth keeping a good tipper. My fingers tapped in rhythm as the jingle in the background grew and grew, an old song playing that reminded me of old times. I was what, twelve years old when this song came first to my ears? The rare ould times. Haha, ironic that the same song was playin’ in the bar! Mr. McKay ordered another hit, and my hands went to work with a jigger of whiskey and a bottle of Guinness. In another moment, the old codger sat and enjoyed his drink. Such was the life nowadays. Dad gone, bar to meself. He went down in a blaze of glory, the leprechaun bastard. He went skydiving because he said he wanted to do it before he got too old, and decided to go do it over the Scottish highlands. I didn’t recommend the idea, telling him to wait until the storms died down so the wind wouldn’t carry him. I think that egged him on even more, because as usual, he does the opposite of what I say. He went during the stormiest day and refused to have a partner, claiming it to be not his way of life. Personally I think he was referring to homosexuality, not safety. He was a prejudiced man for sure.
So, yes, that’s right. He went into a small little plane piloted by a drunken oaf (keep in mind that’s Scotland, lads and lasses) and got over the highlands, parachute ready. He didn’t hesitate in the slightest when the word “Jump” sounded off, and down he went. The director of operations had nothing more to say to me, other than that me father plunged down and managed to release the ‘chute. The wind took him promptly, and he disappeared into the foliage below. Right when that man called me and told me about the accident, I gathered up all my friends and took a trip to Scotland in the fastest way possible. The highlands weren’t the most forgiving of forests, and although it’s terrible humor, a wolf would consider Dad a small lamb. So to balance things out I had me own wolf, Devil. He knew Dad’s scent like he knew the scent of cooked steak, and also adding the fact Devil would gnaw on father every now and then for shits and giggles. The Alaskan grey wolf looked at me with his deep, round yellow eyes and seemed to nod when we got to the beginning of the highlands; and in moments, he shot into the brush. Good boy. Brally, Tess, Tissandra, and I followed after with our flashlights and a compass to make sure we would not get ourselves lost if we found Dad, or if the situation was on the more negative side. Turns out I was right a little while later when a familiar howl went off in the distance. Devil had found the old leprechaun.
We wrapped his body in the bright orange parachute and I held him in my arms the entire way out of the highland forest. A few tears went down my face, I remember well. But father had always told me, don’t cry for the dead. The dead are gone, and cannot see the tears with their unopened eyes. Instead, yell out, yell far and wide, yell until your life flickers. For while tears simply drip and dampen, a voice can raise the dead with a racket of noise. So, at his funeral, I did as he said. I didn’t much care about the others there attending his death, because that was another thing Dad had told me. Don’t let me see you at a funeral, he said. They’re full of people who think a dead man can change their outlook on the life they still have. Naturally I got looks of terror shot at me while I yelled incoherently into the air, sometimes flooding into the old tongue of Gaelic, sometimes just something that came from the deepest part of my gullet. Devil was there beside me, taking his cue and howling into the air his terrible and mighty call of the wild. The loyal wolf died next, three years later. Here I stand from that eighteenth year as a thirty-one year old bar owner.
Mr. McKay banged his mug on the counter twice with sturdy thumps, a smile edging from his coarse shaven face, and crooked old teeth peeking out from his mouth.
“Gurt story laddeh. Yur fadder wush a grrreat mahn,” he slurred. I could tell right away he was done. Hell, he was always done by the eighth drink. The man had a good schedule.
“Tanks t’ere Mr. McKay, sah,” I said back, pushing him another mug of mix. He deserved another for complimenting my father.
This was the usual day of the bar. Mr. McKay drinking, me at the bar rambling, and the occasional passerby stopping in for a couple drinks. Killorglin was a rather modest town, but located a bit far away from the usual tourist attractions. I leaned on the bar, breathing deeply, letting the breath out slowly as my eyes closed. They opened and there was an apparition of my father, his arms crossed, spiritual corpse floating in the air. I suppose this was so he could actually look me in the eye for once, the damned leprechaun. His mouth opened and he chuckled at me and shrugged. No sound came out, and I tossed that aside as eerie. I closed my eyes and opened them again, the apparition was gone. Immediately I looked down at the shot glass between my hands and saw the tell-tale green liquid. I sighed audibly and tossed the shot in the icebox, slapping myself in the forehead as I remembered some youthful memories once more. Absynthe. The stuff was like LSD and alcohol mixed into one, and it didn’t help that the liquid blackout was made with wormwood.
