Craig Dean wasn't happy. Maybe it was a feeling he'd never experience again after giving up so much and moving away from home.
Lets face it, he knew he was screwed, and he still hadn't found himself after going to Dublin. But there was no turning back. He knew that. He'd made his choice. And as the days plowed on, he lost more sense of himself.
He wasn't a brother anymore. He didn't have mates. The prats he lived with were consuming and raging alcoholics who just so happened to be footballers.
It was his ticket teaching little kids soccer if he wasn't suppose to be taking classes at Trinity. But that didn't last long. It was a small gig and for the most part he knew now English and Irish didn't mix. Never had. Why hadn't he thought of that? The prats called him a snob. He'd tried to put them in their place only they'd put him there first. After all, he was a little bloke in a pack of apes. Half the time he didn't even know what they were saying. And no one wanted to understand him, either.
It was harsh. It was disgusting. Coming home to people who didn't know anything about domestication. The flat was a constant ste. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. And washing dishes down at the local pub was down right frustrating. Hadn't he been through enough, already?
He was past being homesick. He was tired, but somehow his timidness couldn't rest. And he found him saying "What?" a lot and to some, it was a joke, "Oh, is that your name, lad? What?" He was past the "excuse me"s now. He was ready to shout at people to leave him alone. Maybe all sanity had left him. Maybe he was no better than the animals he lived with.
He had no place to go, so he kept cleaning tables. He needed to think. He needed to forget all the crap back home. He knew they wouldn't. Nothing would help. And maybe if he became a shell of who he was, it would be all the better. Only, Craig was to sensitive for that.
It was late one night down at the pub when he noticed someone on stage with an old guitar. Sarah came to mind. He smiled when he thought of her face, heart shaped and sweet. He guessed people around here would call her a snob, too. Maybe he and Sarah were meant for each other. Maybe not. There were just too many lies to let go. If only she could let them go like a bouquet of balloons in the park, all would be right in the world. But he didn't see that happening.
At least he wasn't thinking of John Paul when he saw the singer on stage. Which was a relief. He'd been quite depressed over the John Paul situation. Still. Now he felt it was a bit of the past that could just stay because he couldn't take his eyes off that fantastic face and mop of light brown hair.
He sighed. This would be enough. He closed his eyes and promised himself he'd stay in the shadows. "Don't speak, " he told himself. "They'll know you're not from around here." However there was an ache inside him that wanted to know this amazing voice, in person. It wouldn't hurt to say something. Although, he didn't want to be a stalker about it. He just needed to know. To show someone he was still here.
"Hey, over there, got anything left for a drink?"
Craig let out a sigh. This was interesting. It didn't sound Irish. Actually, Craig wasn't sure who was addressing him. Was it a girl or a boy? Maybe a girl trying to be a boy.
"I'll see what I can do." Craig nodded and hoped he could pour them both an ale before the bar maid swatted him. "I'll be right over." They were the last two in the place.
"Thanks." The singer grinned and Craig noticed the lippy right away. Nothing brash, just a little something to highlight the pout.
Craig took a seat with the drinks and handed over one to the singer. "Sure." Craig scratched his head. He didn't mean to be uncomfortable. This was the first friendly face he'd seen in a long time.
"I hate long nights like these." The singer took a sip of the ale then. Craig did the same.
"This isn't awkward for you, is it?" The singer asked.
"Awkward?"
"How long you been working here?" The singer's dead stare made Craig a little edgy and giddy at the same time.
"Longer than I've wanted." Craig watched the singer in his paisley shirt. It was like watching some teen rockstar from the 70's. He vaguely remembered her mother showing him a picture of David Cassidy. His clothes were like that, but he was definitely, Kiera Knightly with the adorable nose and the lush lips.
Craig caught himself biting a fingernail then. He so wanted to be casual and cool. He knew he wasn't.
"Kadan," the singer then said still staring at him.
"What?"
"In case you were wondering." Kadan's eyes kept staring, and Craig felt a cough about to emerge and didn't quite make the connection. "My name. You do have one, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, um, Craig."
Kadan nodded.
"You are so not from around here, Craig?" Kadan smiled and played stroked the mug with his thin fingers.
"You don't sound familiar." Craig shook his head, "You know, you don't sound Irish."
"I'm not." Kadan shrugged.
Craig talked of home then. Possibly too much of home. He didn't tell him everything. Kadan wasn't as forthcoming, either. He was a vagabond of sorts. He grew up in his share of places through Europe. His family might have been gypsies.
"Some day, I'm going to live in Athens, Georgia." Kadan romantizied about a vegan commune in the states he'd heard about.
"Sounds, natural." Craig couldn't help but smile.
"How come I can't believe a freak'n thing you tell me?" Kadan bit his bottom lip, and Craig, a little drunk from the laughter and the ale, wanted to touch his bottom lip. Kadan leaned in, almost as a sign, but maybe not.
"Tell you what, walk me home." Kadan flicked his light brown tuffs of hair behind his ear.
"I..I don't have anything...else to do." The place was being locked up. The lights were all but out.
"Good." Kadan slung the old guitar on his back like a ritual. It felt to Craig as if they were going off to pray, perhaps. Craig watched. He wasn't sure what to do.
"Come along, then." Kadan said. Craig get to his feet and shoved his hands in his jeans. They couldn't very well walk out of the place holding hands.
