bonocrazy88
New Yorker
I wrote this story to contuinue with another I had written with my friend. It may seem out of order, or may seem to begin in the middle, but I know your imaginations can fill the voids.
Don't get too mad, it's supposed to be fun.
Irish Experience Part 1
I was in a foreign country, and naked. I could not believe my luck as I climbed out of the brush and into the street. It was a cobblestone street and there was a farmer in the distance. He saw me and stared. I realized I was naked, and tried to cover myself, but felt it was no use. I unhooked the parachute and threw it into the weeds. I walked towards the farmer. He dropped his rake, and started to come toward me, hurrying when he saw I looked hurt. The man spoke a few words I could not understand. When I didn?t answer, he tried again, this time more slowly, enunciating each syllable.
?Are ya hurt??
I shook my head. I was quite embarrassed to be naked, but the man didn?t seem to notice. He pointed towards a house in the distance. I nodded and we started to walk towards it. I had a slight limp and the man held my hand as we made our way through the field.
Finally we reached the house, and we entered. I stood to the side while the man brought me a thin dress. He pointed to a door, and I went into a bedroom to dress. I slipped on the dress, and looked at myself in a mirror. The dress was really more like a long t-shirt and it was see-thru. I folded my hands across my chest and walked out.
The farmer was sitting on the couch smoking a pipe. He stood when I entered and smiled. ?Come,? He said. I sat beside him and he reached his pipe out to me. I shook my head and he shrugged took a long drag from the curved handle. I looked around. There was no TV and the walls were bare. It looked as if he lived alone, but on the mantle there were old pictures of a woman. I thought maybe there were of his wife, that she may have died. My thoughts we interrupted by the farmer?s voice.
?Have ya got a place to stay??
I lied quickly, and much to my surprise, easily. ?Yes, in Dublin,?
The farmer snorted. ?Dublin?s quite a piece from here,? His accent was still very strong, but I could understand it much better for some reason. ?What were ya doing out there??
My mind suddenly went blank. I couldn?t tell the truth, for the truth would sound preposterous to this man. I racked my brain for something, anything to say. Finally I blurted out: ?I ran away from home. I was going along and suddenly realized I had made a mistake, but I had come so far.? I knew the lie probably sounded just as absurd as the truth would have, but the man didn?t question me. He just nodded, stroking his beard.
?I took the train,? I added, wanting more to justify the story to myself than to him.
He nodded again. ?I?ll get ya back to Dublin,? He looked me in the eyes. I had to look away. His eyes were so kind, and I feared he would see the deceit in mine.
I was at the train station by 10:30am saying goodbye to the farmer. He had bought my ticket and packed me some bread and cheese in a bag for the trip. I kissed him and boarded the train. I knew I could never thank him enough for the kind things he had done for me.
I was in Dublin by 2:00pm. Dublin was bigger than the village I was just in, but nothing compared to New York City or any of the big American cities. I got out in a public place and suddenly realized I was wearing nothing more than a rag, and had no money whatsoever. Then my mother crossed my mind. She was probably worried sick. I felt a pang of guilt for my actions, but knew I had to find my destination.
I entered a store and asked for a map to look at. The girl behind the counter was probably eighteen. She looked me over, popped her gum, and reluctantly handed me a city map. I found what I was looking for and asked if I could have the map. The girl shook her head. ?That?s not free ya know.? She pointed to a price on the cover. It was in Irish currency and even though I didn?t know the price, I knew I didn?t have the money.
?Please, I don?t have any money,? I pleaded. ?But I do have this,? I placed my bag on the counter and opened it, showing off the bread and cheese I hadn?t touched during the trip.
?What do you think this is: a trading shop?? the girl asked, rolling her eyes. ?What would I do with bread and cheese??
I sighed. ?Well then, do you have a piece of paper and a pen??
