St. Patrick’s Day Evening – Boston– One Week Later
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa says, clinking her glass of green beer up against mine and then Monique’s.
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day,” we both say.
I can’t believe that I’m out and about with them again, this time when it’s not even legal to drink. But we had gone to the St. Patrick’s Day parade and then they had produced fake IDs and insisted I come out with them.
They said I’d been holed up in my dorm for fall too long, being moody and studying for midterms and that I needed a break. Really I had been scared to death about what I saw in Dublin.
I hadn’t even told them because I didn’t know what to say. I’m afraid they will say I should have called the police or done something to try to stop the man from hurting or even possibly killing the other man. I fear for my life, though, so I’m not going to do anything that would further endanger it.
I’ve been scouring the Internet for any news of the crime that had occurred but nothing had shown up. Apparently the area I was in was one of the most dangerous in Dublin. That’s another reason I don’t want to tell my friends what had happened— I feel stupid and embarrassed for venturing off late at night and getting lost.
Some of the most dangerous mobsters in all of Ireland frequent that seedy strip of bars on Sherriff Street. From my Google research, I found countless acts of past mob violence.
Although there was no mention of this specific crime on that specific date, I’m sure it was just one of many that probably went overlooked. I don’t even want to think about what kind of cover up could have been planned.
The good news is that no one seems to be looking for me. I made it out of Ireland safely and I doubt they know where I live or have the ability to follow me to the United States.
I suppose, under the circumstances, that everything worked out as well as it could have— except of course I wish I never would have witnessed that crime. It haunts me at night, making my stomach churn and my body shake. It’s hard for me to fall asleep and sometimes even after I do I wake up with nightmares, drenched in sweat.
Tonight, though, I really want to try to forget all of that. It’s St. Patrick’s Day— a night of revelry and fun. I had given into their request that I go out with them and we had all gone back to the dorms to change before venturing forth for whatever tonight holds.
“I’m so glad you could come out tonight,” Tessa continues, winking at me. Her blue eyes are framed with green eyeshadow to match her green dress.
For once, I’ve gotten dressed up myself— wearing a dark green form fitting dress and a long gold necklace. My hair is piled on top of my head and I can’t seem to resist touching it to make sure it’s all in the same place as it started out earlier tonight when Monique did it for me.
“We know you’ve been having a difficult time lately,” Monique says.
“Yes,” I say. “I really have.”
“How is your mom doing?” she asks. “And your sister?”
Monique and Tessa think that it’s only family issues that have been bothering me. And those sure haven’t helped matters.
“They’re okay,” I say, taking another sip of my beer and realizing I’m being purposefully obscure.
It’s been a tough couple of years. First, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. They managed to cure it but then it came back and now she needs even more aggressive treatment. It’s costly and her insurance doesn’t pay for all of it. I’m not sure what we’re going to do.
Then, my younger sister didn’t get a scholarship for college like I was fortunate enough to be able to do. She had worked just as hard and gotten just as good grades, but she was unlucky and didn’t get any of the many grants and scholarships for which she applied.
Our parents had saved some money for college for both of us, which I gladly would have donated to my sister, but we both donated to our mom for her cancer treatments. Now my sister is in community college and I feel guilty, as if I should be doing more for her, but I don’t know what else I can do.
Tonight, though, I don’t want to think about any of that. Nor do I want to think about the man in the alleyway in Dublin. All I want to do tonight, on St. Patrick’s Day, is drown my sorrows and forget my worries like every other college student in America.
I down the rest of my beer and say, “We need some shots up in here!” in my best Tessa impression.
“Wow,” Tessa says, laughing. “You sound just like me.”
“I know,” I admit. “I was trying to.”
“Mission halfway accomplished,” Tessa praises me. “But I would have shouted loud enough to actually get the bartender’s attention.”
I laugh and she says, “I’ll go get the drinks.”
But while she’s standing up, an elegant woman approaches our table. She’s wearing a black dress that stands out in the sea of green clothes that everyone else is wearing.
“May I refill your drinks?” she asks, gesturing to our empty beer glasses.
“Yes please,” I tell her. “And we’d also like some shots.”
I’m debating whether to get jello shots or lemon drops when Tessa says, “Jack Daniels please. In honor of our recent trip to Ireland.”
She winks at me.
I shrug.
Why not?
The woman smiles at us and says, “Of course.”
As she walks away, I say, “She doesn’t look like a waitress.”
“Yeah, I guess they’re really getting fancy up in here with their wait staff on St. Patrick’s Day,” Tessa agrees.
“Doesn’t matter to me as long as they bring us our drinks,” I laugh.
“I’m so glad to see you’ve loosened up,” Monique tells me, shaking back her mane of curly hair that she’s wearing down and free tonight.
“But you haven’t really loosened up, right?” Tessa teases me. “You’re still nice and tight and virgin-y, down there?”
She points towards my lap and I break out into laughter.
“Yes, Tessa,” I tell her. “I still am, if you must know.”
“Of course I must know,” she says, her eyes widening. “I’ve been meaning to ask you ever since we were in Dublin…”
The woman returns with our drinks and Tessa stops talking while she’s at the table.
“Here you are, Ladies,” she says, with the same pleasant but rather eerie smile on her face.
“Thank you,” I tell her.
I shoot a look at Monique as if to say, “That was fast,” but Tessa continues talking as soon as the woman leaves.
“…I was wondering if you’d given any more thought to losing it,” she says. “You know, like, how you want to do it and when?”
“Inquiring minds definitely want to know,” Monique agrees.
I quickly take a shot of my whiskey before answering.
“Maybe tonight,” I say, with a shrug and a grin.
“Really?” They both squeal.
“I don’t know. I’m down to try something new and different— if the guy is half decent. Could be a long shot in here though.”
I look around the bar but all I see are a bunch of young immature guys. None of them seem very attractive.
It’s too bad. I would love to escape into a real life fantasy of losing my virginity to a stranger. When I haven’t been down and depressed this past week, I’ve been thinking about it to cheer me up, and the idea sounds appealing.
Suddenly, the mysterious woman is back at our table.
“Ladies,” she says. “This dive bar isn’t the place for stunning women such as yourselves.”
“It’s like you read our minds,” Tessa says, aghast.
Maybe she was just listening in to our conversation, I want to tell her.
But why?
“How would you like to go to an exclusive club that caters to billionaires, movie stars, rock stars and other celebrities?” she says.
“About the same as we’d like to win the lottery,” Monique immediately says.
I smile despite the craziness of this situation. Why is this woman offering to take us to such a club?
I look back and forth at Tessa and Monique as if to ask them this question but they just shrug like, “Let’s go with this.”
Why not? I wonder again.
I don’t really have a good answer to my own question.
If my goal is to lose my virginity, the club that this woman mentioned sounds like it has much better prospects than the bar that we’re in right now.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I nod, surprising both my friends and myself with my eagerness to try something new. I didn’t even bring my Kindle, let along a purse big enough to fit it, tonight.
I’m carrying a clutch that matches my green dress in both style and sophistication. And of course I’m wearing the orange leather jacket that got me through the rainy, cold, crazy night last week in Dublin.
Thinking about that night makes me shiver. I obviously haven’t had enough green beer or whiskey to drown out the memory.
“But first I’m going to need more alcohol.”