I was sixteen years old, about four months away from going to live in America for a while. My good friends all gathered over at my house in the morning while I slept and were busy packing things up. Father didn’t really mind, in fact, he helped. A quick trip in the kitchen and he brought out four bottles of our own homebrew scotch. That was his helping action, I suppose. Good enough for me. I woke up to my birthday that day, and to the sight of four backpacks filled to the brim with supplies. I blinked a moment on the mahogany staircase; my hand supported me through means of the rail. While I thought about why four backpacks were lined up; Brally, Tiss, and Tess came out from below the staircase and yelled “Breithlá Sona!” straight into my face. That was a more sobering event than most, considering my hangover immediately disappeared. That was when I learned that hangovers can be cured by getting yelled at in the face, but then later in life, I learned that girlfriends don’t do it as well. That was also about the time I learned nagging only makes hangovers worse. My feet kind of faltered down the steps as I came down, whirled around the staircase and finally planted my feet on the floor; only to be swept up in one of Brally’s giant gorilla hugs and then a group hug with Tess and Tiss. Love was blooming everywhere, seriously. They were telling me about their plan for my birthday, and the plan was about backpacking Europe. But first came the day, and that was spent at the bar.
"Oi yah bloody brutish bonnet o' baby's quim c'mere and get yer doom yeh cornholin' squabba o flamin' fag!"
"Haha yeh drunk ole' ass rimmin' bastad, coom and get me loik yer chasin' teh ass o' yah male lova!"
A cursing contest, something that usually went on during the evenings of bar life. This was particularly special, since it was between me and Brally. I had gone first, and he had gone second, and now it was my turn once more—
“OI a male lovah yeahs? Lessh see wit yer doin wit yur pants ‘tere next tah Tess ‘dere me boyo and shee dat ‘ittle bit of pride yah cull eh dick yeh chicken arse fockin’ goat gropin’ horse fondlin’ wee man!”
Brally just stared at me, his eyes solid and a bit hazed over from the alcohol. For an Irishman of six feet and seven inches, he looked like a leprechaun from how soaked he was. The man had had nearly twenty car bombs, myself only seventeen. Though it seemed I had won the contest. He collapsed on the floor and blacked out for the night, we all laughed. I closed up the bar for the night and picked up the big brute with some effort, trying to stave off the drunken vision as I climbed up the rickety steps and placed him in the living quarters above the bar. I had added on this little part myself one summer, so I could just sleep at the bar and open it up, as well as close it. Better for business, because after all, I was the keep. The night waned away quietly, unlike the snores of Brally, and the morning came rather swiftly. In fact, it came coupled with a hangover. Though, I saw that coming, and didn’t pay any mind to it. Once you have enough, it’s easy to ignore them and act like you’re fine.
“I cull bullshat on that boyo,” Mr. McKay interrupted, banging his mug on the counter like he usually did.
“Hangovas feel turrible! Don’ matta if’n yeh had em a lot. I kin this,” He continued, mumbling a bit afterwards.
Openly I sighed and brushed my brow with my hand, drying it of a bit of old sweat. The bar was rather hot today, even behind the counter. I went into the back for a quick moment and turned the air conditioning down. Very odd it was hot in the bar, since the temperature was at twenty-one Celsius.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t what happened that night. That was all a dream. The cursing contest and all. The truth is, apparently I blacked out after twenty-seven Irish car bombs and started moving around. Brally said I grabbed the keys to my Dad’s car and called up my uncle to ask him for a flight. My dear old Uncle Jack was a private pilot. How the recounting of the incident goes, I drove everyone to the air strip and we all huddled onto my uncle’s plane and set off toward destination unknown. That morning I woke up in a hotel and I looked around frantically. Tiss and Tess were laying next to me, Brally in his own bed. I woke them both up with a flick to their ears and looked at them quizzically.
“What the hell happened last night?”
Tiss and Tess looked at me and giggled a bit at each other. The twins were always so very devious.
“Mmmmmmm, we raped you!” Both of them started to giggle madly, and I rolled my eyes in turn.
“Seriously lasses, where are we? I don’t remember a thing.”
“Oh, we’re in Amsterdam. You blacked out and got us here, you stud you!”
It didn’t help they answered each time in unison. They had it out for me, I swear by Lou’s beard. Brally was chuckling in his bed, leaning on his hand as he lay sideways facing the three of us. He pointed to the backpacks and then to the door, giving us a wink.
“Well now, since you lovers have woken up, let us go on our trip, eh,” Brally said as he got up off the bed, “and let’s not let a drunken person drive us around or lead us, for that matter.”
The start was rough but worth it. We were in Amsterdam, after all. The air smelled ripe of fresh marijuana and broken bottles dotted the street here and there. We had breakfast at a lounge of some sorts and all of us had the special pancakes. They were definitely something, because I swear the blueberries were the best I’ve ever had in my whole entire life and the syrup was the richest tasting stuff shy of getting it straight from the tree. Later on I blamed the weed. Damn stuff is a great gimmick to make shitty food taste like a five-star feast. We loitered around in the district a bit, playing games like “Spot the Cumdumpster” and “Trip the Hoe”. The latter game was my favorite, since it involved expertly tossing a stone under the heel of a hooker so when she stepped, she fell on her knees. Yeah, it was an assholish game—but it was a damned lot of fun. Soon enough came the night when we went to the most exclusive club in the place, Bitterzoet. That was when I was introduced to something called a Neon, which was a shot of absinthe and cream liqueur. That was also the night where another interesting thing occurred that Tiss and Tess never let me live down for the rest of my life. That night happened to be my first experience with absinthe, and I can say, it was the last. After about fifteen shots of Neon, I sat down at the bar with Brally and blinked my eyes in amazement at what was before me. Somehow a Tyrannosaurus Rex was on the dance floor, and once it saw me, it stopped. Slowly it crept toward me, its mouth agape, and my own nearly hitting the floor in surprise. By report, I leaped off the bar stool and ran out of the club, the T-Rex chasing me the entire way. Of course, I was the only one to see this fabled dinosaur. Brally had been laughing at the bar hysterically until he fell over and started shaking as well as flailing around. Tess and Tiss said he kept yelling about squirrels and their army was attacking him. I used this to my advantage later on. The day after that night extravaganza we were walking along a row of trees and I stopped, pointed up and yelled, “Squirrel!”, like a madman. Brally ducked and ran like an idiot, he nearly ran a half mile before he realized what was happening then turned around and shot me the finger.