The girl looked highly perturbed and I guessed I was the closest she?d come to a customer in quite awhile. She slapped a notepad on the table and I roughly copied the map, all the while thinking, ?I should have paid more attention in Geography class
Finally I completed the drawing. I thanked the cashier, who just rolled her eyes again, and headed out the door. I crossed the street and into a place clearly marked: Bakery. I readied myself for more negative reactions. ?So much for the ?happy Irish?,? I thought as I looked towards the front of the shop. I relaxed when I saw a plump, red faced woman smiling at me from behind the counter.
I approached her and smiled. ?Good afternoon ma?am,? I said in a sing-song voice, almost convincing my own self that I had not a trouble in the world.
?G?day lass,? chirped the woman. ?Can I help ya??
I placed my bag on the counter and asked if I could sell the food. The woman?s face showed no change in demeanor. She smiled again, and laughed. ?Sure darlin?, but what do ya need the money for?? I had a feeling not very much was private around there.
?A cab ride,?
?Oh,? the woman nodded and pulled some bills from her apron. She handed them to me and smiled. ?You keep your food; you might need it,?
I couldn?t object, because the woman came from behind the counter and pushed me towards the door. ?I won?t take ?no? for an answer,? she said.
I took a cab to ?Merewether Heights?. The driver turned to me and said, ?Ya know, no one gets in there without a bloody good reason,? he pointed to the gates. ?I have tried, believe me,? he chuckled. ?But they keep Bono pretty well guarded,?
At the sound of his name, I flinched. I thanked the driver without one word about how I was going to get in. As I closed the door, he muttered, ?Good luck,?
I watched the car speed away and turned towards the gate. It was black iron and shaped very beautifully. The words: ?Merewether Heights? were shaped into the iron and underneath, on a plaque, were the words: ?The Hewsons?. I saw a surveillance camera and a TV screen. I pressed a button under the TV and waited. A man?s face came into view on the screen and I stepped back to view it more clearly.
?Yes?? he asked. His face was expressionless.
?Ummm?.I am here to see Mrs. Ali Hewson.? I knew it couldn?t be that simple.
?Who are you?? the man?s face remained stoic.
I told the man my name.
?Please wait,? I heard.
I waited for about five minutes then saw the man?s face come into the screen. His face appeared smiling. I was taken aback by his sudden change in attitude.
?So, you are the one with the story?? he asked.
I sighed; it never failed. ?Yes, I am,?
He laughed. ?Well, Mrs. Hewson will see you now,?
I was quite surprised by his remark. I thought that not many people would have been permitted to come into the gates. It was all because of my story, and I suddenly felt very ashamed of it. Although it was getting me some sudden privileges, it wasn?t me and I didn?t want it to represent who I was.
The gates suddenly opened and I stepped into the driveway. I followed the pavement up to the house, where it split into a circle and encompassed a circular garden with rose bushes and exotic trees. I went to the right, and approached the house. It was a tall, beautiful stone house, like nothing I had ever seen. I sauntered to the door, lifted the knocker and let it fall. I waited and the door slowly opened.
I recognized her from the pictures I had seen on the internet, but she was much more beautiful in person. Ali smiled at me, although I knew she knew about the story. She reached out her arms to me. I hugged Mrs. Ali Hewson in her doorway. I figured I would be the last person she would want to hug, but as she embraced me, I felt secure. She pulled me from her and studied me. Then she laughed.
?So, you are Jennifer.? She stated it; it wasn?t a question.
?Yes,? I answered timidly. I looked at the ground, feeling the same about looking her in the eyes as I did about the farmer. But she caught on. She put her hand under my chin and made me meet her eyes.
?It?s okay now, sweetie,? She said ?sweetie? respectfully, not condescendingly. I nodded and she motioned for me to come into the house.
The d?cor of the house was stunning and yet it offered a homey appearance as well. I immediately felt comfortable. Ali told me to sit while she brought me a glass of water. The couch was relaxing to my bruised body and I almost fell asleep, before Ali returned with the water. I gulped it down and sat the glass on the table. Ali sat across from me and looked at me.
