Rebecca
“Beautiful day for a tour, isn’t it?”
Killian’s eyes are on me as we start down the path to the center of the village.
“Don’t push it, Killian. Just be a professional tour guide, please, and maybe I’ll leave you a good review on TripAdvisor.”
Is it difficult to believe that I haven’t really been outside since I’ve been to Ireland?
The only times I’ve been outside have either been at night—usually while drunk or absolutely exhausted—or when the weather’s been less than ideal, and I didn’t feel like I was really getting the feel of the village, the countryside, or even the country itself.
Okay, there was the one exception of my recent little walk to the pub, but even then, I was lost in a renewed sense of artistic inspiration and was overly caught up in details.
Yeah, that’s stretching it, I know.
But walking outside with Killian right now—with gorgeous weather and an aromatic blend of scents I’ve never experienced before but unmistakably bring to mind the word spring—it almost feels like I’m stepping off the plane for the first time.
“So, tell me,” I begin, even though I’m not quite sure where I’m going with it, although I am sure I enjoy the way Killian looks at me with such immediate interest in what I’m saying. “Do you get everywhere here using nothing but your own two feet?”
Nice. Very relevant question I thought of, there. Good going.
Of course, Killian’s look of interest turns into mild confusion.
“Well, six, including Ida’s.”
There, saved it. Killian’s laughing, anyway.
“Don’t you think that’s plenty, my dear? Look, I understand that this is a whole different culture than what you’re used to…”
“Why do I have the feeling you’re having a go at me?”
“Not at all, lass. All I’m saying is, you’re probably used to driving everywhere—including the supermarket next door, and even down the walk to get the morning papers. And I’m sure you’re smart about it, too...”
“I’m not liking any of this at all, young man.”
My face is stern and unamused, but Killian has an unflappable ear-to-ear grin as he stares at me. It’s lucky for him that the little path into town is vacant as usual, because he’s not even watching where he’s going.
“I’m trying to pay you a compliment, love. I’m sure you avoid goin’ down to the Walmart on Sundays, because it gets so crowded you’d have to walk an extra ten paces down the car park.”
Staring straight in front of me, I give Killian a nice little punch in the arm.
“Hey! You already broke it once.”
“That was the other arm, Killian—and is it even broken?”
“So, you’re going for a twofer with my arms, huh?”
“And I’ll have you know that I get at least five miles on the treadmill every time I go to the gym.”
“Do you drive there?”
“Do you want a fresh one?”
I turn to Killian, whose leprechaun shit-eating grin hasn’t budged, and I raise a foreboding fist.
As it’s been threatening to do, Killian’s smile becomes a hearty laugh that fills the countryside.
Clenching my fist while shaking it in Killian’s laughing face, I keep my quiet, angry expression in place.
My own urge to laugh is putting up quite a fight, but I’m able to just barely keep it stifled. My face is flushing like mad, but that should hopefully be adding to the angry effect.
“Alright, Becks, there’s no need to act like someone just cut in the queue at MacDonald’s.”
I’m about to correct Killian’s pronunciation of the fast food behemoth’s name, but quickly decide against it for a variety of reasons.
“Like you don’t have those here,” I mutter.
Taking in the breathtaking vista serving as the background to Killian’s beaming face, it’s actually difficult to imagine any multinational concern daring to sully the scenery here.
“Not in this county, lass. No chains of any kind permitted.”
My suppressed laughter from earlier sneaks back up on me, mildly, in the form of a small, playful smile.
“Just one of everything, huh?”
“That’s the law of the land, love.”
“What if your local pub wanted to expand?”
The smile finally fades from Killian’s face as his imagination is suddenly ignited.
“Keep talking.”
“Let’s say...do you mind a hypothetical?”
“Obviously not, Becks. Paint a picture.”
“Okay, so, your local pub wants to open a location in one of the empty cottages within a few steps from yours. No construction involved.”
Killian turns to glare in consideration at the path extending before us.
He is seriously thinking about this.
“There couldn’t be—none of that allowed, either.”
“What, is there not enough empty space?”
Boy, do I feel like an asshole as soon as that joke leaves my mouth. The beauty of this region is so astonishing that I wouldn’t even jokingly question it.
