Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Apr 2, 2012 8:06:11 GMT -5
It's raining, the day I leave for America.
Och, you had better pray! My mam cries, big tears dripping down her cheeks that make white streaks through the layers of dirt on her face.
You had better pray to St. Medard!
Because St. Medard is the patron saint of making bad weather turn good, and I think Mam has always connected good luck directly with good weather. Which in a way would make sense, because it's always raining in Ireland.
Elliot asks Can I go with you, Greg? And he looks completely serious.
No, this is my trip, you aren't to spoil it by taking my spotlight, I say, and I mean it.
My mam scolds me for disrespecting my brother, He's the one who isn't leaving me all alone with your fat lard of a father! She tells me.
Well it's his fault for not being here that you're all alone, you shouldn't have married him, I say back to her, harsher than I've really ever risked being when I wasn’t drunk. But I am sailing away on a ship, for nine days I'll be at sea, and I won't see her maybe for the rest of my life. It's nine days because it's mostly a Cargo ship, the boat I'm to get on, but it's all I could afford to purchase even with all my years of saving up and nicking money from men who walked down the street looking like they could stand to skip a meal better than me. And besides, packages on cargo ships don't complain that the boat isn't going fast enough, so it's nine days instead of the fastest six.
My mam keeps on crying and gives me a desperate hug before running off in tears.
You terrible boy, making your poor wench of a mother cry! She never did nothing but feed you and this is how you repay her? By going off to America! What, do you think you're that bloody old Priest?
And she runs off after my mother to comfort her, not waiting for me to contradict her that my mother's not a wench like I usually do. I don't care she's compared me to the strange Pope who ran off to America two years ago, leaving all the faithful men and ladies helpless without their spokesperson of the lord. Secretly I envied him, then. It's hard to outrun the Irish Catholic church, I'd be proud to escape if I was the Priest.
Greg, When are you coming back, Greg? My twin brothers ask me, as if they're just now realizing I'm actually leaving.
I ain't coming back, I say, and they look stricken.
Naw, Greggy, you can't be leaving me and Mam and us all, Daniel says confidently. I just roll my eyes and let them think what they want to think, because they're not going to believe I'm going until I'm gone. And even then they’ll expect me to come back for years more, I suspect.
Write, will you? Elliot asks, and if I were going to stay for anyone, it'd be for him.
I'll try, I say, but I don't plan on ever doing it. Stamps cost money and money can be spent on better things than writing meaningless words to your past. Money can be spent on fancy American candies and pastries.
I’ll try, I say.
I get on the boat with my two big bags of everything that's ever meant anything to me - it's not much, somehow - and say to the ticket man with a cocky smile on my face, One trip to America please.
He doesn't like jokes, I suppose, because he frowns, Only if you got a ticket, he says, but I don't care because he's got an American accent and I am excited by this. My trip seems like it has already began.
I give him my ticket and the first officer's there greeting me, Hello boy, what's your name? Lestrade? Nice to meet you boy. You related to Colonol Miles Lestrade? Naw, you don't look like him, not at all, he's got more shifty eyes than you, don't he. Being a Presbyterian and all.
I say I don't know and he laughs at me. Yes yes boy, that's alright, so, go ahead, your cabin has your name on it yeah?
Yes sir, I reply and walk down the halls to find my cabin. It's a small room down a small hallway, but it turns out real nice, I think. Nicer than my room at home at least, but that’s not saying much. There’s a little mold crawling up the sides of the walls and creeping up to the ceiling, but the bed looks fine and I don’t see any flees on it so there’s nothing wrong with it.
I feel the boat shift and we must be starting. I leave my bags in my room, wondering if there's a way I should've locked the door. Back on deck I wave my three brothers goodbye, excited to leave and not caring that my mam and dad and aunt and sister don't care enough to see me off, and even then Elliot's really the only one who matters. We're all damp from the constant Irish drizzle, and I can see my brothers' thin shirt sleeves sticking to their arms in thin passages, forming folds that look like huge veins on their arms. I know their clothes might not dry completely until summer, and even then it still rains.
I don’t think I’ll miss the weather in Ireland. I’m not sure I’ll miss anything in Ireland, though.
I stay on the deck despite the drizzle for a while, enjoying the sway of the boat. A few of the other poor men with me get sick, but I enjoy the motion; it’s almost comforting. It’s alive. I’m alive. And for the first time in my life, I am truly alone. It feels wonderful.
A man who’s not heaving his weeks’ meager feed comes up to me, all smiles. He tells me he’s the first officer.
No, I say, you’re not, That’s the man over there, in’nt he?
Naw, he’s just an attendant, he likes to pretend he’s the first officer, The Real first officer tells me.
Oh, yeah, I see, I say, because this man looks more official; he has a hat with an anchor on it like a real sailor. It’s a bit funny really.
If you’re the real first officer, then why aren’t you sailing the boat? I ask, because I hadn’t thought of that before.
Oh, we take turns, me and the captain, The real first officer tells me, and I nod in agreement. That makes sense.
And then the fake first officer comes over looking furious and he punches the real first officer.
Yeh damn Northerner, you damn men from Belfast you, get off of my ship!
And then I realize the real first officer is actually just a stowaway and the fake first officer is the real one, and I’ve been tricked. I find it terribly amusing, and so I laugh as the two men tussle and pull at each others’ hairs.
The days on the boat are perhaps the freest days of my life, despite the fact that I am confined to a very small space. There is no-one holding me back; I have no obligations. I think that I am certainly ready for America; that I am ready for freedom.