Lets face it, he knew he was screwed, and he still hadn't found himself after going to Dublin. But there was no turning back. He knew that. He'd made his choice. And as the days plowed on, he lost more sense of himself.
He wasn't a brother anymore. He didn't have mates. The prats he lived with were consuming and raging alcoholics who just so happened to be footballers.
It was his ticket teaching little kids soccer if he wasn't suppose to be taking classes at Trinity. But that didn't last long. It was a small gig and for the most part he knew now English and Irish didn't mix. Never had. Why hadn't he thought of that? The prats called him a snob. He'd tried to put them in their place only they'd put him there first. After all, he was a little bloke in a pack of apes. Half the time he didn't even know what they were saying. And no one wanted to understand him, either.
It was harsh. It was disgusting. Coming home to people who didn't know anything about domestication. The flat was a constant ste. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take it. And washing dishes down at the local pub was down right frustrating. Hadn't he been through enough, already?
He was past being homesick. He was tired, but somehow his timidness couldn't rest. And he found him saying "What?" a lot and to some, it was a joke, "Oh, is that your name, lad? What?" He was past the "excuse me"s now. He was ready to shout at people to leave him alone. Maybe all sanity had left him. Maybe he was no better than the animals he lived with.
He had no place to go, so he kept cleaning tables. He needed to think. He needed to forget all the crap back home. He knew they wouldn't. Nothing would help. And maybe if he became a shell of who he was, it would be all the better. Only, Craig was to sensitive for that.
It was late one night down at the pub when he noticed someone on stage with an old guitar. Sarah came to mind. He smiled when he thought of her face, heart shaped and sweet. He guessed people around here would call her a snob, too. Maybe he and Sarah were meant for each other. Maybe not. There were just too many lies to let go. If only she could let them go like a bouquet of balloons in the park, all would be right in the world. But he didn't see that happening.
At least he wasn't thinking of John Paul when he saw the singer on stage. Which was a relief. He'd been quite depressed over the John Paul situation. Still. Now he felt it was a bit of the past that could just stay because he couldn't take his eyes off that fantastic face and mop of light brown hair.
He sighed. This would be enough. He closed his eyes and promised himself he'd stay in the shadows. "Don't speak, " he told himself. "They'll know you're not from around here." However there was an ache inside him that wanted to know this amazing voice, in person. It wouldn't hurt to say something. Although, he didn't want to be a stalker about it. He just needed to know. To show someone he was still here.
"Hey, over there, got anything left for a drink?"
Craig let out a sigh. This was interesting. It didn't sound Irish. Actually, Craig wasn't sure who was addressing him. Was it a girl or a boy? Maybe a girl trying to be a boy.
"I'll see what I can do." Craig nodded and hoped he could pour them both an ale before the bar maid swatted him. "I'll be right over." They were the last two in the place.
"Thanks." The singer grinned and Craig noticed the lippy right away. Nothing brash, just a little something to highlight the pout.
Craig took a seat with the drinks and handed over one to the singer. "Sure." Craig scratched his head. He didn't mean to be uncomfortable. This was the first friendly face he'd seen in a long time.
"I hate long nights like these." The singer took a sip of the ale then. Craig did the same.
"This isn't awkward for you, is it?" The singer asked.
"Awkward?"
"How long you been working here?" The singer's dead stare made Craig a little edgy and giddy at the same time.
"Longer than I've wanted." Craig watched the singer in his paisley shirt. It was like watching some teen rockstar from the 70's. He vaguely remembered her mother showing him a picture of David Cassidy. His clothes were like that, but he was definitely, Kiera Knightly with the adorable nose and the lush lips.
Craig caught himself biting a fingernail then. He so wanted to be casual and cool. He knew he wasn't.
"Kadan," the singer then said still staring at him.
"What?"
"In case you were wondering." Kadan's eyes kept staring, and Craig felt a cough about to emerge and didn't quite make the connection. "My name. You do have one, don't you?"
"Oh, yes, um, Craig."
Kadan nodded.
"You are so not from around here, Craig?" Kadan smiled and played stroked the mug with his thin fingers.
"You don't sound familiar." Craig shook his head, "You know, you don't sound Irish."
"I'm not." Kadan shrugged.
Craig talked of home then. Possibly too much of home. He didn't tell him everything. Kadan wasn't as forthcoming, either. He was a vagabond of sorts. He grew up in his share of places through Europe. His family might have been gypsies.
"Some day, I'm going to live in Athens, Georgia." Kadan romantizied about a vegan commune in the states he'd heard about.
"Sounds, natural." Craig couldn't help but smile.
"How come I can't believe a freak'n thing you tell me?" Kadan bit his bottom lip, and Craig, a little drunk from the laughter and the ale, wanted to touch his bottom lip. Kadan leaned in, almost as a sign, but maybe not.
"Tell you what, walk me home." Kadan flicked his light brown tuffs of hair behind his ear.
"I..I don't have anything...else to do." The place was being locked up. The lights were all but out.
"Good." Kadan slung the old guitar on his back like a ritual. It felt to Craig as if they were going off to pray, perhaps. Craig watched. He wasn't sure what to do.
"Come along, then." Kadan said. Craig get to his feet and shoved his hands in his jeans. They couldn't very well walk out of the place holding hands.
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