What is this now?

The reading was good, the reading was helpful, but the reading didn't tell me how to catch one of the little people. Might have to go talk to the neighbors again and see if there's anything in their stories that tell you how to catch one of these fellas. I don't believe that the neighbor girl would actually have caught one but, if she did, I wonder if she'd take pity on a sad old Patrick and lend him a wish. You don't know until you ask.

I pondered all these things as I wandered out to the shed. My aunt calls it a shed. I wouldn't. To me, a shed is a small structure that you can fit a lawnmower and maybe some lawn games, but not much else. My aunt's idea of a shed is something I'd call a garage; it's a larger structure used for storage. You could fit a car or two in it but she doesn't keep a car in it and that's likely the difference in terminology. I don't think she has a car in there anyway. There's a lot of stuff in the shed so perhaps there's a car amongst it all. It's not where she keeps the car she drives, if that helps. In amongst all this non-sorted stored materials is my stash of whiskey.

It's not that I've hidden this whiskey in the shed. That would be weird, possibly awkward, certainly the sign of some sort of problem. At the very least it would show I expected to have my whiskey confiscated and was planning ahead to have that not happen. If I did do that, I'm not quite sure what that would say about me. Either I'm one step ahead or very protective of my whiskey. Consciously my decision to place the bulk of my stash here was because it looked like too much to store in the house all at once. Also, getting more would involve a hint of exercise as I'd have to walk all the way over here to restock. It's not far but it does involve leaving the house and crossing the yard. Every little bit helps. Subconsciously was I hiding it? It's hard to say. My subconscious hasn't been speaking with me much of late so who knows what it's up to now.

Reasons aside, the bulk of my whiskey store is in the shed. At least that was my belief until I looked in the case. I am sure, no, I know there were loads more bottles of whiskey left in there. Now the case is empty. I may have been on a bit of a bender recently but I didn't, I couldn't, have drunk all that already. I didn't, did I? No, impossible, that's at least a dozen bottles missing. Without help, an extra liver at least, I'd be dead, genetics or not. So someone pinched my whiskey.

Really? I don't need this now. I mean, I never need this sort of thing but especially now. Who would do digging around in here and grab all this? We're out of town. It takes five minutes to walk to the neighbors, longer to stagger, and I know that for a fact. It's not likely we'd have a visitor or a prowler. Which must mean my aunt found my whiskey and hid it on me. Which is bull.

Doing What I Do Best and What I Do Best, Many People Find Boring.

“This seems more like it.” I frowned over my book just enough to see my aunt grin at me. “I mean to say that you and a book are a natural combination. What are you reading about?”

“Ireland.”

“You can experience Ireland. Go out and live it. Why read about it?”

“A minute ago you were happy I was reading.”

“Hmm. You've got me there. Carry on.”

Wait. What just happened there? I think I came out ahead on that conversation. Huh.

Now where was I?

New Thought

“Hello.”

The word pulled me from my dark thoughts. I suspect that I jumped a bit as well. It felt like I moved anyway. You pause in your walk to catch your breath and somehow that attracts the attention of a little red headed girl. She’s maybe five or six years old; I was never very good at guessing ages. She’s somewhere in that age bracket anyway. “Hi.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Thinking.”

“What about?”

I had no interest in answering that question so I asked one of my own. “Shouldn’t you be in school today?”

Her cute freckled face furrowed in confusion. “It’s the week-end. There’s not school today.”

“Oh.” I have had no concept of time at the moment. Lack of sleep and whiskey is good for causing that. “Well, you really shouldn’t be talking to strangers.”

“Yer not a stranger. Yer Ms. Linda’s nephew.”

“Well, I’m strange anyway. You’d know that if you knew me. What are you up to today?”

“I’m looking for the little people.”

“Leprechauns? With a pot of gold?”

“They give out wishes too. My mum sez so.”

My head swam and this time it wasn’t because of the booze. This hadn’t even occurred to me. Why had this not occurred to me before! “They do? Really?”

I may have said this a little more loudly than I expected. The little girl didn’t flinch but not long after I spoke, her mum was hustling down the walk towards us. “I’m sorry but you leave her al… Oh, Mr. Thompson, it’s you.”

“Is it true that the little people give out wishes?” I was focused.

I didn’t even care that mum gave me an odd look. I’m so used to that. “Aye. That’s what my mum said and her mum before her. She said my granddad caught one and made him come across with three wishes. They are a crafty lot so granddad almost lost more than gained from the experience.”

