Friday, October 24th, 2014

Jack's pint glass was half-empty when he set it down on the sticky wooden table. The college bar was packed, the low hum of conversation interrupted every few seconds by bursts of laughter and the occasional chant from another table. The football lads had claimed a spot in the back corner, five or six pints deep, the table littered with empty glasses and soggy beer mats.

'You've earned that pint, Jacko,'said one of the lads whose name he had forgotten. He had met so many of them in such quick succession that he struggled to remember most of their names.

He had played well in fairness, though. The half-back line suited him. His blocks had been solid, and he had stopped two near-certain points in the last ten minutes of the game. He could still feel the sting in his wrist from one of them, but it was a good sting. A satisfying one.

'Yeah fair fucks, Jacko, some game today,' said one of the others, slapping him on the shoulder so hard he nearly spilt his drink.

'Cheers, lad,' Jack said, forcing a grin.

A group of girls passed their table, moving towards the bar. Tight jeans, short skirts, fake tan, the smell of vanilla perfume trailing behind them. Their hair was perfectly curled, their makeup flawless. They barely spared the lads a glance as they walked by, but that didn't stop the commentary.

'Would ya look at the hoop on her,' muttered one of them, elbowing the lad next to him.

'Fucking hell, imagine putting a baby in that,' laughed one of the others, shaking his head as he took a sip of his pint.

'State of them, though. You'd swear it was Ibiza, not fuckin' Dublin in October,' another scoffed, though his eyes lingered.

'Ah, you'd still give it to her.'

'Yeah, but she wouldn't be getting a text back.' The laughter rang out, loud and unchecked, as if the girls weren't real people. As if they couldn't hear them, or worse—didn't matter if they did.

Jack forced a smirk, swirling his pint. He'd heard it all before. He had laughed along to worse back home. But something about it now made his skin itch.

'Anyone see those Yes campaigners outside the library today?' one of the lads asked suddenly, shifting the conversation.

Jack didn't even look up.

'Fuckin' everywhere lately,' said another, rolling his eyes. 'Came up to me with a clipboard and all. Asking if I was registered to vote. As if I'd vote for that shite.'

Jack kept his eyes fixed on his pint.

'What's even the actual vote?' someone asked. 'Like, are they just making it legal? Or is it a church thing?'

'Something about marriage equality, isn't it?'

'Yeah, but like, does that mean they can get married in a church? Or just legally?'

'They have civil partnerships already, don't they?'

'Exactly, so what's the fucking point?'

Jack glanced around the table. It was a rough fifty-fifty split. Some of them shrugged, not really arsed either way. A few were staunchly against it, parroting the same shite his mother always did—"marriage is a man and a woman," "think of the children," "it's just not natural."

But some of them... some of them were actually making fair points.

'Sure, who's it hurting though?' said one of them, casually swirling his pint. 'Like, if they want to get married, what's the big deal? It's not like we're gonna be forced to marry a lad.'

'You voting Yes, so?'

'Yeah, probably.'

'And why's that?'

The guy shrugged. 'I dunno, like, what's actually changing? Gay lads can get married. So what? Let them at it. We're in college, lads, this isn't the feckin' fifties.'

'Ah but think about it, right,' said another, 'if we vote yes, what's next? Where's the line? You give 'em an inch, and they'll take a mile.'

'What's the mile?'

'They'll want more. That's what they always do. First, it's marriage, then it's adoption, then it's surrogacy, then it's what—forcing the church to let them in? It's a slippery slope.'

'Sounds like shite to me,' said one of the quieter lads. 'Like, I dunno, if I was gay I'd want the same rights as everyone else.'

Jack stayed quiet, staring at the foam clinging to the inside of his glass. Back home, this wouldn't even be a debate. The lads there wouldn't have entertained it. No was the default answer. No discussion. No back and forth. But here?

Jack felt unsettled.

Because some of these lads had a point. They weren't weird, or soft, or 'one of them'. They were normal lads, just like him. And yet, they saw no issue with it.

Jack took a long swig of his pint and he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

A Facebook message popped up on his phone screen.

His stomach plummeted. His fingers went clammy as he turned the screen downward on the table, pulse hammering in his ears. Part of him knew exactly who it was before he even checked, but it still sent a shiver down his back to read the name.

'Jacko, you're quiet over there,' said one of the lads, slurring slightly. 'What you voting for? Yes or no?'

'What? I—eh—gimme a sec, I'm bursting,' Jack muttered, pushing his chair back and making a beeline for the jacks.

His hands shook as he locked the cubicle door. He felt physically sick, chest tight as he finally turned the phone over.

'I won't say anything. Just please don't tell anyone you saw me there. Please, Jack.'

Jack exhaled, his breath shaky. He pressed the edge of his phone against his forehead, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. His palms were drenched with sweat.

Fuck.

A mix of relief and panic rushed through him. He stared at the phone screen for a few moments, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. His mind raced. He could say nothing. Ignore it. Pretend he never saw the message. But that wasn't an option.

If he didn't reply, the lad might think he was planning to say something. Might panic. Might tell someone first, just to get ahead of it. No, he had to answer. He had to shut it down.

'Don't worry. I won't say anything.'

He typed it out, stared at the words for a second too long, then deleted them. Too formal. Too cold.

'It's grand, lad. I was just there with friends. Not my business.'

No, that sounded weird. Too casual, like he was brushing it off.

He deleted that too.

He tried again.

'No worries, mate. Safe with me.'

Christ, now he sounded like some lad from Love Island. Backspace.

His hands were clammy, his heart hammering in his chest. Why was this so hard? It wasn't like he was confessing to anything. He hadn't done anything. He had just been there. Just there. In a gay club. In a red fucking sticker. Jack swallowed hard and forced himself to focus. One more try.

'I'll say nothing.'

That was it. Simple. No room for interpretation. No questions. Before he could overthink it again, he hit send.

When he stepped back into the bar, all eyes turned to him.

'Jesus, Jack, you're pale as a ghost.'

'Ah, I feel sick,' he muttered, grabbing his jacket. 'I think I'm gonna head. I'll see ye at training.'

'Dry shite.'

'Next time!'