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Authors: Celine Kiernan
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the Eurovision that year. I could tell that Ma thought it was strange I wasnât more into it. The Eurovision was our thing, hers and mine. Usually Dom would sit in the background, reading a book or listening to his transistor or something; that kind of music just wasnât his scene. Dad and Dee usually fell asleep after the first three songs. (No exception that year. I distinctly remember Dad snoring through most of the northern European entries.) But Ma and I, weâd have an all-night running conversation on the costumes, the crappy lyrics, whether or not weâd remember the song in a week, a month, a year.
I did my best. I remember some give and take. But all the time my mind kept drifting upstairs, kept seeing that pale arm snaking over the edge of the bed. Kept thinking, Iâve got to go back up there, tonight. Iâve got to go back up there.
I remember the Swedish entry, ABB A, coming on. I remember thinking, Oh yes. Theyâre going to win. Ma and I even sang along, bouncing in time to the music, my arm around her shoulders; it was that good. Then I caught Dom looking at me from the end of the sofa, his dark eyes anxious, and the last line of the song died in my throat.
I remember when ABB A won the TV station cut to the news before the victory performance was over, and Ma leapt up and ran into the kitchen to turn on the radio. Larry Gogan was still commenting on the show, and he played the song all the way to the end. Ma raced back in and grabbed me by my hands and hauled me to my feet, and we danced all around the kitchen, singing along at the tops of our voices.
In that moment, I felt feverishly happy. I was almost hysterically happy. And when the song was over, I remember thinking, No! No! Donât let it stop. Let it go on forever. So that I could go on forever, dancing and singing in the kitchen with Ma. And not have to go upstairs.
But it did stop, and it was dead late, and Dad carried Dee to bed, and Ma started doing the dishes. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, the harsh centre light beating down on me, while Ma and Dom had a conversation with each other that was all sound and no words and seemed to come from very far away.
I stood there in my pyjamas and dressing-gown, tired and lost and bloody terrified, looking at nothing in particular, thinking of nothing but how scared I was. Then Dom came quietly up behind me, took my elbow in his hand, and led me up the stairs.
THE FEEL OF MOONLIGHT
THE NIGHT BRINGS all kinds of surprises, doesnât it? Nothing is ever quite what it first appears to be. Things donât ever go quite as you anticipate.
WE CLIMBED THE dark stairs, Domâs hand on my elbow. When we got to the bedroom he guided me inside, then turned and shut the door with a quiet little snick . We didnât turn the lamp on. The moon blared in through the two windows, fragmenting the bedroom into hard shadows and gleaming white surfaces. It was all as crisp and as clear as a black-and-white photograph.
I scanned the room, my eyes jumping from place to place. Dom stood at my side, holding my elbow, quietly supporting me, waiting for my cue. Every molecule in my body seemed ready to fight or flee. I was thrumming with anticipation. But gradually, as I looked around and as the room asserted itself on me, I began floating down into reality. I felt myself calming, reconnecting with my surroundings â and I realised that there was nothing here. Absolutely nothing.
I looked at the bunk, forced myself to really take it in. The covers were lumpy and steeped in darkness, the bottom bunk, in particular, a depthless well of darkness, but innocent of any horrors. There was no vibe here. Nothing at all. The room was empty, just a sparsely furnished bedroom, shabby and filled with dust. My whole body loosened at once with relief.
I can honestly say that if I hadnât had that reaction â that completely unexpected reaction â there would have been no earthly
I did my best. I remember some give and take. But all the time my mind kept drifting upstairs, kept seeing that pale arm snaking over the edge of the bed. Kept thinking, Iâve got to go back up there, tonight. Iâve got to go back up there.
I remember the Swedish entry, ABB A, coming on. I remember thinking, Oh yes. Theyâre going to win. Ma and I even sang along, bouncing in time to the music, my arm around her shoulders; it was that good. Then I caught Dom looking at me from the end of the sofa, his dark eyes anxious, and the last line of the song died in my throat.
I remember when ABB A won the TV station cut to the news before the victory performance was over, and Ma leapt up and ran into the kitchen to turn on the radio. Larry Gogan was still commenting on the show, and he played the song all the way to the end. Ma raced back in and grabbed me by my hands and hauled me to my feet, and we danced all around the kitchen, singing along at the tops of our voices.
In that moment, I felt feverishly happy. I was almost hysterically happy. And when the song was over, I remember thinking, No! No! Donât let it stop. Let it go on forever. So that I could go on forever, dancing and singing in the kitchen with Ma. And not have to go upstairs.
But it did stop, and it was dead late, and Dad carried Dee to bed, and Ma started doing the dishes. I stood in the middle of the kitchen, the harsh centre light beating down on me, while Ma and Dom had a conversation with each other that was all sound and no words and seemed to come from very far away.
I stood there in my pyjamas and dressing-gown, tired and lost and bloody terrified, looking at nothing in particular, thinking of nothing but how scared I was. Then Dom came quietly up behind me, took my elbow in his hand, and led me up the stairs.
THE FEEL OF MOONLIGHT
THE NIGHT BRINGS all kinds of surprises, doesnât it? Nothing is ever quite what it first appears to be. Things donât ever go quite as you anticipate.
WE CLIMBED THE dark stairs, Domâs hand on my elbow. When we got to the bedroom he guided me inside, then turned and shut the door with a quiet little snick . We didnât turn the lamp on. The moon blared in through the two windows, fragmenting the bedroom into hard shadows and gleaming white surfaces. It was all as crisp and as clear as a black-and-white photograph.
I scanned the room, my eyes jumping from place to place. Dom stood at my side, holding my elbow, quietly supporting me, waiting for my cue. Every molecule in my body seemed ready to fight or flee. I was thrumming with anticipation. But gradually, as I looked around and as the room asserted itself on me, I began floating down into reality. I felt myself calming, reconnecting with my surroundings â and I realised that there was nothing here. Absolutely nothing.
I looked at the bunk, forced myself to really take it in. The covers were lumpy and steeped in darkness, the bottom bunk, in particular, a depthless well of darkness, but innocent of any horrors. There was no vibe here. Nothing at all. The room was empty, just a sparsely furnished bedroom, shabby and filled with dust. My whole body loosened at once with relief.
I can honestly say that if I hadnât had that reaction â that completely unexpected reaction â there would have been no earthly
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