Byron “Danger” McGovern

Fourth Period

Short Story

Ms. Wilson

BHS

Sunday, October 14, 2007

The Eye of Ireland

Ireland was fascinating. I had never before in my life seen so many people like me. Kids at my school always teased me for my freckles and I was truly thrilled to learn that there were so many others with the same skin as me. One day, my mother decided to take my sisters and I on a trip to Ireland’s Eye, a small island off the mainland, while my Dad was at work. We walked down a long dock shadowed by a short rock cliff. There were thousands of boats attached to the dock. All of the boats were for hire, and we walked along the dock trying to choose the best one out of the identical structures. We chose one that seemed to be quite popular and climbed down onto the seats as my mother paid the man to take us to the Eye. I was sat down between my sisters as the boat cast off and the engine roared into action. I remember the bright blue sky with few low-hanging white clouds. Maeve and Molly leaned over me from either side, sheltering me from the wind. My mother sat to the side, smiling at us and taking pictures. Even though it was cool over the sea, I felt strangely warm as we flew across the water. I looked up as the boat slowed down and the driver moored it onto the rocks. There was no dock and the driver helped each of us onto the beach. As soon as my feet touched the ground I began running around. My small shorts were almost entirely concealed by my oversized T-Shirt, and my tall white socks sprouted out from my double-knotted running shoes. My family joined me and we began to explore the island while the boatman waited for us by his craft. I ran ahead of them and charged up a tall hill, as soon as I came over the top I discovered the ruins of what I imagined was once a massive castle. I turned and ran as quickly as I could to describe it to my fellow explorers. Moments later I returned with them and my mother explained that monks built it while they were hiding their Gaelic writings from the English. We sat inside the crumbling rock structure and ate small sandwiches. Suddenly, I felt a painful stinging on my ankle.

“Aah!” I screamed.

“What is it?” my mother asked.

“It hurts!” I replied.

“It’s a nettle mom,” said Maeve “He touched one of the nettles.”

“Does it hurt?” asked my mom.

“Why does it do that?” I asked.

“So that things don’t hurt it,” answered my mother “Watch out for them, okay?”

“Okay” I replied.

“Tie your shoe.”

“Okay,” I said again “Once it stops hurting, I will.”

We packed up our picnic as my mother and sisters continued their conversation. I sat and pouted about the pain on my ankle, trying to make it stop by moving my sock into different positions. We began surveying the island from the top of the hill. It was quite small and one could easily walk all the way around it in no more than half an hour. The pain was subsiding in my ankle and my family began walking back down the hill. Forgetting my pain I charged down the slope, determined to go as fast as I could.

“Tie your shoe!” called my mother, but I ignored her. I could not stop now; I was having too much fun speeding down the hill, avoiding gopher holes. All of a sudden, my left foot stopped, and my body flew forward. Something had caught my leg and I was now flying through the air. I cleared a short cliff and plummeted about ten feet down. I remember the sea of stinging nettles, broken only by the horizon of the blue sky. I slammed into the bushes. They broke my fall, but their tiny nettles enveloped me. Their branches had gone up my T-Shirt and shorts, covered my legs and slapped my arms. I had covered my face, but my body was on fire. I began screaming. I did not know what had happened. I did not know what I was yelling, I just kept screaming. I saw Maeve at the edge of the sea of nettles, she seemed to be miles away, but came quickly, and every time I opened my eyes she was a little closer. Her pants protected her from the nettles, and she looked angrily confused as she picked me up and began carrying me back. She began yelling too, but I couldn’t understand her over my voice. When we reached the dirt she climbed up the incline beside the steep cliff I had gone over and dropped me on the ground. When she was carrying me, it was as if I was watching her hold me from the middle of the nettle sea, but when I hit the ground I was again looking through my own eyes. She and my mother stood over me. Molly was getting my shoes from the bushes. I stopped screaming to breathe.

“When somebody’s carrying you, YOU DO NOT KICK THEM!” shouted my sister, her voice shaking with anger. I couldn’t reply, I was too engrossed in the pain to think. I hopped up and began running in circles, unable to remain still.

“Okay, Maeve…” my mother said warningly to my sister.

“What is wrong?!” Maeve yelled at me.

“What is it?” asked my Mother.

“It hurts!” I whined loudly, my eyes watering.

“What hurts?!” Maeve said angrily impatient.

“The nettles,” said Molly “he fell in the nettles.”

“Oh, no…” said my Mom. Maeve said nothing. Molly began putting on my shoe and asking where it hurt.

“Everywhere,” I said, hot tears rolling down my face “They’re in my shirt.” I stopped running as Molly began pulling the leaves out of my clothes. “Don’t touch them!” I said, worried they would hurt her. She ignored me and began throwing the green leaves on the ground.

