I.
Man of Old
A young man leaves home searching for the man he is meant to become, only to discover that becoming a man means returning to carry what he once left behind.
“Strange how little a man has to do to keep himself alive in a place like this. Breathe when his body tells him. Eat when somebody puts a plate of food down. It was different in the field. Food and breathing were the last bit of worries we had. In a strange way, I miss it. Without my brothers beside me, staying alive feels almost like a betrayal. Here I am, though, and here they aren't. Not even Dublin Street radiated its old magic anymore. Least, none that I could see.
I watched a little girl drag a stick along the iron fence outside the pharmacy as I passed. Her mother kept fussin' at her to stop, but she didn't. Just kept along with it, catching every post and making that awful little racket children seem to enjoy. I tried to remember if noise like that used to bother me. Couldn't. Couldn't remember much of what used to bother me. Funny, the things a man loses without anybody having the courtesy to take them from him.
I made it another block before I caught myself wondering how long Mama would hurt if I didn't come home that evening.
Didn't entertain it long. Didn't need to. The answer was enough.
So I kept walking.
The café was just ahead when something across the street made me stop. At first I couldn't tell what. Then she turned her head just enough for the light to catch her face.
Claire.
It frightened me how quickly I came back to myself.
Every bit of me, all at once.
Then a little boy came running up beside her and reached for her hand.”
— Paul Thomas
