cleaners.
It’s at the end, the shitty end.
But the door is locked.
I stand there, waiting for a moment, before a small boy appears. He’s skipping and licking a lolly. He stops when he sees me, looks back behind him, and then at me. “Who are ya?” His accent is thick, but I would recognize those dark-blue eyes anywhere.
“I’m a friend of yer ma’s.” My accent is not so amazing. I can speak many languages, but mimicking the Irish accent always turns to Scottish for me.
He cocks an eyebrow. His little face is dirty and sticky. He hasn’t changed much, apart from the fact he’s a boy and still innocent of the evil I know him to have. “My ma died.” He says it matter-of-factly.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He is dubious. “Ya know the sisters then?” He turns and points at a church. “My ma always loved the sisters—maybe not these ones, though.” The second part is whispered.
I close my eyes a second and instantly I am a sister. My costume is a nun’s habit, but one of the ones for younger women with the shorter skirt and all-white headdress. “I am one of them, Rory. I came to take ya back home. To the better sisters.”
He lifts his hand, trusting me straightaway.
That frightens me a bit. No child should take the hand of a stranger. I take his small, sticky hand in mine and squeeze gently. “Ya must be getting hungry. I’m fairly glad it was ya I found.”
He scowls. “Who the heck did ya think ya might find?”
“The other you. The one who scares me,” I whisper, hoping my nun costume is putting him at ease and not triggering a ripple so grown-up Rory senses anything. “I was hoping I would just find you. So I could ask you some questions.”
“After we eat?” he asks, like every street urchin might.
“After we eat,” I confirm and lead him to the convent. I imagine it’s filled with nuns, all kind and sweet, but I don’t control the memories here. I control me. It’s a different sort of run. “Where is the other Rory? The older one?”
He turns his little face up to mine and he shakes his head. “He never comes here.” I open the door and find that inside is what I feared it might be. It’s not nice or homey. It is most definitely not the place I grew up, with people loving you and caring for you. It’s gray—like everything, including the furnishings, is indifferent to you.
This is a special place for children no one wants in the land of no birth control or abortions, but heaps of judgment. Add to that the fact Belfast is incredibly impoverished, and you have a perfect storm. Too many children no one wants and no money to feed them.
A red-faced woman storms to him, taking his ear in her hand. “Where did ya steal that lolly from, ya little brat?” She tosses him aside, making him drop the lolly. She kicks it to the corner, shouting at him and whacking him in the side of the head. “God is watching you, Rory. And he will never forgive the sins you have committed.”
I want to defend him but that might make a ripple.
So I stand there, watching her hurt him.
“God doesn’t love boys who don’t live his word.”
Rory sobs and stares at his broken lolly lying on the dirty wooden floor. “I got it from the lady at the cleaners. I swear to ya. I never stole it.”
He has just finished the sentence when the lady hits him again. “Yer mother was a sinner and yer father was a sinner and you won’t ever be anything but a sinner.” She hits him until he’s sobbing and then storms off to “deal” with another kid.
I cannot believe the difference between this and the life I lived.
“Thank you.” I look up to the ceiling and smile. God and I have differing opinions on a few key items, but we both agree he took care of me. I believe in the part of the story where God carries you. And I believe the people who work here are Godless.
I hurry to Rory’s side, taking his hand. “Let’s get ya cleaned up.” I turn and pull him to the bathroom, hoping he’s going
It’s at the end, the shitty end.
But the door is locked.
I stand there, waiting for a moment, before a small boy appears. He’s skipping and licking a lolly. He stops when he sees me, looks back behind him, and then at me. “Who are ya?” His accent is thick, but I would recognize those dark-blue eyes anywhere.
“I’m a friend of yer ma’s.” My accent is not so amazing. I can speak many languages, but mimicking the Irish accent always turns to Scottish for me.
He cocks an eyebrow. His little face is dirty and sticky. He hasn’t changed much, apart from the fact he’s a boy and still innocent of the evil I know him to have. “My ma died.” He says it matter-of-factly.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
He is dubious. “Ya know the sisters then?” He turns and points at a church. “My ma always loved the sisters—maybe not these ones, though.” The second part is whispered.
I close my eyes a second and instantly I am a sister. My costume is a nun’s habit, but one of the ones for younger women with the shorter skirt and all-white headdress. “I am one of them, Rory. I came to take ya back home. To the better sisters.”
He lifts his hand, trusting me straightaway.
That frightens me a bit. No child should take the hand of a stranger. I take his small, sticky hand in mine and squeeze gently. “Ya must be getting hungry. I’m fairly glad it was ya I found.”
He scowls. “Who the heck did ya think ya might find?”
“The other you. The one who scares me,” I whisper, hoping my nun costume is putting him at ease and not triggering a ripple so grown-up Rory senses anything. “I was hoping I would just find you. So I could ask you some questions.”
“After we eat?” he asks, like every street urchin might.
“After we eat,” I confirm and lead him to the convent. I imagine it’s filled with nuns, all kind and sweet, but I don’t control the memories here. I control me. It’s a different sort of run. “Where is the other Rory? The older one?”
He turns his little face up to mine and he shakes his head. “He never comes here.” I open the door and find that inside is what I feared it might be. It’s not nice or homey. It is most definitely not the place I grew up, with people loving you and caring for you. It’s gray—like everything, including the furnishings, is indifferent to you.
This is a special place for children no one wants in the land of no birth control or abortions, but heaps of judgment. Add to that the fact Belfast is incredibly impoverished, and you have a perfect storm. Too many children no one wants and no money to feed them.
A red-faced woman storms to him, taking his ear in her hand. “Where did ya steal that lolly from, ya little brat?” She tosses him aside, making him drop the lolly. She kicks it to the corner, shouting at him and whacking him in the side of the head. “God is watching you, Rory. And he will never forgive the sins you have committed.”
I want to defend him but that might make a ripple.
So I stand there, watching her hurt him.
“God doesn’t love boys who don’t live his word.”
Rory sobs and stares at his broken lolly lying on the dirty wooden floor. “I got it from the lady at the cleaners. I swear to ya. I never stole it.”
He has just finished the sentence when the lady hits him again. “Yer mother was a sinner and yer father was a sinner and you won’t ever be anything but a sinner.” She hits him until he’s sobbing and then storms off to “deal” with another kid.
I cannot believe the difference between this and the life I lived.
“Thank you.” I look up to the ceiling and smile. God and I have differing opinions on a few key items, but we both agree he took care of me. I believe in the part of the story where God carries you. And I believe the people who work here are Godless.
I hurry to Rory’s side, taking his hand. “Let’s get ya cleaned up.” I turn and pull him to the bathroom, hoping he’s going
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