AnCatKatie
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
Sorry this one's short. I'm trying to get used to writing what little of '86 I have to write before the story ends.
More on that piece of paper later, and why Ali came across it, and what she's remembering.
Bad, bad, bad Bono!
***
Those few hours before Ciarán was awake, while Bono hovered between wakefulness and thoughts, were like the calm before the storm. Charged particles in the air, blue-shadow impulses of blankness in his thoughts. An exhaustingly clear sunrise came, and all he could think about was Ali leaning against him. A strange shiver came to him and he turned his head, thinking he saw something, but it was nothing: he was confused; it was strange to have his thoughts to himself again.
There was a small noise behind him. He was too tired to open his eyes and look, and let them stay closed, yawning. Something thudded against him: Ciarán pounced on him and fell, giggling, off the couch, clambering back up to give he and Ali a mischievous grin.
Ali…wait…Bono opened his eyes…she wasn’t there next to him. He frowned.
“We’re going to Santa Barbara!” Ciarán sang, and Bono just looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t know if we’re going yet,” he replied.
“I think we are,” Ciarán countered, making a face. “I heard you guys talking about it last night.”
“You were supposed to be sleeping,” Bono sighed. Ah well. He’d been worse as a kid. Ciarán was quite easy to manage in comparison, probably.
“Come on,” he said, picking up Ciarán who promptly tried to wriggle away. “What on earth is Ali up to?”
She was outside, he found. He set Ciarán down and his son promptly dashed away.
“What is it, love?” he asked quietly. She looked bothered by something, sitting against the wall and not moving aside her hair that swept into her face. She was barefoot. He came and sat beside her. She turned the troubled gaze back to him and Bono was suddenly confused: what was Ali thinking?
“I don’t think you should go,” she said, frowning slightly. “I don’t know why…” Her voice fell to a whisper as he looked into her eyes.
Well, that wasn’t really true. She had woken up in the middle of the night and slid out of bed, finding that scrap of paper she hadn’t realized the significance of before, and staring at it in the faded light, the floor burning cold against her feet, the rest of the house slipping away into the background.
What was it about this discovery that made her feel so…odd? Uncomfortable. She had had that feeling before, once, years ago. It was…but she didn’t remember…only the lights stabbing into the darkness and something loud in her hearing. Turning her head so she saw past Bono Vox to whatever it was that drew her attention…an expression…she shook her head, the memory dissipating.
But yes, something in her did not want him to go on this particular trip. She knew there was little reason to worry…but…
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
She made a face.
“Ali,” he said exasperatedly, standing up, “if I go then this all—“—he waved in the general direction of his head—“—will go away. I’ll be able to get things done, work on fecking music.”
He pushed past her, after a long moment where his stomach had flipped as he stared at Ali, who looked very alone in the fire of the dawn, her eyes wanting to speak but her mouth closed. In that moment, he was brought back to many things at once…perhaps it was that day in his backyard when he had professed his love to her and they had both been so happy.
He walked sharply into the house, grabbed his coat, saying, “Come on, Ciarán. You wanted to go, we’re going.”
Sorry, Ali. He ached already with leaving.
“Are you alright, daddy?” Ciarán asked, looking over at him from the shotgun seat of the car. Bono had paused for a moment, not leaving yet, blinking, the sun wrapping around him for a moment and the wind blowing across him, leaving him feeling as bare as Ali must. He blinked the heat away from his eyes, realizing what it was Ali had reminded him of.
He stood under the sky unrolled above, the vast cruel unknowable sky, the ocean stinging around his knees in surges like breath. Cath was barefoot, in his arms, her head pressed against his chest. He felt very small, like the sea would sweep him away. Impermanence.
“Fine,” he muttered, opening his eyes again and starting the car.
He could still see Ali, as he drove away, still where she stood, until she was just a speck on the horizon touched by the sun.
More on that piece of paper later, and why Ali came across it, and what she's remembering.
Bad, bad, bad Bono!
***
1986
Those few hours before Ciarán was awake, while Bono hovered between wakefulness and thoughts, were like the calm before the storm. Charged particles in the air, blue-shadow impulses of blankness in his thoughts. An exhaustingly clear sunrise came, and all he could think about was Ali leaning against him. A strange shiver came to him and he turned his head, thinking he saw something, but it was nothing: he was confused; it was strange to have his thoughts to himself again.
There was a small noise behind him. He was too tired to open his eyes and look, and let them stay closed, yawning. Something thudded against him: Ciarán pounced on him and fell, giggling, off the couch, clambering back up to give he and Ali a mischievous grin.
Ali…wait…Bono opened his eyes…she wasn’t there next to him. He frowned.
“We’re going to Santa Barbara!” Ciarán sang, and Bono just looked at him, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t know if we’re going yet,” he replied.
“I think we are,” Ciarán countered, making a face. “I heard you guys talking about it last night.”
“You were supposed to be sleeping,” Bono sighed. Ah well. He’d been worse as a kid. Ciarán was quite easy to manage in comparison, probably.
“Come on,” he said, picking up Ciarán who promptly tried to wriggle away. “What on earth is Ali up to?”
She was outside, he found. He set Ciarán down and his son promptly dashed away.
“What is it, love?” he asked quietly. She looked bothered by something, sitting against the wall and not moving aside her hair that swept into her face. She was barefoot. He came and sat beside her. She turned the troubled gaze back to him and Bono was suddenly confused: what was Ali thinking?
“I don’t think you should go,” she said, frowning slightly. “I don’t know why…” Her voice fell to a whisper as he looked into her eyes.
Well, that wasn’t really true. She had woken up in the middle of the night and slid out of bed, finding that scrap of paper she hadn’t realized the significance of before, and staring at it in the faded light, the floor burning cold against her feet, the rest of the house slipping away into the background.
What was it about this discovery that made her feel so…odd? Uncomfortable. She had had that feeling before, once, years ago. It was…but she didn’t remember…only the lights stabbing into the darkness and something loud in her hearing. Turning her head so she saw past Bono Vox to whatever it was that drew her attention…an expression…she shook her head, the memory dissipating.
But yes, something in her did not want him to go on this particular trip. She knew there was little reason to worry…but…
“I’ll be fine,” he said.
She made a face.
“Ali,” he said exasperatedly, standing up, “if I go then this all—“—he waved in the general direction of his head—“—will go away. I’ll be able to get things done, work on fecking music.”
He pushed past her, after a long moment where his stomach had flipped as he stared at Ali, who looked very alone in the fire of the dawn, her eyes wanting to speak but her mouth closed. In that moment, he was brought back to many things at once…perhaps it was that day in his backyard when he had professed his love to her and they had both been so happy.
He walked sharply into the house, grabbed his coat, saying, “Come on, Ciarán. You wanted to go, we’re going.”
Sorry, Ali. He ached already with leaving.
“Are you alright, daddy?” Ciarán asked, looking over at him from the shotgun seat of the car. Bono had paused for a moment, not leaving yet, blinking, the sun wrapping around him for a moment and the wind blowing across him, leaving him feeling as bare as Ali must. He blinked the heat away from his eyes, realizing what it was Ali had reminded him of.
He stood under the sky unrolled above, the vast cruel unknowable sky, the ocean stinging around his knees in surges like breath. Cath was barefoot, in his arms, her head pressed against his chest. He felt very small, like the sea would sweep him away. Impermanence.
“Fine,” he muttered, opening his eyes again and starting the car.
He could still see Ali, as he drove away, still where she stood, until she was just a speck on the horizon touched by the sun.
She has to put up with so much...namely Bono...
's. 
(Yes, these smileys are fun...)
