The Blue Moon Review

Leaving A Mark

by Faith Miller

The Photograph

I arrived back in New York in the middle of September. I arrived back in New York with scarcely more than my tooth brush and the clothes I was wearing. I wondered then if I would see here again, if I would see Ireland again, and my brothers and sisters. There were tears in my eyes when I left the house but I didn't know if they were from the sadness of leaving or over relief to be getting away. I'd taken only a small carry-on bag and my book of logic puzzles and a photograph that my mother's friend Liam had taken of the entire family and slipped into my hand as we waited at Shannon for my flight to be called. He and my brother, Declan, had driven me to the airport. My mother had refused to come. "Go on with you, then, Slaine," was all she'd said to me.
I had never been overly fond of Liam, but he was good that day. He bought Declan and me a meal, burgers and the lot, and gave me five pounds to spend. It was at the last moment he slipped the photo into my hand and I hadn't a chance to study it until I was on the plane. It was my first flight alone and I was a bit frightened although I was thirteen. It helped so, to have the photograph to look at.
It had been taken in July, out at Liam's house in the country, and we were sitting on a stone wall, me and my sister Aishlin and my brother Aidan. My mother, holding my youngest sister Michelle, and Declan stood next to us. It had been an unusually bright and warm day and everyone was a bit sunburned and smiling. Looking at the photograph I smiled back at myself and at them and felt a bit sad to have left them.
When I arrived at Kennedy, my passport in hand, my visa, ready, I was quaking with nerves. I felt I shouldn't have come, felt guilty for deserting my brothers and sister. Missed my mother. Sure, 'twas always that way, once I was out of the range of her hand I realized how much I loved her.
I was nearly crying then, lugging my bag along with me, and would almost have turned round when I saw my father there at the gate. He was more handsome even than I'd remembered with a curly black beard on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Welcome home, Slaine," he said, grabbing me and holding me against him as if he'd never let me go. He picked up my bag and handed me the flowers. I was smiling then, walking through the corridors with him, proud that he was my father.
Sure it wasn't until later that I realized I'd lost the photograph.

Questions
My father still lived in the same apartment, everything was much the same, except he'd added furniture to the living-room: a lovely rose patterned couch and a coffee table and one of those reclining chairs. There was a new television set as well, color and all, huge. The platter I'd sent him for Christmas the year before was hung up on the wall.
"I moved it from the kitchen," he said, when I looked. "I spend more time in here."
My room was the same, just the bureau and the bunk beds, but in the closet hung a new jacket and a dress in the bureau were two blouses and a green sweater.
"Christine bought them for you," my father said. "She had to guess your size."
I held up one of the blouses.
"Looks okay," he said and lightly tugged at my hair. "We can buy more next weekend when I'm off." He looked at my bag. "Is that all you brought with you, Slaine?"
"Twas all I had," I said, which was almost the truth.
He sighed. "Maybe Christine can take you shopping tomorrow. I'm working up at the bar five nights a week now in addition to managing the building." He yawned in emphasis.
I nodded. "I'll be fine."
He kissed my cheek and put the flowers into a vase and the vase onto my bureau. If I hadn't lost the photo I'd have put it there as well.
We went into the living-room and I sat in the recliner and he put on the television. It was just like the fillums, gorgeous. My father brought me a glass of Coke and made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He sat on the couch and smiled at me during the commercial breaks.
I waited for him to ask about Aishlin, now twelve, Declan, ten, Aidan, five, and Michelle, nearly three. I waited for him to ask about what I'd done the year before and how we'd been and what them back home needed. I waited for him to ask about my mother or at least was she going to give him the divorce he'd written for. I waited for some acknowledgement that we mattered to him. I kept looking over at the plaque, where all our names were, and then at my father. He smiled whenever he saw me looking at him, but he didn't ask me any questions.

