Thursday, September 11th 2014

'George's Street, please,' Jack muttered, heaving his school bag and football gear onto the bus. The air was thick with body heat, the windows fogged, commuters swaying like cattle against the yellow beams.

'Coins only.'

'What?' Jack said, pulling out his headphones.

The bus driver barely glanced at Jack's crumpled fiver. 'Coins or LeapCard. No notes.' Jack fumbled for his wallet for a second, standing in the doorway as people behind him pushed passed and tagged on with their LeapCards - something he still hadn't gotten around to getting.

'Sorry, give me a second,' he said, searching the different compartments of his wallet for coins but could only find a tenner, 'do you take card?'

'What do I look like? Permanent fuckin' TSB? No, we don't take card. Coins or LeapCard only.'

'Hear, tag him on with me,' said a female voice from behind him in what sounded like a Kerry accent, and an arm reached across him and tapped a LeapCard against the machine.

The driver let out a sigh, as if he was annoyed that someone had come to Jack's rescue, 'go on so.'

'Gurbh mí- Eh, thanks so much.'

'No problem, you're clearly new to the Big Shmoke,' she smiled as the two of them climbed the stairs and made their way to the last two available seats, sitting beside each other with the aisle between them, 'welcome to paradise.'

He nodded, 'I fuckin' hate Dublin bus.' She smiled again and he noticed she had braces, which seemed unusual for her age. She had to have been in her late twenties. She was dressed in maroon slacks and a loose white shirt. She looked very corporate. Her hair was tied back into a bun, and she wore a pair of reading glasses that looked quite expensive. She carried a Kindle in one hand, and a huge handbag in the other which she placed on her lap. She would actually be very pretty when the braces came off, he thought.

'We're not in Kansas anymore, boyo,' she teased, her Kerry accent lilting.

Jack huffed. 'Why are they all such pricks? And why the fuck can't ya pay with notes?'

She smirked. 'They're not all like him. He was a bit of a dose, alright.'

'Honestly,' he said, and noticed a girl in the seat ahead of them smirking too, presumably not a Dub either. There was something about meeting other country folk in the city that was refreshing, he had noticed. Dublin was too anonymous. Too cold.

Back home, you nodded at strangers. Said hello, even if you didn't know them. Here, people barely looked at each other. He missed it—kind of.

Then again, anonymity had its perks. No getting roped into long-winded chats about Lidl's middle aisle bargains or the latest village scandal.

But the people in Dublin were just so different. He still hadn't found his rhythm here. Every morning felt like a scramble—getting the right bus, figuring out where to grab a decent coffee, navigating the endless sprawl of campus.

The people in his classes were grand, but there was no easy banter like there had been in school. Conversations felt surface-level, polite but distant. He hadn't met anyone he'd actually want to text outside of class.

He had tried. Gone to a few fresher events, sat in the campus bar with his coursemates, nodded along at conversations about lecturers and assignments. But there was something about Dublin people—they had their own rhythm, their own inside jokes, their own shorthand for things he hadn't figured out yet. Back home, the lads had known him inside out. Here, he felt like he was constantly trying to prove he belonged. He never thought he'd think it, but he missed Wham Bar and Begs, and of course Mark. Things would be so much easier if they were in Dublin with him, like a home away from home.

The city moved fast, and Jack wasn't sure if he was keeping up or just being carried along with it.

At home, it was like the walls of the house had ears. His mam always had a question, an opinion, a plan for him. His dad barely spoke unless it was about the farm. Even in town, there was nowhere to disappear—someone always knew him, always had something to say. Here, no one gave a fuck. It should've felt lonely. And in many ways, it did. But it also felt like breathing for the first time in months.

Being in Dublin alone was far better than at home on the farm alone. He wasn't waking up to his mother's voice calling him for Mass. He wasn't stuck listening to his dad rant about sheep prices or hearing whispers about the referendum over cups of tea. He didn't have to sit in that sitting room, nodding along while they talked about gay people like they were some distant, abstract problem.

'Where ya from?' she asked, interrupting his train of thought.

'Galway. Spiddal.'

'Oh, gorgeous part of the country! 'Bhfuil Gaeilge 'at?'

'Tá, carbh as duit?'

'Corca Dhuibhne. Ciarraí abú!'

'Dingle, nice. That's some spot for the sesh. Is O'Flaherty's still going?' he asked.

'Cinnte. That's our family pub.'

'Fuck off?' She nodded at him. 'Small world.'

'Small world indeed. Anyway, this is my stop. Best of luck in the big bad city...'

'Jack,' he said, extending his free hand to her and shaking hers.

'Meadbh. You must stop by for a pint next time you're up in Dingle.'

'Deal.'

As the bus came to a stop, half of the upper deck poured downstairs and he moved into a free window seat, cleaning off the steam with his sleeve and staring out. Jack exhaled, watching the city blur past the window. It wasn't even eight yet and Camden Street was black. People were gathered in the doorways outside of pubs smoking fags and chatting. There was a group of three girls dressed in skirts that barely covered their asses arguing with a bouncer to get into Palace. He had never seen them before, and never would again. No one here knew him. No one cared. He should have hated that.

He was nowhere, and for now, nowhere was fine.