Today is my sweet sister's birthday. Ten years ago today, we were on the lash in Galway city: my sister, our younger brother, and myself. On. The. LASH. It was raining, but not hard, and it was a weekend night anyhow, so nobody cared. We were dressed up, actual dresses, fancy looking shoes that weren't made for walking far in, sparkly purses, the lot. The theme for the evening, however, was 'Scrape Her Off the Pavement, Lads!' Didn't really match the outfits, did it? We shouted the theme as often as we could, and nobody paid attention, which is one of the best things about living in Ireland. Eventually, many pints in, my brother ran away from us towards the end of Cross Street and disappeared around the corner. He was fairly slippery, sneaking off when we were turned in the opposite direction. He didn't come back for a while, but when he did, he had a beer smirk on his face, cradling a paper tray full of chips and curry. Bastard. Then he shared. Ah, lovely brother. We perched on a shop window ledge next to half full pint glasses and ate. Messy and silly and carefree.
It was my last night out in Galway, really. My last night in Ireland before emigrating. Re-emigrating? De-emigrating? What is it when you move back to the place you were born, but you were born to an immigrant anyhow? The gray spaces are there, for sure. What I remember of that night is the laughter, the looseness of all of us, the rain falling on our faces and necks, strangely not cold for the north Atlantic, and the joy of shouting out into the street full of people out enjoying the misty summer night.
Now my sister is married, the mother of three teeny children with rosy cheeks and ready laughs. We never did have to scrape her off the pavement, even though that was the goal that night. It's probably for the best.