Favors
Christine took me shopping the next day. She was even fatter than I had remembered, her stomach sticking out through a knit top, but I was genuinely happy to see her. Aside from the fact that she was doing me, or at any rate, my father, a favor.
"Slaine," she said, hugging me quickly. "Even prettier than I remembered."
I was not actually pretty: my lips were too full, my nose too wide, my body still essentially undeveloped. I had no hips and such small breasts that I'd never worn a bra. I smiled though and climbed into her car.
She took me over to the Cross County Shopping Center and bought me falls clothes: jean, t-shirts, underwear, school clothes including a blazer -- all auburn and distinguished, three more blouses, a slip, and a pair of penny loafers. We had lunch in John Wanamakers. It seemed ages since I had grilled American cheese.
"How are Erin and Shannon?" I asked. They were her daughters: the piglets I'd called them. Shannon was a year older than I was and Erin a couple years younger.
"They're fine. Can't wait to see you." Christine looked at me admiringly. "I don't know how you stay so skinny, Slaine."
I could have pointed out a year of porridge and potato leek soup would probably have caused her to lose a few stone, but I didn't. It seemed not only rude to Christine, but disloyal to my mother.
"Shannon's slimmed down a bit, but Erin is bigger than ever." Christine sighed. "Well, I guess it runs in the genes."
I nodded.
"Well, you'll see. Your Daddy's bringing you over Saturday. To spend the weekend. I've got a new house, a nice one, three bedrooms and guess what, Slaine, a pool. Well, just an above ground one, but it was heaven in the summer for me and the girls."
I had a fleeting image of Erin paddling around in the pool, like a baby whale in an aquarium. I giggled.
"Too bad it's got cold now. But next summer...," Christine said with a big smile. "Anyhow, look, here's a present for you."
"You've done so much," I said.
She reached into her bag and withdrew a rectangle wrapped in gold paper. "It was for Christmas, but since you were home and all, your Daddy felt...well, here. Take it."
I took it, trying not to think about last Christmas, trying not to think about presents I hadn't gotten, trying to get it open. It was a bracelet. A pretty one -- gold colored shamrocks going around in a circle. I put it on with her help. "It's lovely," I said.
She seemed pleased. "How...not that it's my business, but how is your mother, Slaine?"
"She's fine," I said. "She's wonderful." I thought I was doing her a favor by lying.

Different Rows
Oddly, when I started back to school, little seemed to have changed although I was now an eighth grader in the junior high school section of the school. Instead of sitting in one classroom with one teacher, the teacher stayed behind and we moved from room to room for English and Algebra, Biology and Social Studies, Latin and Gym. My old boyfriend, Joshua McKay, was in my biology and my social studies classes. Third and fourth period. I walked right behind him from one class to the other, but he didn't even say hello to me.
None of the girls spoke to me, but that was all right so. None of them had been my friends when I'd lived here before. Although I had enjoyed the company of my friends Roisin and Carmel back home, I was essentially a loner and enjoyed my solitude. I had my logic puzzles and my school books. I had my old friend at the library, Miss Nancy, who got me a part-time job helping with the story hours and with filing away the books.
I had my father. Well, I had him when he was home and awake which was none too often. Between working in the bar and meeting Christine and trying to do the super work, the man was a wreck. Small surprise that he'd had no time for writing home. I, on the other hand, wrote home everyday to my family. I'd leave the letter out for him to post and, although, he made no comment, each day when I came home the letter was gone.
That Saturday, as promised, we went to visit Christine's house. I took my pajamas and change of clothing along in my carrier bag. The house was in Mt. Vernon on a small, crowded street, and most of their neighbors were black. That was okay with me. I'd always found black people, the few I'd seen, fascinating. Erin had got enormous, she must have gained two or three stone since I'd last seen her, and she sat in the small backyard by the wee small swimming pool in a chair that could barely contain her.
Shannon, on the other hand, had gotten much prettier. She'd lost a bit of weight, bleached her hair to ash blonde, and grown the largest set of bosoms I'd seen on a girl.
"I have a boyfriend now, Slaine," was the first thing she said to me. "Cuter even than your Joshua. Is Joshua still your boyfriend?"
"No," I said.
"Well, that's okay, then, because, listen, Kevin, that's my boyfriend right, he goes to Fordham Prep., right and he's got like this friend, Anthony. And, like, Kevin thought Anthony would be perfect for you, right, because he's like Irish too. And Fordham Prep like, is an all boys school and they can never meet any girls and so, like, do you want to go to the movies with them tonight? We have to bring her." Shannon pointed at her sister, who was sitting in the yard staring into space. "Mom makes me bring her everywhere. Listen, do you, like smoke, Slaine?"
"No. Do you?"
"Well, yes, like, not much. But Kevin does."
"How old is he?"
"Sixteen." She stared at me to make sure I was suitably impressed. She was fourteen herself, but, sure with the hair and the breasts she looked sixteen, maybe seventeen.
I felt very young. "Has Erin a boyfriend, then?"
Shannon made a face. "No way. They all hate her. Kevin won't even let her sit in our row."
I thought then of my own sister, Aishlin, just a year younger than I. I couldn't imagine, whatever she looked like, having a boyfriend who'd make her sit on her own. I stared at Shannon.
"They're coming over at seven, okay, Slaine?"
I nodded. Maybe I'd like this Anthony. Maybe he and I and Erin could sit down together and watch the movie.

