Sunday, November 23rd 2014

The parochial hall seemed to be rotting from the inside out. Jack swore it looked worse every time he stepped foot in it—like it was decaying in real-time, as if the walls were just as tired of these meetings as he was. The place reeked of damp and old wood, the ceiling stained with watermarks that no one had bothered to paint over. The floors were scuffed, dusty. Forgotten.

It was the kind of building that should've been knocked years ago, but it seemed that people here didn't believe in letting go of the past. They clung to it, even as it crumbled around them.

He sat stiffly in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs, wedged between his father and some woman he half-recognised from around the village. His mother stood at the front of the room, the centre of attention, commanding it effortlessly. Jack kept his eyes down, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his tea even though he didn't usually take sugar. He just needed something to do with his hands.

His mother's voice filled the room, crisp and authoritative. Confident. Certain.

'Both Colin Farrell and Hozier have come out in support of the Yes side...obviously, Hozier's tweet in favour of the gay marriage referendum is not good for us. He has just under 100,000 followers—' she shook her head, as if disgusted by the thought '—so that's a lot of influence. It's really not ideal, especially with Colin Farrell's letter earlier this month too...'

Jack pulled out his phone. His fingers moved automatically. Hozier. Twitter. The tweet popped up instantly.

Remember to register to vote! Please spread awareness. #YesEquality.

He was holding a sign in the photo, standing in front of a blurred-out crowd. Jack scanned the thousands of likes. His mother had made it sound like a scandal. But all Jack could see were names he recognised.

Mark had shared it. A few lads from college had too.

He scrolled through the comments—some of them full of the same fear-mongering shite his mother came out with. But most of them were supportive. Encouraging. Certain. He locked his phone, shoved it into his pocket, and swallowed against the tight feeling in his throat.

His mother was still going, her words washing over him like background noise. 'There'll be plenty of media opportunities ahead of the referendum in the spring, so it's important that anyone willing to speak on behalf of the No side with me registers for media training at the end of this meeting.'

He tuned her out completely, staring instead at the poster on the far wall. Computer Classes for the Elderly.

His grandparents had all been dead for years, but he wondered. Would they have voted Yes? He doubted it. It wasn't their world. But it wasn't his parents' world either. And yet, his mother had no doubts about which way she'd vote. She had no conflict. No uncertainty gnawing away at her gut, keeping her up at night.

Unlike him.

The kiss had been playing on a loop in his mind since it happened.

The warmth of it. The way it had started soft, slow, before Paul had deepened it. The way Jack had let him. The way, for one terrifying, fleeting second, he had actually kissed him back.

And then?

Panic. Terror. Disgust. Not at Paul. Not at the kiss. At himself.

Jack felt sick just thinking about it. The way he had after Ciarán. He gripped the disposable cup in his hands, fingers flexing against the cheap plastic.

He had kissed a boy. Again.

What did that mean? What the fuck did that mean? What would his parents say if they found out? He glanced at his father.

'What happened to your face?' he asked suddenly, his voice a little too sharp, a little too eager to change the subject, noticing a gash across his eye for the first time.

'Cut it on barbed wire,' he said eventually, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over the wound.

Jack stared at the gash. It ran long and thin, starting from just under his eye and slicing down toward his jaw. A clean cut, like a scratch. But the thing about barbed wire was—it wasn't usually clean. It tore. It was jagged. It made a mess of you.

This wasn't messy. Jack looked away.

'So if everyone could stand against this wall, Patsy is going to take a picture of us all for the local paper.'

Jack blinked, suddenly realising that everyone was moving. He hadn't even noticed the meeting ending. His mother was already handing out Vote No signs, the words scrawled across the white card in thick black marker.

Jack hesitated for half a second too long.

'Here you go, sweetheart,' his mother said, pressing a sign into his hands. Her smile was warm. Proud.

He took it.

His fingers curled around the edges of the board, palms sweating. This would be in the paper. His face. His name. Standing among them. Endorsing them.

And he said nothing.

He forced a tight-lipped smile as the flash went off, searing the moment into permanence.