The winner of our current Short Story Competition is published in the December issue of Irish Country Magazine, out now. This story came in second place and was written by Elaine Ryan
I watched and waited outside Brown Thomas on Grafton Street. Yes, I took in the lights and decorations and general glitter and sparkle, but it was the people I was really watching. Everywhere I looked, I saw past versions of myself.
A young couple strolling along holding hands, unable to keep their eyes off each other. The woman wore a long red festive coat, and her long dark hair was tucked into her cream scarf. They headed through the door beside me, without a glance in my direction. I wondered if she was hoping for a ring this Christmas.
A rowdy group came down the street, swaying and stumbling very close to me but clearly oblivious to my presence. Co-workers after a boozy office lunch maybe. Christmas jumpers on a few of the lads, metallic tops on a couple of the women. An out-of-tune rendition of Fairytale of New York came from a redhead guy with a tie around his head, his arm draped over one of sequined girls. Perhaps he was planning to make a move in the next pub.
From the opposite direction, a gaggle of thirty-something women laden down with shopping bags suddenly stopped in front of me, laughing hysterically. One of them was clearly mid-story – she was gesticulating wildly, getting more and more animated and her voice was getting louder as she came to the punchline. “And that sums up THE worst date I was ever on!” One of her friends had tears streaming down her face and another one was bent over holding her side, she was laughing so much. They didn’t seem to realise that they were practically cackling in my face, but their merriment was so infectious that I couldn’t help but smile briefly.
Enough people-watching for now. Back to waiting. I wasn’t waiting for someone special. I was hanging on for anyone, anyone at all to catch my eye, to acknowledge my existence. A glance, an acknowledgement, a smile at best. I didn’t know whether the blatant avoidance or embarrassed and guilty averted gazes were worse than those who seemed not to see me at all. I was now invisible, one of the ghosts of the city. I made them uncomfortable; they could not imagine ending up like me.
I was waiting for an explanation as to how this had happened to me. How I had gone from someone with a job, a life, a home, love and friendship to someone with no prospects, opportunities or hope. I was waiting for a way out, a way through, a way back to that life.
I needed to watch again, to get away from my thoughts. I began looking at the families with small children. I’d always wanted a child but was grateful now that I didn’t and only had myself to look after.
Most of the parents looked a bit harassed, clearly a day in the busy city centre with impatient small people was not as romantic as they had probably imagined. Some of the kids were crying or stamping their feet or yawning loudly. They wanted to go home or wanted toys that they’d seen that weren’t on their Santa lists. Their parents pulling them along, likely steeling themselves to battle packed carparks with screaming children.
One little girl stopped in front of me with a parent holding her hands on either side. She looked about four or five and was wearing a cute maroon velvet coat. Her cheeks and nose were red, and her eyes were twinkling with excitement. There was no moaning or giving out, just pointing in delight at the Brown Thomas windows. She stopped suddenly and looked directly at me. She stared at my face, into my eyes. She took a big breath. Her parents were still looking in the windows and she let go of their hands and started tapping them. They looked down at her and then at me.
Her father knelt beside her and quietly explained that some people aren’t as lucky as she is to have a home. Her previously eager little face began to look puzzled and downhearted. She listened as he continued saying that she should always help people when she got the chance.
He gave her a few coins and told her to give them to me. She didn’t do what so many adults do, throw them quickly in front of me and walk quickly by. She held them out for me to take, the epitome pure innocence.
“Thank you honey, you’ve made my day,” I told her. The beaming smile returned to her face. “Happy Christmas.”
You can read the winning story in the December issue of Irish Country Magazine, in shops now. Click here for details on how to enter our Jan|Feb competition.
