My Dublin Interview

Lecram: here are your questions. Envision the interview taking place in a cozy Dublin pub.
1. What is the one thing in your life that you really wanted and never happened that you are now actually glad about
3. What are 2 things that "make your head spin" in a good and bad way?
2. If you were to pick the opposite qualities between 2 sitcom characters that represent you who and what would they be?
4. If an all knowing spirit in a tree offered to be your "spirit guide" in one area in your life... what would that be?
5. Guinness or whiskey?

I hear his sing-song brogue before I can see him –(gawd, I’m such a sucker for an accent)
“Oh Lassie, ya’ got dat farr away look, in yer eyes”

“Oisin, I keep telling you it’s Jayne…or Airplane Jayne….or even APj….but not Lassie, please. Makes me feel like barkin—

“Oh, darhlin’, - if ya’ feel like hurrlin’—“

“That’s barking, not barfing! Silly bucko….now…” patting my knee and winking at him, “come have a seat.” He sits close,“Ah, me Bonnie Lass,” he whispers, “what is the one thing in your life that you really wanted and never happened that you are now actually glad about?”

Taking a deep breath, and a swig of my Rosie Lee, I turn and look into those eyes (“Dear Sweet Jesus,” I say to myself, “His eyes are so blue I swear I could swim in them”). “Oisin, I know you don’t like to hear about Voldemort-”

“-that gobshite! I’d give him a toe up da hol-"

“Shhh” I gently place my finger on his lips, silencing his curse, “…..silly boy…..I was just going to say that, although I spent many years wanting that marriage to work, wanting it to succeed, it never happened. I only realize now that I’m happy….yes, and even glad I didn’t get it. Because……well, because I realize now that the only way it would have ever worked would have been for me to completely lose my very being, my very soul. I would have ceased to exist. As it was and is, I lost huge amounts of me….it is taking a long time for me to heal. A lot longer than I thought….” My eyes tear up, but I’m not sure whether it’s from the smoke-filled pub, or the gutwrenching confession.

“Cor! Damn that Fecky the Ninth!” declares Oisin as he pulls me up out of my chair. “I know tha’ wanker spun yer head in a bad way,” his coarse shaven face brushes my cheek, “But if ya’ let me take you home,” his lips nibble my neck and his hand wanders southward, “I’m sure a little Aussie kiss will spin back ‘round in a good way!”

With the red rising past my cheeks, “Come on little boy,” I slide my shaking hand between my arse and Oisin’s hand, “I could use some fresh air and a stroll.” “And then,” firmly leading him towards the exit, “we’ll talk about what makes my head spin.” The damp, cold, Dublin air hits us dead-on as we leave the warm, but smoke-filled Horseshoe Bar. We walk in silence for half a block when he quietly says,

“Yes, I kno"

"Know what?" I ask.

“Kno' da’ answer…” Oisin pulls me closer, “da' answer....is...yes.” And his arm drops and drapes casually, but protectively around my shoulders.

I whirl out in front of him, “that’s what makes my head spin!” I squeal. His alarmed eyebrows make me continue quickly (before he bolts away), “but spin in a good way. I love when someone can get into my head, and know what…or how…..or even why I’m saying/feeling/doing things…..sometimes things I’m not even sure of. Makes me feel like the earth is off it’s axis”

Oisin pulls me back in towards him, wrapping me tightly, “and…” he continues, staring intently into my eyes, “wot makes it spin…in a bad way?”

My eyes cloud over, “jealousy,” I reply, “my jealousy……like…..like when the green genie strikes me! Then….well, then…I also feel….like….like the earth is spinning and I’m trying to hold on! I hate that the root of the same emotion, my attraction or feelings can lead to my head spinning out of control in either a good or bad way.”

Feeling excruciatingly vulnerable, I toss out, “Guess that means I’m crazy, right? I mean, how can you do or be such polar opposites? I mean, it’s kinda like being Phoebe and Monica all rolled into one!” “Hu-huh?” Oisin stammers.

“You know,” I gush, happy to be off of the head-spinning topic and onto neutral, T.V. sitcom territory, “from the sitcom Friends. I’m kinda like Monica, in that I love everything to be neat and orderly. Dressed proper and acting properly. But….” I glance slyly over my shoulder, “ I love to…..run freeeee like Phoebe!!!!”

And with that, I charge forth, arms flailing freely and wildly.

The Dublin air is crisp as I run through St. Stephen’s Green. Shrieking and laughing, I duck beneath hanging tree branches and slid on damp leaves, but I hear Oisin’s footsteps gaining, coming ever closer. Vacillating between speeding up or slowing down, my decision is made by what stands before me.
“What is that?” I gasp.
“Ahh…,” Oisin answers from behind me, “me ma’ tol’ me ‘bout tha’ tree. She said tha’ if you give it a gift, it will guide you.”
Pulling the scarf from my neck, I drape it on the tree’s proffered branch. “Gracious Tree spirit,” I entreat, “Please guide me.” Self-consciously I drop my voice to a whisper, “Gracious, gracious Lady of the Tree: I am too fearful in love. I am fearful to make a bad choice again, and so I stand frozen, making no choice at all. Which is still a choice, albeit a poor one. Kind, gracious and loving Lady of the tree, give wings to my feet of clay. Give sound to my tongue of sand.”

“Jayne”

“Oisin…”

“Jayne….are you done?”

“Darling,” I say, patting the tree bark as I turn, “I’m just getting started.”

“Wot ya’ mean?” he stammers, as I place myself in the crook of his arm.

“Oisin…..do you have any Jameson at your place?”