?So, how did you get here??
I told her about my journey, almost leaving out the part about Bono, but seeing Ali?s expression, I told the complete truth. It was a relief to be able to tell someone, but I had no idea how she would react. When I finished, I sat back and watched Ali?s face. It hadn?t changed much during the story. She?d nodded in all the right places, but her demeanor hadn?t changed much. Now she took it all in.
?Oh,? she sighed. ?He can get really?.when he?s drunk?? she rubbed her temples. I saw a tear drop from her eye, but she wiped it away before she knew I had seen it. I suddenly felt incredibly regretful I had included the part about Bono. I couldn?t believe Ali had reacted so calmly to the story, and she seemed as if she had heard all this before.
Ali came to sit next to me. She held my hands in hers and smiled weakly.
?Honey, I am sorry about what you have been through,?
I shook my head, ?No, I should apologize to you. I should never have written that story, or even met with Bono, or??
Ali interrupted me, ?No, I know you thought you knew him, and he turned out to be completely different,? She paused. ?Maybe you learned a lesson from all this,?
I nodded, then, I began to cry. Without warning, I was sobbing. Ali hugged me to her and tried to calm me.
?Shhh?it?s alright,?
I cried loudly for awhile, and then began to weep silently. Ali moved my head onto her lap and stroked my hair until I feel asleep.
I woke and opened my eyes. I saw Ali. She was asleep, her face peaceful and serene. Her eyes were slightly puffed, as if she had been crying as well. I felt my own eyes; they were swollen. I felt Ali stirring and I moved upright, sitting next to her. She rubbed her face and spoke to me.
?How are you??
?O.K.? I managed, although my voice was strained.
I heard the voices of children in the next room, and what sounded like a cartoon.
?What time is it??
?9:30,? she answered.
I was confused. She saw the look on my face and laughed: a sharp melodic sound that comforted me. ?You slept about 17 hours. You were exhausted,?
I laughed, ?Wow, I?m sorry. I shouldn?t have?? I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard a little boy?s voice ring out. I immediately tensed.
?Daddy!?
Don't get too mad, it's supposed to be fun.
Irish Experience Part 1
I was in a foreign country, and naked. I could not believe my luck as I climbed out of the brush and into the street. It was a cobblestone street and there was a farmer in the distance. He saw me and stared. I realized I was naked, and tried to cover myself, but felt it was no use. I unhooked the parachute and threw it into the weeds. I walked towards the farmer. He dropped his rake, and started to come toward me, hurrying when he saw I looked hurt. The man spoke a few words I could not understand. When I didn?t answer, he tried again, this time more slowly, enunciating each syllable.
?Are ya hurt??
I shook my head. I was quite embarrassed to be naked, but the man didn?t seem to notice. He pointed towards a house in the distance. I nodded and we started to walk towards it. I had a slight limp and the man held my hand as we made our way through the field.
Finally we reached the house, and we entered. I stood to the side while the man brought me a thin dress. He pointed to a door, and I went into a bedroom to dress. I slipped on the dress, and looked at myself in a mirror. The dress was really more like a long t-shirt and it was see-thru. I folded my hands across my chest and walked out.
The farmer was sitting on the couch smoking a pipe. He stood when I entered and smiled. ?Come,? He said. I sat beside him and he reached his pipe out to me. I shook my head and he shrugged took a long drag from the curved handle. I looked around. There was no TV and the walls were bare. It looked as if he lived alone, but on the mantle there were old pictures of a woman. I thought maybe there were of his wife, that she may have died. My thoughts we interrupted by the farmer?s voice.
?Have ya got a place to stay??
I lied quickly, and much to my surprise, easily. ?Yes, in Dublin,?
The farmer snorted. ?Dublin?s quite a piece from here,? His accent was still very strong, but I could understand it much better for some reason. ?What were ya doing out there??