“C’mon,” said my mother “we’re supposed to be back at the boat.” We began to walk back, and I avoided every plant on our path by several feet. When we reached the boat, the man immediately cast off. We sat facing him and he was smiling at me the whole trip back. Why was he smiling? Couldn’t he tell I was in pain? I can see now that he was just trying to cheer me up, but at the time I believed he was laughing at me. My mom opened a water bottle, and poured some out on my leg.

“Stop! We’re gonna sink!” I said. My whining was beginning to wear on my family.

“No, we’re not,” said my mom, pouring more on.

“It’s fine,” the boatman told me calmly, still smiling. His reassurance helped me relax.

We got off the boat and walked back down the dock and climbed into the car. I was still in pain, but I had stopped crying. We drove for what felt like hours. We went through the beautiful countryside, and the green landscape took my mind off the stinging throughout my body.  Stone walls separated the fields of grazing cows and I pressed my face to the window as we meandered through the narrow road. Eventually the fields turned into buildings and we drove through a small town. We met up with my mom’s friend Betch and her family at their house and followed their car out of the city and through the countryside for a few more hours.

Finally, we reached a small urban setting and Betch signaled for us to park. We got out of the car and followed her to the most beautiful house I had ever seen in my life. Every inch was covered in red, pink and white roses. Exotic flowers lined the walkway. A tall, white archway Betch’s father had won in a golf tournament marked the entrance to the backyard. We walked up the front steps and were introduced to the family and immediately sat down for tea and cake. My mother told Betch’s mother about the nettles. Immediately the entire table began speaking their opinions.

“Mud, mud! Go outside and cover him in mud, it’ll get rid of the stinging” said Betch’s mom in her thick Irish accent. My mom led me out a window down into their lush backyard and took off my shirt. There had been plenty of rain but my mom ran the hose on the dirt to create more mud anyway. I held my arms out straight and she began to cover me in the sludge. It was freezing, slimy and dirty… I loved it. The nettles still stung my body, and as the mud slowly dried to my skin I could feel the pain ebb away. Some boy was playing in the dirt a few yards behind my mother who was kneeling to coat me in the muck. My mom moved to cover my left arm. The boy then quickly hopped up and came over to me, pinching something small between his fingers.

“Look, a scorpion!” he stated proudly in a funny accent, “Do you see it?” He was holding it inches from my eye to make sure I couldn’t miss it. It was no bigger than the last knuckle on his pinky and had a dark reddish color. The boy was holding it by the stinger and as the insect struggled to escape tiny clumps of dirt began to shake from its body, revealing it’s small legs. Seeing it wriggle so close to my eye scared me and I began to lean away.

“Ok, but don’t put it so close to his face, all right?” said my mom. The boy gave her a funny look, as if he just noticed she was there. He looked back at me and then down at the ground to turn and walk away. I was ashamed my mom had stepped in to protect me, and I felt sorry for the kid who was just trying to make a friend.

My mom finished covering me and walked me to a spot of sunlight among the flowers. My arms began to hurt from holding them out but the small aching was welcomed next to the intense stinging of the nettles. Betch’s mom came out and smiled at me, almost as brightly as the sunlight. She explained that when the mud dried it would grab the tiny thorns and when we scraped the mud off of my body the nettles would follow. Her words comforted me and I was able to endure the pain for as long as she spoke. Just when I felt like I could hold the position no longer, she called for my mother to begin scraping the mud off. We worked together and as each piece crumbled off my body, I felt like I was being reborn. I felt stronger and healthier. I felt calmer and happier. The ordeal was finally over. Before the last bit of mud was off, I threw on my shirt and ran inside to find the kid with the scorpion.

            I ran through every room on the first floor, oblivious to the tea-drinking adults watching me.

“Who are you looking for?” asked Betch’s mother.

“The other boy,” I told her.

“Pablo?” She asked.

“I dunno,” I answered.

“My son?” asked another woman, in the same accent as the boy, “The other boy your age?”

“I think,” I said, barely helping.

“Go run upstairs, I think he’s with Alex,” said the woman.

“Ok,” I said, and I turned around and ran, unthankfully. I ran up about ten steps and found myself on the small hallway of the second floor. To my left was a large, messy room. In front of me was the small boy, about my height with dark skin. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“Pablo” he replied nicely.

“What are you doing?” I asked. The boy looked at me and then smiled awkwardly. “What are you doing?” I repeated. His smile widened and this time he answered.

“Oh, we are playing futbol” he said. There was an awkward silence as I studied his face. In his uncomfort, he searched for something to say. “Did you find it?” he called into the room next to him.

“Yeap” came the reply. It was Alex, Betch’s son. Alex is a few years older than me, and I have known him since I was in daycare with his sister, I had always idolized him as a mentor of sorts. When Alex walked out of the room he was trailed by two other boys whom I didn’t know. “Oh, hey Byron” said Alex, holding a soccer ball “This is Max” he said, referring to a tall boy with short black hair.