“Still, it’s a chance. I have to take that chance.” The smile was unexpected. It scared me a little bit but I hope not her. “Thank you Mrs. McKenna. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime Mr. Thompson.” I started to stride away, purpose in my step for the first time in weeks but I couldn’t walk fast enough to miss her speak to her daughter. “Come on Sarah. Why don’t you search in the back yard for awhile.”

Please focus on the hope, not the little red headed girl. Focus on the hope. Why would the world taunt me so? Nevermind that now, we’ll do what we do best. Read up on the little people, find one, and fix it. We can fix it. We can do this!

A Walk

I walk. Literally and figuratively this keeps me from my aunt’s concerns. On the down side, it lets me think and I don’t really need to do much more of that. I’m trying to NOT think. Perhaps if I could think about something else, anything else for more than a few seconds it would help. I just can’t get past the everything.

The lawsuits are finally behind me but what a draining experience. Defending my actions while trying to rebuild my department at the same time was just miserable. Even once the criminal case was complete, the waiting for the civil case to be over and done with just ate at me.

And once that was finally over and done with, once there was a light at the end of the tunnel that didn’t seem like a train, then there was New York.

But I’m trying to not think of New York. But I can’t not think of New York.

Crap.

I'm...falling...I'm...

It’s the falling I hate the most.  The lack of control, the feeling of helplessness, and, most of all, the crash at the end. And there it is.

I pop to my feet and brush myself off. Where am I? Oh. Of course. Why did I bother to even wonder. I’m always here. Rubble. A half collapsed building. New York.

Sound thuds loudly around me. I am soaking in it like a bath. I try to run but the sound is so thick I can’t make progress through it. I move in slow motion, desperate to get to the other side of the wall. If I could just get there maybe this time it will be different. Why can’t I move? I have to move! Please let me move!

I awaken suddenly, my heartbeat pounding loudly in my ears. I gasped for air before slumping back into the bed.

My aunt bursts into my room, concern displayed all over her face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” It’s not a lie. I had a dream. I’ll live. Unfortunately.

“Same dream?”

I might as well be honest. “Yes.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Patrick. Is there anything I can do?”

“No. There’s nothing anybody can do. Thank you for asking.”

She nodded, looking sad and concerned as she does so. “I hope you can fall back to sleep.”

“Thank you.” Then she leaves me be.

I hope I can fall back to sleep as well. Even the whiskey doesn’t stop the dream, stop me from going back there. That place where I went to hell.

What else is there?

No wonder she was keen to get me doing ‘something’. The sun’s out. The sky is blue. The air is warm and clear. It’s a beautiful day.

I wish I were dead.

Perhaps that’s overstating it a little. It’s not like I’m considering doing myself harm, apart from my liver of course. It’s not that I really want to be dead and take my chances with whatever is next. I’ve never seen any reason why there should be an afterlife. Why should people need an incentive to be nice to each other? Because people tend to be selfish, that’s why. Even when we try to look out for each other, there’s always that side of you that’s worried about what you’ll get out of it, the good feeling you get for doing ‘what’s right’.

That good feeling can fade. Quickly.

I slug down some whiskey, trying to enjoy the burn as it travels to my stomach, to enjoy ANYTHING, and I fail. Is this it? Will this be the rest of my life? Nothing but pain and misery and whiskey? Is this how people end up like this, losing the reasons they had to live and trying to drink the pain away? It’s believable.

Every day is a fight. I fight to care. I fight to not hurt. I fight to move on. I am so tired of fighting.

This...is now...

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

I love vague questions, don’t you? Questions that ask nothing while attempting to ask everything. Perhaps more irritating than the question itself is the fact that I knew exactly what my aunt was trying to ask me but didn’t. As a result, I found it all too easy to be difficult. “I am doing something. Sitting is something.”

“And drinking.

“There, that’s two somethings. I’m multi-tasking.”

“It’s just… I expected you to be doing other things than sitting and drinking. You could do that at home.”

“This is true.”

“I thought you came here for a change of scenery, to take your mind off things.”

I did, so help me I did. I hoped I would be distracted somehow from the everything that’s been going on in my life. I really did. Does anyone think I want to be like this? Waking every day and hating taking breath? Hating seeing a new day rise? It’s all such a mess. And no one can help me with it.

I said none of that. I couldn't. The words choked in my throat as I thought of them. All I could manage was a quiet “Yes.”

“Maybe, maybe if you drank a little less…”

“Really? I’m in Ireland and I’m being told I’m drinking too much. That is possible? Well, now I’ve learned something new. Hey, three things at once. That truly is a skill.”

I finished my beer and made it to my feet. “Tell ya what,” I continued. “I’ll go for a walk. Is that better?”

“It’s something.”

Ha ha. I’ve got whiskey available to me outside so I can continue to multi-task.