My mind suddenly went blank. I couldn?t tell the truth, for the truth would sound preposterous to this man. I racked my brain for something, anything to say. Finally I blurted out: ?I ran away from home. I was going along and suddenly realized I had made a mistake, but I had come so far.? I knew the lie probably sounded just as absurd as the truth would have, but the man didn?t question me. He just nodded, stroking his beard.
?I took the train,? I added, wanting more to justify the story to myself than to him.
He nodded again. ?I?ll get ya back to Dublin,? He looked me in the eyes. I had to look away. His eyes were so kind, and I feared he would see the deceit in mine.
I was at the train station by 10:30am saying goodbye to the farmer. He had bought my ticket and packed me some bread and cheese in a bag for the trip. I kissed him and boarded the train. I knew I could never thank him enough for the kind things he had done for me.
I was in Dublin by 2:00pm. Dublin was bigger than the village I was just in, but nothing compared to New York City or any of the big American cities. I got out in a public place and suddenly realized I was wearing nothing more than a rag, and had no money whatsoever. Then my mother crossed my mind. She was probably worried sick. I felt a pang of guilt for my actions, but knew I had to find my destination.
I entered a store and asked for a map to look at. The girl behind the counter was probably eighteen. She looked me over, popped her gum, and reluctantly handed me a city map. I found what I was looking for and asked if I could have the map. The girl shook her head. ?That?s not free ya know.? She pointed to a price on the cover. It was in Irish currency and even though I didn?t know the price, I knew I didn?t have the money.
?Please, I don?t have any money,? I pleaded. ?But I do have this,? I placed my bag on the counter and opened it, showing off the bread and cheese I hadn?t touched during the trip.
?What do you think this is: a trading shop?? the girl asked, rolling her eyes. ?What would I do with bread and cheese??
I sighed. ?Well then, do you have a piece of paper and a pen??
The girl looked highly perturbed and I guessed I was the closest she?d come to a customer in quite awhile. She slapped a notepad on the table and I roughly copied the map, all the while thinking, ?I should have paid more attention in Geography class
Finally I completed the drawing. I thanked the cashier, who just rolled her eyes again, and headed out the door. I crossed the street and into a place clearly marked: Bakery. I readied myself for more negative reactions. ?So much for the ?happy Irish?,? I thought as I looked towards the front of the shop. I relaxed when I saw a plump, red faced woman smiling at me from behind the counter.
I approached her and smiled. ?Good afternoon ma?am,? I said in a sing-song voice, almost convincing my own self that I had not a trouble in the world.
?G?day lass,? chirped the woman. ?Can I help ya??
I placed my bag on the counter and asked if I could sell the food. The woman?s face showed no change in demeanor. She smiled again, and laughed. ?Sure darlin?, but what do ya need the money for?? I had a feeling not very much was private around there.
?A cab ride,?
?Oh,? the woman nodded and pulled some bills from her apron. She handed them to me and smiled. ?You keep your food; you might need it,?
I couldn?t object, because the woman came from behind the counter and pushed me towards the door. ?I won?t take ?no? for an answer,? she said.
I took a cab to ?Merewether Heights?. The driver turned to me and said, ?Ya know, no one gets in there without a bloody good reason,? he pointed to the gates. ?I have tried, believe me,? he chuckled. ?But they keep Bono pretty well guarded,?
At the sound of his name, I flinched. I thanked the driver without one word about how I was going to get in. As I closed the door, he muttered, ?Good luck,?
I watched the car speed away and turned towards the gate. It was black iron and shaped very beautifully. The words: ?Merewether Heights? were shaped into the iron and underneath, on a plaque, were the words: ?The Hewsons?. I saw a surveillance camera and a TV screen. I pressed a button under the TV and waited. A man?s face came into view on the screen and I stepped back to view it more clearly.
?Yes?? he asked. His face was expressionless.
?Ummm?.I am here to see Mrs. Ali Hewson.? I knew it couldn?t be that simple.
?Who are you?? the man?s face remained stoic.
I told the man my name.
?Please wait,? I heard.