“Wassup” said the boy in that unmistakable bay area tone, holding up his fingers in a “peace” sign. The kid was obviously from Berkeley.

“And Francisco” continued Alex.

“Hello,” said the other boy, in the same funny accent as Pablo and his mother, as he shook my hand like an adult. Alex threw the ball to Pablo. Without letting it touch the ground, Pablo balanced the ball on top of his shoe and began kicking it up into the air, juggling it with his feet. The he kicked the ball to his brother, Francisco. This boy was older, and clearly better at juggling the ball. He had dark skin and a wide bright smile, just like Pablo. After a few seconds, he passed the ball to Alex, who passed it to me. I tried to juggle the ball but kicked too hard and sent it flying in the wrong direction. Alex kicked out at it recklessly in an effort to keep it off the ground. He connected with the ball and sent it flying into a stained glass lamp. The lamp cracked when the ball hit it and then tumbled onto the floor and shattered. We all jumped back.

“Damn,” said Alex.

“Pick them up,” said Francisco, bending over to scoop up pieces of the glass. Pablo, Max and I stooped over to help.

“Hey, mom?” called Alex.

“Yeah?” replied his mother after a second.

“Grandma’s lamp broke,” admitted Alex, hopping downstairs. I have never forgotten this moment. Had it just been me, I would have hid the broken glass under my bed and hoped nobody noticed the missing lamp. But Alex bravely marched down the steps to meet his fate. Telling the story with complete honesty. I expected to hear shouts and footsteps. I childishly imagined my dad hitting every one of us, including the older kids. But nothing happened. Betch came upstairs with Pablo’s mom.

“Aw, Jesus.” Said Betch, surveying the damage, “ Are you guys ok?” she asked, looking between Pablo and me. I nodded. “ I think outside, play football outside, alright?”

“Okay, sorry.” said Pablo

“Yeah, sorry.” repeated Francisco.

“Sorry.” I said, still shocked by her reaction to Alex’s honesty

“Are you coming?” Pablo asked Alex. Alex looked to Max, who shook his head.

“Naw, we’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

“Okay.” Pablo replied, beckoning for me to follow him down the stairs.

“We can go to that park,” said Francisco

“Yeah.” said Pablo as we burst out the front door, without even the smallest of punishments.

It was warm day, which is rare in Ireland, and as the sun beat down on us we ran through the street kicking the ball back and forth. After about two blocks we reached a fairly small park. There were no basketball courts or baseball fields, just grass and trees. We ran into a clearing amidst a group of tall pine. We put our jackets down in two piles to create a makeshift goal. Pablo stood between the jackets and we took turns trying to score on him. Francisco and Pablo began showing off fancy footwork with the ball, bouncing it over their heads and catching it on the tips of their toes. I tried to copy them, and managed to pull off a few of the tricks before we decided we were too hungry to continue. We threw on our jackets and walked out of the clearing onto the grass. There were three younger kids leaning back on a small knoll and our path crossed a few feet in front of them.

“Give me the ball, bent-man” said one of them in a thick Irish accent. I couldn’t understand him at first, and so I just smiled at him out of the corner of my mouth while I tried to decipher his words. He imitated my smile with a sneer but I kept walking, the ball hanging loosely under my right arm. To this day I do not know what came over me, but after a few steps something in the back of my mind told me to look over my shoulder. As I did, I saw the kid charging at me, his eyes staring at the soccer ball. His eyebrows were slanted and he looked furious. Without thinking, I kept turning and put my body between him and Alex’s ball. I knew I couldn’t lose it, or Alex would lose all respect for me. He jumped up and stuck one foot out at me in some sort of leaping kick. I shut one eye as I twisted my body, flinching from his assault. Miraculously, the way I twisted put my body just to the left of him, and it was too late for him to change direction. He flew right by me and landed on the ground. I kept turning until I was facing him. The ball was still under my arm as I felt the Adrenaline pulse through my body. He jumped up and yelled something I couldn’t understand, but he kept his distance, probably because of Francisco’s size. He walked back over to his friends, who were still watching from the knoll, feeling triumphant. I turned back towards the house and began walking with Pablo and Francisco, who spent the remainder of our walk arguing over what I should have done. I smiled at everything they said, but I didn’t speak, fearing they would here the shaking in my voice. I was confused about what had just happened. Did that kid just beat me up? Did I just win my first fight? Why had he attacked me? These questions swirled through my head as I continued the walk, constantly looking over my shoulder, trying to appear calm and brave in front of the boys.

It was the longest day I had ever lived. I grew more as a person on that day than any other. I have never forgotten the nettle sea on the island, the roses on the house, the mud on my arms or the boy at the park. I learned that although my family would do anything to help me, they wouldn’t always be there for me. I learned that I had to take responsibility for my self. I learned that I would have to fight my own battles. I learned that although I would be helped along the way, I would have to live my life on my own.