Och, you had better pray! My mam cries, big tears dripping down her cheeks that make white streaks through the layers of dirt on her face.
You had better pray to St. Medard!
Because St. Medard is the patron saint of making bad weather turn good, and I think Mam has always connected good luck directly with good weather. Which in a way would make sense, because it's always raining in Ireland.
Elliot asks Can I go with you, Greg? And he looks completely serious.
No, this is my trip, you aren't to spoil it by taking my spotlight, I say, and I mean it.
My mam scolds me for disrespecting my brother, He's the one who isn't leaving me all alone with your fat lard of a father! She tells me.
Well it's his fault for not being here that you're all alone, you shouldn't have married him, I say back to her, harsher than I've really ever risked being when I wasn’t drunk. But I am sailing away on a ship, for nine days I'll be at sea, and I won't see her maybe for the rest of my life. It's nine days because it's mostly a Cargo ship, the boat I'm to get on, but it's all I could afford to purchase even with all my years of saving up and nicking money from men who walked down the street looking like they could stand to skip a meal better than me. And besides, packages on cargo ships don't complain that the boat isn't going fast enough, so it's nine days instead of the fastest six.
My mam keeps on crying and gives me a desperate hug before running off in tears.
You terrible boy, making your poor wench of a mother cry! She never did nothing but feed you and this is how you repay her? By going off to America! What, do you think you're that bloody old Priest?
And she runs off after my mother to comfort her, not waiting for me to contradict her that my mother's not a wench like I usually do. I don't care she's compared me to the strange Pope who ran off to America two years ago, leaving all the faithful men and ladies helpless without their spokesperson of the lord. Secretly I envied him, then. It's hard to outrun the Irish Catholic church, I'd be proud to escape if I was the Priest.
Greg, When are you coming back, Greg? My twin brothers ask me, as if they're just now realizing I'm actually leaving.
I ain't coming back, I say, and they look stricken.
Naw, Greggy, you can't be leaving me and Mam and us all, Daniel says confidently. I just roll my eyes and let them think what they want to think, because they're not going to believe I'm going until I'm gone. And even then they’ll expect me to come back for years more, I suspect.
Write, will you? Elliot asks, and if I were going to stay for anyone, it'd be for him.
I'll try, I say, but I don't plan on ever doing it. Stamps cost money and money can be spent on better things than writing meaningless words to your past. Money can be spent on fancy American candies and pastries.
I’ll try, I say.
I get on the boat with my two big bags of everything that's ever meant anything to me - it's not much, somehow - and say to the ticket man with a cocky smile on my face, One trip to America please.
He doesn't like jokes, I suppose, because he frowns, Only if you got a ticket, he says, but I don't care because he's got an American accent and I am excited by this. My trip seems like it has already began.
I give him my ticket and the first officer's there greeting me, Hello boy, what's your name? Lestrade? Nice to meet you boy. You related to Colonol Miles Lestrade? Naw, you don't look like him, not at all, he's got more shifty eyes than you, don't he. Being a Presbyterian and all.
I say I don't know and he laughs at me. Yes yes boy, that's alright, so, go ahead, your cabin has your name on it yeah?
Yes sir, I reply and walk down the halls to find my cabin. It's a small room down a small hallway, but it turns out real nice, I think. Nicer than my room at home at least, but that’s not saying much. There’s a little mold crawling up the sides of the walls and creeping up to the ceiling, but the bed looks fine and I don’t see any flees on it so there’s nothing wrong with it.
I feel the boat shift and we must be starting. I leave my bags in my room, wondering if there's a way I should've locked the door. Back on deck I wave my three brothers goodbye, excited to leave and not caring that my mam and dad and aunt and sister don't care enough to see me off, and even then Elliot's really the only one who matters. We're all damp from the constant Irish drizzle, and I can see my brothers' thin shirt sleeves sticking to their arms in thin passages, forming folds that look like huge veins on their arms. I know their clothes might not dry completely until summer, and even then it still rains.
I don’t think I’ll miss the weather in Ireland. I’m not sure I’ll miss anything in Ireland, though.
I stay on the deck despite the drizzle for a while, enjoying the sway of the boat. A few of the other poor men with me get sick, but I enjoy the motion; it’s almost comforting. It’s alive. I’m alive. And for the first time in my life, I am truly alone. It feels wonderful.
A man who’s not heaving his weeks’ meager feed comes up to me, all smiles. He tells me he’s the first officer.
No, I say, you’re not, That’s the man over there, in’nt he?
Naw, he’s just an attendant, he likes to pretend he’s the first officer, The Real first officer tells me.
Oh, yeah, I see, I say, because this man looks more official; he has a hat with an anchor on it like a real sailor. It’s a bit funny really.
If you’re the real first officer, then why aren’t you sailing the boat? I ask, because I hadn’t thought of that before.
Oh, we take turns, me and the captain, The real first officer tells me, and I nod in agreement. That makes sense.
And then the fake first officer comes over looking furious and he punches the real first officer.
Yeh damn Northerner, you damn men from Belfast you, get off of my ship!
And then I realize the real first officer is actually just a stowaway and the fake first officer is the real one, and I’ve been tricked. I find it terribly amusing, and so I laugh as the two men tussle and pull at each others’ hairs.
The days on the boat are perhaps the freest days of my life, despite the fact that I am confined to a very small space. There is no-one holding me back; I have no obligations. I think that I am certainly ready for America; that I am ready for freedom.
