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Only one month into school year that had followed the summer where he had confessed to the boy he loved that he loved him (in no small part because he'd never treated him like he wasn't a real Irishman, not once mocked how his accent wasn't quite like everyone else's), that boy punched him so hard his left eye got anisocoria, and then his dad chipped his teeth later that day because he had already heard, word traveled fast in Malahide, the attitude towards ‘that sort of thing’ not exactly positive in the circles his family were part of, Keiran had made a decision.
To move to Dublin was sure as hell not far enough. Half hour drive. London wasn’t far enough. Hop on the ferry to England. He may know French, but Paris wasn’t far enough. Drive through the Chunnel to France.
If one could get there without having to leave their car behind, it wasn’t far enough.
So, in the end, his arsehole of a father was good for one thing.
He was an American.
Which made Keiran an American citizen.
Three thousand miles that had to be done via aeroplane, a six and a half hour flight to New York City.
That was far enough.
He had considered Seattle, maybe even Honolulu, but then he figured that an even longer plane ride didn’t add that much more trouble to a journey. New York just felt right, anyway.
He didn’t tell anyone about his plans to leave. It’s not like they had any real right to know. It was simple enough to avoid questions by just disappearing into Dublin as much as he could. For fun, and for employment at a fish and chip shop.
Disappearing into Dublin when he wasn’t hard at work at his schooling, that is.
While he strived for top marks and money, a lot of songs floated through his head, to help him through. He wasn’t sure why his brain settled on the English version of Latin Simone to play on a loop, a B-side track from Gorillaz, but, the mind does as it likes.
~Give up
If you wanna survive
Get oh, so alive
In your life
Everything
Falling out the sky on top of you
Now what you do?~
“What’s the matter with you?”
He looked up from his maths homework to find his mam stood in the doorway to his room, expression unreadable.
He returned his eyes to the equations he needed to solve. “Thought you already had your answer to that.”
He heard her make a noise of exasperation. “Look at me, Keiran.”
He looked back up at her. She stood straight from where she had leant on the door jamb, walked into the room, a sat herself down at the foot of the bed where he was sprawled across. “We have hardly talked since…” she trailed off.
“...since you found out that I’m a sodomite?” he finished.
“You’re not a sodomite!” she said, sharply, and then went on to say more gently, “You don’t have to be.” She looked away, and then back at him. “Is that what you’re doing, in Dublin?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “I’m doing lots of things in Dublin,” he answered, in perfect honesty.
“A leanbh,” she murmured as she put her hand to her chest, over her heart.
“As long as we’re finally talking,” he continued, easily, “I did wanna say, good on you for at last kicking out that arse that I, with shame, call my father. Glad that you at least draw the line on him hitting your son, if not on him being a repeat adulterer.”
“Keiran!” she cried, apparently shocked by his manner of speech.
“What?” he replied. He finally set his pencil down, and met her in the eye more squarely. “You know you ought to divorce him, mam.”
“Keiran! How could you-”
“At least do an annulment, then, though I feel that doesn’t say what you ought to tell him. Just being ‘separated’ suggests you’ll take him back, eventually. Is that what you plan to do?”
Her face shuttered. She got up from the bed.
He pursed his lips before he said, “Suddenly remember why you’ve barely spoken to me in a month, eh?”
She simply stood there, for a moment, and said, “You used to be such a good boy.”
She left the room. She did not slam the door, but, near enough.
~What’s the matter with me?
What’s the matter with me…~
“Oi, oi! There’s the fag!”
“You don’t belong here, poof. This here a Catholic school, what’re you doin’?”
“Ah, Paddy, isn’t it obvious? Got his fingers crossed that Father will finally turn out to be one of ‘those priests’, d’ya know what I mean?”
‘Oh, that crossed a line.’ “Fuck off!” Keiran spat out.
Patrick’s eyebrows shot up. “Language,” he chided, “God can hear you.”
“And God can hear you,” came the retort. Keiran raised an eyebrow at the pair. “Guess you conveniently forgot, like all else, it seems, the bits about how those that judge will be judged, planks in the eye, and all that lot?”
Patrick narrowed his eyes at him. “What’re you playing at, someone like you speaking scripture at us ?”
“You’re just not liking that it applies to you more than it does to me, since that’s stuff Jesus actually talked about.”
Patrick opened his mouth, clearly intent to hurl something back for that, but John patted him on the shoulder, and said, “Come on, Paddy; no point in arguing the bible with a heathen.”
And they walked away, down the hall, into the school library. They did not slam the door, but Keiran was sure they had wanted to.
~Give up
If you want to survive
Pick the sound back up
You’ve got
To get on the song
Lowly
What’s the point?
It’s funny, ‘till you’re left to kill yourself
In this town~
He had managed to keep it secret that he meant to leave, in those nearly three years. Everything he planned to bring with him fit in an inconspicuous backpack.
His father had moved back in the day before his flight.
He left a note on the bed for them to find that said he’d gone to America, would not return, and to not try to contact him.
Nothing more.
~What’s the matter with me?
What’s the matter with me…~