This is another of those sections spoken/thought by Laurie our protagonist and and narrator that looked so good when I wrote it. Only for the character’s character to deviate from this a lot later.
I mean, “A LOT” too.
So, it had to go into the Dead Ideas folder. Anyway, see what you think.
The first time I’d got off the ferry in Dún Laoghaire I had been in love with someone new, someone grand, my dream, my first love, my first broken spirit, trashed soul, decimated heart. I was wearing a lot of black eyeliner, my hair was spiked with spray and dry cake soap, and some dark music was branching through me from orange foamed headphones.
It was September as I smelled the diesel oil, and the place had that Saturday tension. The clouds were ganging together and whispering about all of us as they came in from the sea ready for a fight.
I found a bus to Dublin city centre and to my newest, truest love who turned out to be a filthy, angry drunk who borrowed money on a no return basis, much like my good self. As I waited for that bus to take me in, I was afraid that I might not find any of the ancestral memories flooding back through me, so I simply imagined that they were.
I imagined the Tuatha Dé Danann were with me and so was their queen. I imagined they were telling me good things, positive things, love things as I made my way into what I also imagined would be my new-old home for good.
I can’t remember when I stopped saying it to myself. I don’t think it was after that first broken heart. It was more likely to have been after my first court appearance. I returned to England a week after this with a new found hatred for people, and a taste for Carroll’s cigarettes, but no more wisdom than I’d arrived with.