Dublin Nocturne

I pick a seat somewhere halfway down the bottom half of the top of the yellow double decker. It shivers towards the city as though crawling, because it’s just after five o’clock on a Friday. The upper floor’s interiors are reflected on the windows that frame the nocturne of suburbia, like dewdrops emanating the moonlight. Rows of seats in front, like a European bridge I recognized but didn’t learn the name of. I am reminded of my travels in that city where a good friend of mine occupied our long journeys by asking a series of questions from a ‘Proust’ questionnaire - one of which was ‘what is your favourite journey?’ I hadn’t the heart to tell her that it certainly wasn’t the one we were on together, but that of another time - a regular journey on the RER A train from Bussy-Saint-George bustling in the direction of Châtelet–Les Halles in the centre of Paris.

It was a very different time to now. A time when I spent a lot less money. That was because I wasn’t earning as much - but my heart was much more hungry back then. I consider the dangers of a hungry heart as the bus comes to a stop and I re-associate myself with our location. Many youths mount the bus in a bushel of puffy jackets and joyful ambition. The atmosphere shifts up top in the bus with the rubbery thumps from their bubbled trainers climbing the stairs. I place earphones into my ears and try to establish some form of chosen and yet, arranged melodies in an attempt to cloud their riotous, exaggeratedly-masculine conversation. My mind is scored by an advertisement before I can listen to what I actually want. Their chatter is now something I’m aware is happening around me, rather than something I have to endure - like a mysterious pain in a middle-aged man.

We pull into the side of the road to allow an oncoming ambulance to pass. Their blue lights penetrate the light of the interior, so we are momentarily given the illusion of being underwater beyond the deadening light of the common fluorescents. I take out an earphone to hear the siren - the youths have quietened to its passing, as though it were a hearse. I am reminded of the repeated announcements of leaving baggage unattended on that RER train; because Paris was more prone to bomb threats than Dublin, such notices were necessary. I remember looking down upon the suburban towns the train passed, so different to those I passed now - Coolock, Artane, Fairview. I remember one station in Paris, Neuilly-Plaisance, had its station built on a sky bridge above the town. It’s not often that one mode of transport mimics the experience of another - not where I come from. I would take that train into the centre as often as possible. Sometimes I would make it in time to see the film, sometimes not. Mostly, it would be to meet him.

Alastair was the type of man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with; I wanted to save him, as his expression always gave me this impression, but he needed anything but to be saved. His mother adored him - his father shaped him in a way I resented. His brother was candidly accepting of what life had thrown at him - the less-favoured older sibling - cruelly pressured into believing he was the example, and held accountable as though every mistake he made was much worse because of the apparent influence he had on his younger sibling. Alastair was the longest relationship I ever had and for the first time, it was threatened. Today he would tell me the outcome of his decision.

We pass by Fairview and the flashing lights are starting to take over the iridescent blue of the condensation blanketing the bus’ windows. I see patterns I believe only visible to myself in my blatant attempt to cloud my anxiety. Christmas was an important time as we had met in Dublin little over three Christmases prior to then. He came to Ireland from Paris to improve his English. We always joked about how we had both been expats living in Paris at the same time and had never met one another there; the days where the RER A train had me looking down on his suburban town, unaware that I would be waking up next to one of its men morning after morning in the future. And now, I found myself in a place in our relationship where I’m no longer the priority, but a liability.

He always wanted something more than looking after children. He studied childcare back in Brazil and after only four years working full time in the sector, he was already burned out. He always came home with the smell of plasticine and strawberry yogurt coming from his black hoodie. He referred to the children he worked for as ‘Little Shits’ but longed for the chance to have some of his own. I had made it clear on a number of occasions how I felt about the matter - I did not want children. It was constantly dismissed; you’ll change your mind - you’re too young to know - how could you be so sure of such a thing? And now, a new focus came into view - a coding course in a prestigious college in Paris. A two-year Masters. It was all planned out nicely.

He awaited the call all day and finally they rang him at lunch to let him know whether he was accepted or not. ‘Meet me outside Wynn’s Hotel at 7pm. I’ve made a decision. I’ll tell you everything.’ A decision had been made.

