yonder brother

Did you know Saint Patrick is a dragon? Crow Patrick, a white stone dragon who carries a shamrock above his head and walks with an ash stick. We met him on a mountain. As he walked toward us I saw his wake like a bullet’s wake. When he spoke, the same – his words made ripples in the air. He wanted to kiss me, but I knew that was to be avoided because I would be burnt.

Katie kissed me goodbye on her way to the hairdresser, gave me a lozenge for my throat. Then she waded around to the other side of the bar, where John Coates was sitting (‘Who’s John Coates again?’ ‘You remember John Coates, he’s famous.’ 'Didn’t I go to college with his brother?’ 'Cousin.’ 'Oh.’), waves lapping his ankles. I understood implicitly I wasn’t to join them, so I hovered in the entryway, felt the wood grain on the wainscotting, watched them speaking, but couldn’t hear their voices above the incoming tide.

On the way home I didn’t ask what they’d talked about. The bus driver was sipping whisky from a flask and swerving down the street, clipping parked cars, but the other passengers told me not to confront him. The driver didn’t notice a man standing at a bus stop, and the man threw himself angrily against the side of the bus when it passed. Katie and I got off near city hall. The driver laughed when I told him I was gonna report him.

Ever fought with a tin whistle? ‘I don’t like your style of teaching.’ 'I don’t like your style of studenting.’ She slammed the door, left me to my notebook, pen, timer. 'I don’t know why you have to take it so seriously.’ Her sister tried to ignore the fight. The benefits of being deaf. It was better we stopped anyway, because angry tin whistling only leads to an angry Da downstairs. He’s making fish pie. Earlier we ate lemon cake at Gran’s house. She took the cake out of its box and its plastic. 'I don’t bake much anymore.’ In the drafty toilet I formulated a sentence to remember to write down later: The boy is in therapy to untie his tongue.

She told me I was good. 'You were so nervous.’ 'I wasn’t actually that nervous, actually.’ 'You were wiping your hands on your pants a lot.’ I made a point to lean over the table when I nibbled the cookies, so I didn’t mess. We recounted the places we’d driven to in the car Gran loaned us. We spent as much time discussing where we’d not been as where we had. 'You’re not oorgunized is your problem,’ said Papa, and Gran nodded and mimed writing a list. Then we spent the afternoon fighting about my shortcomings.