Trying to Be Friendly
The boys were late, coming around six-thirty and the movie was after starting at seven so we rushed towards the car through lashing rain. My father and Christine were going out to the bar and we were supposed to eat dinner together when they got back.
"The kids will fill up on popcorn and soda anyhow, Bri," Christine said. "Might as well eat late."
"Behave yourself girls," my father said, not looking at me in particular.
"Aw, Brian," Shannon said and shoved her chest in his face. "Don't worry about us."
Erin didn't say anything, moping at having to come along.
"You can sit beside me," I said, trying to be friendly.
"I don't want to," she said.

Shannon climbed in back with one of the boys and I followed leaving Erin for the passenger seat in front. "This is Slaine," Shannon said and the boy in back reached his arm across Shannon to shake my hand.
"Anthony," he said in an accent that could only be Dublin. "How're yez?"
"Not so bad," I said. It seemed strange to be talking to an Irish boy here in this car in America not two weeks since I'd left Ireland. It all seemed strange and rushed and somehow wrong.
"That's Kevin in the front," Shannon said and whispered, "cute, right?"
The back of his head looked all right. "Hi," I said.
"Hi." He had a high pitched squeaky voice.
No one else said anything and in a few minutes we pulled into a space and everyone jumped out.
"We have to hurry," Shannon said, grabbing Kevin's hand. "Come on."
Anthony and I raced after them, leaving Erin in our wake.
"Good," said Kevin loudly. "I hope the fat fuck gets lost."
I was after waiting for Shannon to say something, but she just laughed. I looked at Anthony and he shrugged, quickening his pace. I slowed down and waited for Erin to catch up to me.
They had already bought the tickets when we got up to theater and we went right in, stopping at the refreshment stand for enormous containers of popcorn and sodas that looked enough for four.
"Hurry up," Shannon said, heading for the last row in the theater. "We'll meet you after the show, Erin."
Erin, who had popcorn, a Coke and a box of Milk Duds, nodded glumly.
"Come on, you," Anthony said to me, holding onto our bucket of popcorn and his own soda.
"Erin," I said. "Come sit with me."
"I said I didn't want to Slaine," she said, in a voice filled with venom.
"Come on," said Anthony and I went.
I sat between Anthony and Kevin and watched as Kevin slowly moved his hand into a position to fondle Shannon's breast.
Anthony stuck the popcorn in front of my face and I took a handful. I tried looking at the screen, but my eyes kept wandering back to Shannon and Kevin. His hand was still, lying heavy on her breast. Her hands were folded across her lap. I felt uneasy.
"Is it warm in here, it is?" I whispered to Anthony.
He shrugged and handed me the box of candy.
I ate one of the Milk Duds, craning my neck, wondering where Erin was. The move was dead boring. Kevin's fingers were moving, slow; Shannon smiled, slow. I shifted in my seat and handed the box back to Anthony.
He looked at me, looked past me to Kevin, past Kevin to Shannon. He looked at me again. I could feel his eyes burning through my clothes in the dark theater. Anthony reached out and put his arm around my neck, his fingers crawling down, aiming for my own, small, breast.
For a moment, I was unable to move, but then I got up, pushed past him and went to sit in a different row.
"I was only trying to be friendly," Anthony muttered. But I paid him no mind.