I waited for about five minutes then saw the man?s face come into the screen. His face appeared smiling. I was taken aback by his sudden change in attitude.
?So, you are the one with the story?? he asked.
I sighed; it never failed. ?Yes, I am,?
He laughed. ?Well, Mrs. Hewson will see you now,?
I was quite surprised by his remark. I thought that not many people would have been permitted to come into the gates. It was all because of my story, and I suddenly felt very ashamed of it. Although it was getting me some sudden privileges, it wasn?t me and I didn?t want it to represent who I was.
The gates suddenly opened and I stepped into the driveway. I followed the pavement up to the house, where it split into a circle and encompassed a circular garden with rose bushes and exotic trees. I went to the right, and approached the house. It was a tall, beautiful stone house, like nothing I had ever seen. I sauntered to the door, lifted the knocker and let it fall. I waited and the door slowly opened.
I recognized her from the pictures I had seen on the internet, but she was much more beautiful in person. Ali smiled at me, although I knew she knew about the story. She reached out her arms to me. I hugged Mrs. Ali Hewson in her doorway. I figured I would be the last person she would want to hug, but as she embraced me, I felt secure. She pulled me from her and studied me. Then she laughed.
?So, you are Jennifer.? She stated it; it wasn?t a question.
?Yes,? I answered timidly. I looked at the ground, feeling the same about looking her in the eyes as I did about the farmer. But she caught on. She put her hand under my chin and made me meet her eyes.
?It?s okay now, sweetie,? She said ?sweetie? respectfully, not condescendingly. I nodded and she motioned for me to come into the house.
The d?cor of the house was stunning and yet it offered a homey appearance as well. I immediately felt comfortable. Ali told me to sit while she brought me a glass of water. The couch was relaxing to my bruised body and I almost fell asleep, before Ali returned with the water. I gulped it down and sat the glass on the table. Ali sat across from me and looked at me.
?So, how did you get here??
I told her about my journey, almost leaving out the part about Bono, but seeing Ali?s expression, I told the complete truth. It was a relief to be able to tell someone, but I had no idea how she would react. When I finished, I sat back and watched Ali?s face. It hadn?t changed much during the story. She?d nodded in all the right places, but her demeanor hadn?t changed much. Now she took it all in.
?Oh,? she sighed. ?He can get really?.when he?s drunk?? she rubbed her temples. I saw a tear drop from her eye, but she wiped it away before she knew I had seen it. I suddenly felt incredibly regretful I had included the part about Bono. I couldn?t believe Ali had reacted so calmly to the story, and she seemed as if she had heard all this before.
Ali came to sit next to me. She held my hands in hers and smiled weakly.
?Honey, I am sorry about what you have been through,?
I shook my head, ?No, I should apologize to you. I should never have written that story, or even met with Bono, or??
Ali interrupted me, ?No, I know you thought you knew him, and he turned out to be completely different,? She paused. ?Maybe you learned a lesson from all this,?
I nodded, then, I began to cry. Without warning, I was sobbing. Ali hugged me to her and tried to calm me.
?Shhh?it?s alright,?
I cried loudly for awhile, and then began to weep silently. Ali moved my head onto her lap and stroked my hair until I feel asleep.
I woke and opened my eyes. I saw Ali. She was asleep, her face peaceful and serene. Her eyes were slightly puffed, as if she had been crying as well. I felt my own eyes; they were swollen. I felt Ali stirring and I moved upright, sitting next to her. She rubbed her face and spoke to me.
?How are you??
?O.K.? I managed, although my voice was strained.
I heard the voices of children in the next room, and what sounded like a cartoon.
?What time is it??
?9:30,? she answered.
I was confused. She saw the look on my face and laughed: a sharp melodic sound that comforted me. ?You slept about 17 hours. You were exhausted,?
I laughed, ?Wow, I?m sorry. I shouldn?t have?? I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard a little boy?s voice ring out. I immediately tensed.
?Daddy!?