Unless it was somebody who knows me well—somebody who would for sure know that I’m joking, and would get the joke.
It seems like Killian gets it. He’s turned back to me, and his smile is back as well.
“I’ll have you know that we appreciate natural grandeur here. That, and everyone’s too fucking drunk most of the time to get a solid erection together.”
“Yeah…So, anyway, no loud construction crews, no loud pile drivers hammering away...”
“Ah, the image is coming together. Is this your new children’s book?”
“Ignoring that...no waiting either, really. Just a really local branch of your local pub. Open twenty-four hours, too.”
“So, we’re ignoring local laws in this picture you’re painting?”
I shrug and look ahead. For the first time I notice a family—two parents, two children—wandering leisurely down the path in front of us.
“Only the laws I choose to ignore.”
“Nice!”
“So, would you then be interested in changing your county’s policy?”
Killian returns to his contemplative, looking-ahead pose.
“I don’t know about that one, Beckster.”
“No one at the new pub branch would be allowed to discuss your work with you, past or future—not unless they wanted to face criminal charges.”
“Rebecca, my love, if that painting you just completed had any chance of coming to pass, I’d do anything in my power to facilitate it. Deadlines be damned—I’d be lobbying the county council twenty-four fucking seven to get that branch opened.”
“So, you don’t always love walking. You might be more American than you realize.”
“During those cold rains in the winter, I may as well be baseball and apple fecking pie rolled into one fucking entity, that’s how American my attitude gets towards walking. I’d even drive your hired SUV—Ida could fit in the back if she wants to come along.”
“Hey, I never noticed that before.”
Just in front of us, there’s a small offshoot from the path leading to a little gravel area with benches, tables, a couple of chess tables—and a fountain.
“Ah, that’s for families and the like. They only bother setting up that crap on sunny days, and the fountain’s usually off.”
“If this was LA, the fountain would always be off. And nonfunctional. And probably filled with garbage.”
“I doubt it’s that bad, Rebecca.”
“Maybe not, but...”
Instinctually, I start following the offshoot down to the small public space, where the family’s already setting up a picnic on one of the tables.
“Go down there if you want, Becks, I’m going to the pub.”
“I’ve seen the pub already.”
“I’ll give you the history, then. I may make up some large gaps of it, but it’ll be...”
Killian’s voice trails off as I walk towards the fountain. The only other people in the small expanse are a couple standing, just watching the fountain. A woman with shortish red hair, brighter than mine, and a very clean-cut looking guy in a dark green sweater.
Getting closer, I recognize them as the couple I saw drinking like fish at their own table last time I was in the pub.
Now, they’re staring at the fountain quietly and peacefully.
The small, stone fountain is surrounded by yellow furze flowers. Something compels me, strongly, to walk up to the fountain to see what the big deal is myself.
Staking out a spot on the other side of the water from where the couple is standing, I stare and try to concentrate.
After a few seconds, I’m ready to give up.
It’s just a fucking fountain, after all.
But seeing the water cascade from the center of the fountain towards the sides, making a gentle, white noise, I decide to watch for just a moment longer.
And I can’t stop.
It's like the fountain contains everything.
All the good things in life, but also all of the bad shit—some of which I’ve become very familiar with.
All mixing and flowing together, diluting all the attachments and all the other bullshit we ascribe to every single goddamned thing that happens to us. Eventually, it all ends up in the pool.
After that, maybe, there is no good or bad. As the water sits there peacefully, it just is. And that's more reassuring than anything. Maybe this is why my BFF Stephanie is into all that Eastern stuff.
Part of me wishes Killian was here with me to share the moment, instead of running off to the pub as always—but I’m not sure he’d understand it, either.
Except, he is there. In fact, he’s standing right next to me, apparently.
When I turn to him, I expect to see annoyance or impatience. It’s not like he’s going to leave me here, even though he doesn’t want to be here, either.
But I’m wrong, he’s staring at the fountain with at least the same intensity I was.
I watch him go through the process I just went through. At least it really seems like that’s what he’s doing.
And then, he turns to me.
“I’ll hand it to ya, Becks. For today, at least, this is better than the pub.”