Saying Hello
Monday morning I blocked Joshua's way as he rushed off to our biology class. I stood there, in front of him and held my foot out to trip him if he tried to push past. "Do you not remember me, Joshua McKay?" I asked him, staring at his face which was both familiar and older than when I left. He was still very goodlooking with blondey hair and fair skin, but he was starting to get spots and he had turned all red at my question. "No?" I prodded.
"Yeah," he said. "Of course."
"Ah," I said and grinned. "I thought maybe you didn't, so. Since you haven't said so much as hello to me."
He turned even redder. "Hello."
"Hello yourself," I said and leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Then I turned away from him and went into my classroom.

Phone Calls
My father sat on the settee, watching the Knicks play the Lakers. He'd gone mad for American sports. Football. Basketball. Baseball. I thought they were deadly. I wished he would leave so I could put on a movie, watch some romance story or something. I'd done my homework. I'd finished off my puzzles.
"Da?"
"I'll talk to you during the half-time," he said.
When the phone rang, I jumped to get it.
"Slaine, it's me, Aishlin."
If she hadn't of told me I wouldn't have known. "Stop crying, will you?"
"Slaine," she said and sobbed through the phone. I pictured her, back in Kerry, crying her eyes out, pictured the tears seeping through the phone, into the line, across the Atlantic, and spilling out onto me. My arm felt wet. "Slaine."
"Aye?" I steeled myself against what she would say, afraid the flood of tears would become a flood of words and I'd be washed away along with them.
"Who is it, then?" My father asked, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the television set.
"It's Aishlin," I said. "Do you want to speak to our Da?"
"All right," she choked out.
My father took the phone from me. "Aishlin, love?"
I sat back down, pretending I wasn't listening, feigning an interest in the basketball.
"Put your Mammy on," my father said, in a cold, hard voice. "Aishlin, love, do as I say. Stop your sobbing, child. Whist." He looked over in my direction.
I looked away.
"Listen, Liz," he said, flexing his fingers, cracking his knuckles. "Ya need to alllow the girl some freedom. Sure, she's a good girl, is our Aishlin."
There was a long period of silence, an endless period of silence, during which the Lakers scored three points and the Knicks scored six.
"Well," he said, frowning, "you know best I'm sure." He put the phone down gently and moved back to the couch. His eyes scanned over me and found the game.
I wanted something terrible to ask him what had happened, but I kept quiet. It was deadly quiet and when the phone rang again I let out a little screech.
"Answer it, Slaine," my father said.
"Hullo?"
"It's me, Slaine, Shannon. Look, what I'm calling for is, well, Anthony liked you, even though you wouldn't kiss him or anything."
My father looked over at me.
"Hello, Shannon," I said and he relaxed.
"So, look do you want to go out with them again? Saturday night. To the movies again? Me and Kevin and you and Anthony."
"And Erin?" I asked.
"No, she's not coming. Just us four. Okay?"
"I'll have to check with my father," I said, ignoring his inquiring look. "I'll check with him and ring you."
"Okay," Shannon said. "Call me soon."
"Right," I said. "Good bye." I hung up and sat down, as quiet as he was, not saying anything at all.
During half time he made us a bowl of popcorn and poured himself a beer, with a wee bit in a glass for me. During half time he told me about what colour he was after planning to paint the hallways and during half time the phone rang once more. My father looked at me.
"Okay," I said and answered it. "Hello?"
"Slaine, it's me, Joshua. Remember?"
I nodded at the phone.
"Slaine? Do you want to go out Saturday night?"
"I do," I said.
"See you in school, okay?"
He rang off and I looked at the phone and then at my father. I sat back down beside him, and, during the third quarter, he reached over and took my hand. He held it until I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek and said, "Good night."

