Read Online Friends Like Us by Siân O'Gorman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Siân O'Gorman
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freedom from this unrequited state.
He and Melissa had met years ago in University College Dublin, when life hung enticingly before them and responsibility stretched only as far as remembering to Sharpie your name on the hummus. He actually had a photograph from the very first day he saw her and he had given his camera to someone to snap them all. It was the beginning of term in their second year and Melissa, sitting on the grass outside the Arts Block, was wearing baggy menâs pyjama bottoms, a holey jumper and black Doc Martens. And laughing. She looked so beautiful, so happy. He in contrast looked like a moody teenager (which he was desperately trying to be. He had to consciously not smile in photos and there is a decade of images of unsmiling Cormac. It had driven his mam, Meenie, mad.
And Cormac had been in love with Melissa since then. Properly in love, not just fancied-a-bit or found-attractive, but really and truly and desperately in love. He knew, logically that there were other woman in the world, but he didnât believe it, like conspiracy theorists or flat-earthers. He was afraid he would be trapped in this state of unrequited torture for the rest of his life, Cormac forever hankering after her and Melissa never knowing.
But she does know. Well, there was that time, embarrassingly, he happened to shout it out at the top of his voice. A particular mortification which still had the power to stop him in his tracks whenever the memory tunnelled its way to the surface.
A whole group of them had gone to Clare to hole up in a house for a weekend of windy walks, drunken late nights and hugely enjoyable pontificating. Bleary of eye and sick of stomach, Cormac and Melissa alone drove early on the Sunday morning to the Cliffs of Moher â probably the last place on earth one should go when unsteady and nauseous but she wanted to and he wasnât going to let her go alone. Heâd go to Mars if she wanted to but luckily sheâs never expressed an interest so he was off the hook on that one.
They stepped out of the car and were immediately blown off their feet and couldnât stop laughing as they linked arms and huddled together, shuffling along the path, wobbling towards the terrible drop. They fell to their knees and pulled themselves, commando-like, towards the edge and peered over to the swirling, swirmy sight below them, seagulls surfing the waves of wind, like kamikaze pilots, brave, fearless and death-wished. But for humans, the fall, thousands of metres to the sea below, was horrifying.
Lying on their bellies, peering over the edge, being buffeted by the wind, they caught each otherâs hands, and for a moment he thought I am never going to let go, they are going to have to prise me off this hand, call the fire brigade or chip me off with a chisel. He felt like kissing it, kissing her.
âYayhoooooooooo!â He shouted exuberantly into the wind.
Melissa grinned. âYoooooohooooo!â she countered, her voice slamming into the wind.
âLife⦠I love you!â she yelled, her voice this time carrying all the way to Boston. Cormac squeezed her hand again and looked at her, her beautiful brown eyes, her lopsided mouth, her freckly nose, her rosy cheeks. He couldnât help himself.
âAnd I love yoooouuuu!â He screamed it into the Atlantic wind.
Cormac had wished he could swallow his words back again, gobble them like a seagull, delete and rewind. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, frozen in time and space. Fuck. Why had he said that? A seagull swooped past them, the tip of his wing almost brushing their noses.
Melissa was looking down to the sheer drop and the crashing sea below. He thought he felt her hand squeeze his a little tighter but he couldnât be sure. She turned and smiled. âReady to go back?â Cormac began to breathe again, thinking she hadnât heard him.
He nodded. But after they belly-shuffled back from the edge and
He and Melissa had met years ago in University College Dublin, when life hung enticingly before them and responsibility stretched only as far as remembering to Sharpie your name on the hummus. He actually had a photograph from the very first day he saw her and he had given his camera to someone to snap them all. It was the beginning of term in their second year and Melissa, sitting on the grass outside the Arts Block, was wearing baggy menâs pyjama bottoms, a holey jumper and black Doc Martens. And laughing. She looked so beautiful, so happy. He in contrast looked like a moody teenager (which he was desperately trying to be. He had to consciously not smile in photos and there is a decade of images of unsmiling Cormac. It had driven his mam, Meenie, mad.
And Cormac had been in love with Melissa since then. Properly in love, not just fancied-a-bit or found-attractive, but really and truly and desperately in love. He knew, logically that there were other woman in the world, but he didnât believe it, like conspiracy theorists or flat-earthers. He was afraid he would be trapped in this state of unrequited torture for the rest of his life, Cormac forever hankering after her and Melissa never knowing.
But she does know. Well, there was that time, embarrassingly, he happened to shout it out at the top of his voice. A particular mortification which still had the power to stop him in his tracks whenever the memory tunnelled its way to the surface.
A whole group of them had gone to Clare to hole up in a house for a weekend of windy walks, drunken late nights and hugely enjoyable pontificating. Bleary of eye and sick of stomach, Cormac and Melissa alone drove early on the Sunday morning to the Cliffs of Moher â probably the last place on earth one should go when unsteady and nauseous but she wanted to and he wasnât going to let her go alone. Heâd go to Mars if she wanted to but luckily sheâs never expressed an interest so he was off the hook on that one.
They stepped out of the car and were immediately blown off their feet and couldnât stop laughing as they linked arms and huddled together, shuffling along the path, wobbling towards the terrible drop. They fell to their knees and pulled themselves, commando-like, towards the edge and peered over to the swirling, swirmy sight below them, seagulls surfing the waves of wind, like kamikaze pilots, brave, fearless and death-wished. But for humans, the fall, thousands of metres to the sea below, was horrifying.
Lying on their bellies, peering over the edge, being buffeted by the wind, they caught each otherâs hands, and for a moment he thought I am never going to let go, they are going to have to prise me off this hand, call the fire brigade or chip me off with a chisel. He felt like kissing it, kissing her.
âYayhoooooooooo!â He shouted exuberantly into the wind.
Melissa grinned. âYoooooohooooo!â she countered, her voice slamming into the wind.
âLife⦠I love you!â she yelled, her voice this time carrying all the way to Boston. Cormac squeezed her hand again and looked at her, her beautiful brown eyes, her lopsided mouth, her freckly nose, her rosy cheeks. He couldnât help himself.
âAnd I love yoooouuuu!â He screamed it into the Atlantic wind.
Cormac had wished he could swallow his words back again, gobble them like a seagull, delete and rewind. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, frozen in time and space. Fuck. Why had he said that? A seagull swooped past them, the tip of his wing almost brushing their noses.
Melissa was looking down to the sheer drop and the crashing sea below. He thought he felt her hand squeeze his a little tighter but he couldnât be sure. She turned and smiled. âReady to go back?â Cormac began to breathe again, thinking she hadnât heard him.
He nodded. But after they belly-shuffled back from the edge and
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