The bus traverses the bridge, its brakes hissing as it comes to a stop just before the traffic lights. I glide my hand across the tinted window, revealing the splattering of lights coming from the docklands. There is an awesome feeling of doubt in my chest. I don’t want things to change. I never have - I want him to be happy, but I want him to be happy with me. Like a twitch, the lights change to green and we are once again motioned forwards as we jetty into Amiens Street. There are already people standing up and wobbling towards the stairs though we are a while away yet from the Connolly stop. I could get off here and walk down Talbot street and cut down into Abbey street. I debated the preference of walking further in the cold versus walking the shorter distance and being blown asunder on the banks of the river Liffey. I was never any good at making a decision and so I found my hesitation once again making the decision for me as the bus took off again from Connolly station.

I connected the zip of my jacket in anticipation of the harsh wind. I felt it tickle my index finger as it lashed against the vertical teeth that swallowed my chest upwards towards my neck. The bus floor was speckled with shoe prints painted in specks of watery mud. The narrow stairs descended like the stones of a waterfall as I held onto its plastic rails, praying they could hold me, and all the while triggering a desire for antibacterial gel. The wind wasn’t as rough as I had anticipated, but I knew from experience that I was just in a lucky moment. I had yet to turn onto O’Connell Street. The pavements were inundated with shoppers ringed with bags, and twinkling lights reflected in murky puddles like yachts in a nocturnal summer marina. Turning the corner onto Dublin’s main street was like peering through a champagne bottle, it dripped with the lights of the season. Whatever the outcome of Alastair’s decision, I hoped we could be in some form of spirit to walk down O’Connell street further to enjoy its ambiance, because before we knew it, Christmas would be gone again for another year.

I made the last turn onto Abbey street and found him with his head plunged downwards looking at his phone. He looked preoccupied with his eyebrows furled. As I approached him, I wondered if the news he received hadn’t been what he was expecting. His eyes immediately met mine and he pulled back from my embrace.

“Do you know why I asked you to meet me outside this hotel?” he asked abruptly.

I suddenly saw another facade to him - and a chasm opened deep inside me.

“I take it you didn’t get a place on the program,” my eyes dropped and bobbed upwards almost instantly like a ball falling into deep water, “it’s not the end of the world.”

“Rory - I’ll ask you one more time. Why do you think I asked you to meet me here,

specifically?”

An acidic feeling started to fill the chasm and my mind began to reel - anything I thought of to say was immediately useless; I had been sniffed out.

“It’s because of what I did to you inside it.”

“The Fox hunter? Seriously? Of all the people in the world - you slept with the Fox hunter?”

Two adolescent girls slipped past us, giggling at his outburst.

“It was a really hard time for me,” I slurred, “I thought that we were going to break up anyways, because you weren’t coming back to Dublin.”

“But I did come back - and we didn’t break up!”

“I regret everything about that day. It was one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made. I was looking for a means to an end - something I thought could be satiated. But I learned that it’s only you who can satiate me.”

He took a step back and took in the street around him. The Luas was passing and so it could’ve been that he was biding time so that we could continue our end.

“It was just that one time Alastair - it’ll never happen again, you must believe me.”

“I got a place on the course. Looks like I’m going back to Paris after all.” My glassy eyes looked at him, feigning surprise.

“That’s fantastic… I’m sorry that you had to learn about this - all at the same time.”

“I need you to come to Paris with me.”

He looked at me earnestly, a battle being fought behind his autumn eyes, with the faint scent of sugary strawberry still lingering from him.

“If I leave Ireland, I’ll lose my visa” he continued, “and France won’t allow me back in on a temporary visa without me going back home to Brazil for a long time meaning that I’ll lose my place on the course.”

We stared at each other, realising the separate states of dependency. He eventually lowered his head and walked towards me. He placed a small box in my hand and walked onwards past me. I opened the box and suddenly, there was one more glimmering light reflecting at me; an engagement ring - the one we looked at in the window of a jewelers months before in O’Connell street randomly one summer evening.

“Are you coming?” he asked from behind me, hailing a taxi. I followed him into the backseat of the car, still cradling the box in my hands as if it were a baby bird. The taxi’s interior was a mix of punctured leather and stale cigarette smoke. The Nissan made its way down O’Connell street and I finally got to see the boulevard in its seasonal ambiance, but of course - it looked so much more different than I thought it would from behind the clear glass of accountability. It was then that I realized that this was the way it would be from now on. We both looked forwards in a silence that weighed more than the car could carry; the weight of my selfish actions marking the last of our truly happy days.