Robert Redford
Although I waited for days, my father said nothing further about any of the phone calls. On Saturday night he left for work in the pub, as usual, handing me ten dollars to get some food. I took a shower and curled my hair and put on a pair of blue jeans and a green shirt and the blazer Christine had bought me. I put the ten dollars into my pocket and locked the door behind me. I walked over to the movie theatre, across from the railroad station, and I met Joshua McKay to see Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
It was fantastic, the filum: Robert Redford was gorgeous. So was Joshua who sat beside me. We were sharing a tub of popcorn and every now and again our fingers would brush one another as we reached into get some of the popcorn. I stole a few glances over at Joshua. He was still very goodlooking, if no Robert Redford.
I wondered, sitting there in the dark, if Joshua would try to kiss me, if he would try to touch my breasts, and I wondered would I let him or not. But he didn't try and when the movie was over he walked me home in silence.
I was after remembering how it had been between us, before I left for Ireland, how it had been easy. I was looking for the words to bring that time back, but we reached my apartment before I found them.
"Good night, Slaine," he said and put out his hand.
I shook it, my arm tingling, then ran up to the door, rushing to get away from him.
I dreamed that night of Butch and Sundance, only thing was Sundance looked more like Joshua McKay than he did Robert Redford.

On the Surface
On the surface things seemed a bit normal. I continued going to school, seeing Joshua, doing me puzzles. My Da went on with working, seeing Christine, watching the telly. But things were different. Something dead and frightening lurked beneath the surface, something waiting to come out.
I had a problem with sleeping, waking up with my eyes open, fearing I was home again. I could hear my mother giving out to Aishlin, hear the crack of that board as my Mother attempted to beat my sister into submission.
Often, it seemed everyday although perhaps it was not, my father rang home. He'd question whomever answered in detail. "Declan, is your mammy home? Is your sister home? What about wee Michelle? Has there been a row? Where's Aidan? What meal did you have today? What's the temperature there? Did anyone ring? Aside from me, ya hoor, ya."
My father's face grew older and more drawn with each call. He'd sweet talk Aishlin into promising to be a good girl, promise my mother money if she'd let Aishlin be.
From my position, curled up the sofa, I listened and tried to make sense of it all. But there was no logic to be found. Finally I asked, "What's wrong there?"
My father seemed surprised to have me speak. "Ah, ya know." He shrugged helplessly and I had to fight the urge to go hug him against my thin body.
I gulped in a large breath of air. "No, I don't know."
He came over beside me and rested his hand on my head. "Tis nothing for you to worry about, Slaine."
I shut my eyes, willing my self to believe him. "But what happened?" I asked, my voice smile.
My father sighed and removed his hand. "Aishlin had a wee boyfriend and your mammy was unhappy about it."
"Aishlin...," I began. "Did...?"
"She's all right, Slaine, love," my father said, stroking my hair again. "Just a bit bruised." He sighed again and shook his head as if to clear the memory.
I was rigid, rigid as that board back home, and I could feel Aishlin's pain as it slammed into her. I began to cry then, tears held somewhere within me, tears that would no longer be held back. I cried for myself and for Aishlin and for my mother and my father.
He knelt beside me and let the tears run into his good white bartender's shirt.
When I looked up at him his face was white and taut and I did not ask anymore questions.

Leaving A Mark
I came home from school the next Thursday to find Christine on our doorstep in tears. "What's wrong?" I asked, standing there, staring at her. "Is everything all right?"
She looked through me, as if I hadn't spoken.
I tugged at her arm. "Are you okay?"
She reached down and grabbed her engagement ring, twisted and turned it. Her face had gone bright red. Finally she got the ring off and pressed it into my hand. She pressed it so hard that it left a mark. "Give this to your father," she said and rushed down the steps and away.
I supposed I would never see her again.
I pushed open the door and saw my father, sitting on the settee, white. There was a handkerchief beside him. "Get inside now, Slaine," he said. "The tenants are after having enough of a show today." He sounded tired. He looked old. "Go off now and clean your room, love."
The prongs of the ring were pushing into the palm of my hand. "Da?" I began.
"Please, Slaine, for once can you not do as you're told." He shook his head, grabbed the hankie and stuffed it into his pocket. He stood up and walked over to me. He reached out his hand, then drew it away. "Clean it well, will you, there was another phone call, another beating, I can do nothing from here." His voice cracked in pain. "Hurry up now, we're after going home."
Tears welled up in my eyes as I began packing, but I did not know whether they stemmed from the sadness of leaving or the unexpected relief I felt to be finally going home.