The winner of our current Short Story Competition is published in the Sept|Oct issue of Irish Country Magazine, out now. This story came in second place and was written by Breda Hyland
It was a morning unlike any other. Waking up before eight was indeed unusual for me. Through the slit where the curtains didn’t meet, I caught a glimpse of a pale yellow sun streaking across an almost clouded sky. This was unusual too – after all, it was late October. My enthusiasm was further aroused when I strolled to the conservatory and spotted two small kittens purring in the sun at the door. Such a beautiful sight. I coaxed them inside. They didn’t hesitate. If they were lost, I was definitely going to keep them.
The morning news cut in on my thoughts.
It looked like Joe Biden might play his trump card at last.
Nobody died on the roads overnight.
A new chimp arrived at Dublin zoo.
Good news was unusual and brought a pleasant change. I drank the last of the orange juice and as the toast popped up, the postman delivered the registered letter along with a few leaflets and bills. Insignificant now, as I held the large white registered envelope with both hands.
I slumped to the nearest chair and fumbled and struggled to keep my shaking hands in control. I somehow managed to open the seal and dragged out a white sheet of paper. The headed, embossed page was all I could see. Blinded by my tears, I searched for words and eventually put them together.
The day I longed for had arrived. It was here, it was real. It was all I had prayed for, hoped for, eagerly awaited. My teenage son was being released from the juvenile detention centre. Good behaviour was what they said. They were giving him a second chance. They hoped he had learned his lesson and would not offend again.
“Bastards,” I screamed to an empty kitchen. “Lying bastards.”
My son did not offend. He was framed. The bully got away. Where was the justice here? Was this the best they could do? Everyone knew he was innocent, the talk on corners pointed to the criminal at the end of the estate. Someday the truth would come out – I’d make sure of that.
Composing myself, I quickly dressed, grabbed the keys and reversed down the drive and joined the queue of traffic. Friday was always busy. I had to pick my son before twelve, if possible, the letter said. I wasn’t going to be late.
I can’t remember much of the twenty-five mile journey. My mind wandered between turmoil and gratitude and anger and confusing emotions that I couldn’t handle. When I spotted a roadside church I stopped the car there and then. I needed a quiet place to gather my thoughts. Only God could help me now.
I didn’t see her at first, kneeling in the front seat, her head buried in her hands. It was the sobbing that distracted me. I sat across on the other side, not wishing to disturb her, hoping she would find some consolation for her deep sorrow. I bowed my head too and prayed for my son. When I looked up she was standing in front of me. I recognised her now, my neighbour from the end of the estate. As she stared into my face, tear-stained brown eyes held me helpless in their gaze. Angry words rose to my lips but I couldn’t set them free because she was a mother too.
“They’ve accepted him into the army,” she whispered. “Maybe this time he’ll do the right thing. I’m just glad he’s getting a second chance.”
I shook her hand numbly, picked up my keys and walked solemnly away. Back in the car, I cried like I’d never cried before. The morning that started off so well had taken such a downward spiral, I wanted the world to stop and I could jump off. Instead I glanced at the clock, gathered my thoughts once more and as the Angelus bell rang out, I drove across to the juvenile detention centre where my son was waiting in the hallway.
No words were spoken on the way home. It was the letter in his back pocket that broke the silence as he read out the few scribbled lines:
“I’m leaving next Monday, the army is giving me a second chance. Sorry to get you in trouble. Hope I can make it up to you someday. Call me if you ever need anything.”
It was signed “the neighbour from the end of your estate”. My son folded it with care and placed it carefully in his back pocket. I glanced over and his smile at that moment spoke volumes. It wiped away my tears, my resentment, my bitterness. I was ready to continue my day. It was, after all a day unlike any other.
You can read the winning story in the Sept|Oct issue of Irish Country Magazine, in shops now. Click here for details on how to enter our November competition.
