p
My brother.
That is where it all began.
It came back to me, clearly, just as the train pulled out from Edward Daly Station.
Shankill.
Killiney.
Dalkey.
On the way in.
Just the way it used to be. I was remembering. Remembering again.
I took my pen out and began to write.
Brother.
He is standing there. At the door. My father is behind him.
Think.
Can you not think!
—Father!
The train pulled out from another station.
Someone shouted its name out.
I did not catch it.
I didn’t care.
I was on my way.
I was on my way home.
My brother.
Yes.
He was standing there at the door. I see him still.
This is all better in the present.
He arms were folded, his face withdraw.
—What did you do?
I said that to him.
My sister crawled past me. I don’t remember that. Maybe it didn’t happen.
Write.
My sister.
Write it down, you cunt.
Someone bumped into me. From behind. Phhf. I hated public transport.
Fhhp.
Of course I could not recall the last time I had partaken of public transport, let alone been out in public at all. But all the same. I hated it. My own smell I could stand, but the smell of other’s I abhorred.
—Have you the time?
His arm pit was in my face.
—No.
Did I look like I had the time? I felt I barely had my mind. What would I be doing with the time?
He asked me again.
—Do you have the time?
Irritating.
Fucking irritating.
I was at a loss as what to do.
My patience, the little that I had, was wearing thin.
—Go away, I said.
' He took no notice.
—Have you the time?
There was nothing else to be done. I turned my back to him.
—Have you the
I swung swiftly around and plunged my index finger into his eye socket.
He fell down screaming.
Others moved away.
—Fuck off, I said. Fuck the whole fucking lot of you fuckers!
The man on the ground wouldn’t stop screaming.
I had a pain in my head. In my right eye.
He looked like Mr. Licky.
My breath was short.
Each inward inhalation pained me, tired me. Each outward one ditto.
From behind me I heard voices, other voices.
Where they the voices of ghosts, spectres even?
My father?
No such luck.
It was the voice of the controller, amongst others.
—I don’t know who you are. Or where you have been. But you can disembark from this train now, or else.
But the train was moving. Surely they meant at the next stop.
—Get off. Now!
It seemed not.
And if I didn’t? Still , a carriage of misfits was too much for me. Even with my nails as long as they were.
It was mutiny.
I opened the door.
—May you all go to hell, I shouted.