“Aye dat wash a bitch move boyo,” Mr. McKay interjected, taking a swig of his mug and then smacking it against the countertop once more. I looked at the old man and sighed, bringing my hand to my chest. It felt like I had a cramp, and it was still relatively hot in the bar. I breathed deeply and let it go, and the pain subsided.
As the trip goes, we went all over the place. We went to Russia, drank an obscene amount of vodka. We went to Italy, ate an obscene amount of pasta. We went to England, punched a Brit. We went to France, punched a mime. Went to jail. Fucking Frenchies. We were about finished with our backpacking adventure when Brally stopped us and offered his idea. He decided for our last stop, we would go to Ethiopia. Personally, I thought this idea was bollocks. Tiss and Tess agreed. Unfortunately, Uncle Jack flew us there anyway. I think Brally might have paid him off. There we were in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, if you could even call it a city. The place was desolate, empty; no life whatsoever we thought could live here. We all walked into the middle of the city through the medinas and stopped, looking around as we saw stark naked children running around and adult men and women skinny as bone. I brought my water flask to my lips and drank deep, it was hot out. Only then did I realize I had done the most bastard action in the world, drinking water in front of Ethiopians. Brally’s eyes went wide and we immediately turned around and went back to my Uncle Jack’s plane. He had stayed, apparently, because he knew we would come back as soon as we got there. Good man. As our last stop we went to Scotland and mulled around a bit, mingling through cities to get to Castle Inverness over the loch. We always visited Castle Inverness every year, since it was the place where we first made our vow to always be there for one another. A childish notion, yes. Under the castle’s gaze though, that vow was made permanent by the lives of thousands of our ancestors. We took it quite seriously. After we got through all that sort of drama, we trekked back to Glasgow and got back on my uncle’s plane for home. I paid him back for all the flying he did, and he accepted it grudgingly. He didn’t like being paid by family, because he usually did everything for free for us and thought nothing of it. I wouldn’t hear of it. He wasted a lot of fuel.
“Aye er gurt end ‘tah the store boyoo,” Mr. McKay slurred. I could tell he was quite drunk at this time. The pain came back in my chest and my body was burning up, my eyes grew wide in shock. I held my chest with my hand and tried to breathe slowly; a customer took one look at me and immediately dialed his cell phone for an ambulance. I collapsed on the floor, I was shaking, and then I blacked out.
A day later I was in Dublin at a very nice hospital. Tiss and Brally were beside me, they were asleep, their hands entwined. They were married now, after all. Tess was on my right; her head was propped up against my thigh. The fabric was a bit damp near her eyes, so I figured she had been crying. I brushed he head softly with my fingers, her red locks dancing around my index and tangling themselves within my grip. Her eyes opened slowly and she raised her head, her eyes red and puffy. She took her hand and held mine, kissing it softly and then rising and hugging me while I was still in bed. She backed away a bit, and from the way her mouth was twitching, I knew she was about to say something.
Slap.
Her hand came across my face so hard I swear I was seeing stars when I looked back at her. Brally and Tiss had woken up, their eyes a bit teary as well, but their mouths were upturned in laughter. Tess looked at me with anger and pointed her finger at me.
“Don’t you EVER do that shit to us again you fucking bastard!”
I blinked in astonishment and shrugged, a smile coming to my lips. Her face suddenly got a bit brighter too, hugging me again as she giggled with joy. Tiss and Brally started talking then, regaling me of what happened after I had the heart attack and then explaining what the doctors did to me. They had watched the entire time. I could tell they were with me the entire time, because when I looked down between my legs, “We were here” was marked on my penis in purple sharpie pen. Wonderful. We’re middle-aged and still pulling pranks that make us look like kids!
“So, what happened after you found our prank,” Brally asked, “did you freak?”
I told him no, and sighed deeply. I had been in the hospital this entire time, telling them the story of how I ended up in the hospital and then the events surrounding it. They wanted to hear their part in it, so I added it, of course. They already wanted to meet Mr. McKay, since he sounded like a fun guy to have around at the bar. I told them sometime to come by back home and stay at my home for a little while, and that they were always welcome. I told them an old wolf could use his pack back.