A Nightmare's Fate

Holidays in Ireland

Chapter Twenty-seven: Holidays in Ireland

We lie in the grass and look up at the clouds. We point to the one's that look similar or exactly like what we say like a bunny or a ship. This is my Utopia. This is where I belong; such a calm and peaceful place; so distant from the rest of the world that I don't hear the annoying horns that honk or jackasses that bellow out their window to keep moving. That I don't hear the constant talking of others when I walk through the streets of Manhattan; that I no longer hear the sound of voices and being lost in such a giant city such as New York itself.

            Here in Clifden, Ireland where there is a small village and most of the land is covered in grass, surrounded by the ocean where all I can hear is the sound of the waves hitting against rocks and the seagulls flying around the beach. I don't hear the constant yelling, horns honking, and too many voices that surround me. I don't feel lost, pressured, or even sad at the slightest. I finally feel content and happy and calm in a beautiful place like this.

            This is where I belong.

            This is where I should have lived long ago.

            It's such a beautiful place and I'm sad to leave it next week; where it will be the 30th of December, the day where I arrive back in New York and face my toughest fears. Facing Freddy and not having a job anymore, ever since Errik made me lose it that is.

            Closing my eyes, I relax and breathe in deeply like I'm meditating, except I can't clear my mind. So many things rush through it that I can't control it and I don't know how like I'm new at this “monk” stuff.

            "Ya can always work for me," Errik speaks, his voice so soothing that I just want him to keep talking and never stop.

            I don't move a muscle. "How much do you pay?"

            "Lower than yer last job, I'll tell you that." He breathes loudly.

            "So that blows that option." I let out a sigh. "Do you have any contacts as to where I can find a good journalist job?"

            "Sorry, I don't," he mutters. "Why not write a novel?"

            "Oh please––" I begin, but he cuts me off.

            "No, really; ya want to be a writer, right?" We both move onto our sides, leaning against our elbows, our eyes making contact. I nod. "So why not do what you love? I make more money because I own the restaurant, so I'll be able to pay for yer rent and then while that is happening, ya can just work for me or Periwinkle at Little Fred's, and on yer days off, you write! I know plenty of publishers in New York, so why not do that idea?"

            Thinking for a moment, I contemplate on the idea. But what would I write about? What am I going to make? Nodding, I say, "Why the hell not?" I smile and he grins too.

            "That is magnificent!"

            "However, I won't start until I get back home," I assure him.

            "Good choice." He has enthusiasm in his voice and he chuckles because of the look I give him.

            It’s silent for a few moments until I speak up and I ask, “So are you staying or going back to New York?”

            He shakes his head and licks his lips. “I’m going back, of course. My dog is there,” he adds. “I can’t leave her alone; it’s bad enough that I left Josh in charge to take care of her.”