Synaptic

Writing Objective: Write something that explores your understanding of the cross cultural experience.

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Uneasily I climbed aboard the Ulsterbus for Enniskillen and sat alone in a window seat. I forced a cool smile at Aunt Sally who was frantically waving good-bye to me as if I were her only son going off to war or something. I could read her lips, “Good-bye, Brad, bye now, luv.” Already I couldn’t wait for the next two days to be over so I could hurry back to Bill and Sally’s and go out pubbing with Ronny and his mates. Tonight I would miss a big night out. Ronny, Allan, Tim and Ian were getting some beers and driving to Superbowl in Belfast and if they didn’t meet up with some nice local girls there was always the potential of Tim starting a fight. The last time they went Tim got drunk and hit someone and the coppers had to step in. But I would miss out on any such activity tonight as I would be passing the time a hundred miles away in Ballinamallard at the home of Jean and Dave, longtime friends of my grandparents.

As the bus lurched its way through the hazy grey of central Belfast, I worried about how Dave would look and how I would handle seeing him in person. What would I say? Would he know or even be able to understand me? Did I have to see him? It couldn’t be avoided. It was only right. After all, he was my grandfather’s closest friend. This was one of those life situations I was just going to have to deal with. Besides, it was his home I would be staying in.

I tried to sort out the story of Dave’s accident as told to me by my mother a long time ago. I could only recall that it involved a gun and that he lost his vision and most of his face. I remembered it was a terrible blow to my grandfather when he first heard of it. Jean and Dave had only moved back to Ireland for a few years when it happened. Grandma wondered if Dave might not have tried to take his life. He had always been a very high-strung and hardworking man. He made a few bad investments back in the States and, according to Grandma, never got over losing the money. It took a lot of convincing on my grandfather’s part to bring Grandma to see him on their last visit home together a few years after the accident. The two couples had done almost everything together in Cedar Rapids and Grandma’s memories of Dave were very vivid. After Grandpa died Jean tried to convince Grandma into coming home one last time. But as much as she wanted to see Jean, she couldn’t bring herself to see Dave. Complications had since led to Dave losing his legs to infection and she couldn’t imagine facing Dave in that condition. After a while, Jean got a nurse for Dave and came to visit. I remembered my mom crying when she saw Jean again for the first time. I was pretty young when they left Cedar Rapids and my image of Dave had come more from pictures than memories.

The frequent airbrake blasts from the coach had ceased and I suddenly noticed we were now rolling into the bright greens of the Irish countryside. I began to wonder how I would get by for three days and two nights in a small village of 200 some people with a 75-year-old friend of my grandma. Could I possibly sustain a conversation with her? Just what was I going to do in Ballinamallard? Well it didn’t matter because I was on my way. Besides, Grandma and Mom would never forgive me if I didn’t go through with this. Twenty minutes into the two hour journey I was fast asleep.

Jean Brien was waiting for me at the bus stop in Enniskillen when the final airbrake blast woke me. She looked about the way that I remembered her from her visit to the States three years earlier. She was plump, almost manly in build, with a ruddy complexion and very dark thin red lips that were always wet. She had a hint of a mustache and big spaces between her teeth. Sometimes she accidentally spat when she spoke. Despite this, something about Jean was very approachable and warm. She made her way over to me, snatched my bag and smacked a wet kiss on my cheek.

“Ohh it’s good to see you, Brad. How’re you doin’? How’s your mum and gran been keeping?” “Fine Jean. How are you?”

“Oh I’m fine. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to recognize ya but when I saw the handsome big lad I knew it must be you. You’ve got your mom’s smile, you know. Would you care for a drink or something to eat? You must be hungry. Let’s grab a quick snack. I thought I’d take you to over the hotel for dinner tonight, O.K.?”

“Sounds good.”

Jean took me for a coffee and bismarck and we aquainted ourselves with talk about my studies in London and our opinions on Belfast. Soon Jean was curious about how my grandma was holding up, and how my family was doing. She told me about her sons Dave, Eric and Gary and her first grandchild, David.

After our coffee, we made our way back to the bus stop and to the little brown four-speed that Jean and Gary shared. Jean had bought it for Gary, but he had a company truck to drive to work so she used the car during the day for trips to Enniskillen with Gary’s two-year old, David.

Ballinamallard is a 15 minute drive from Enniskillen, and, as we drove along, Jean forgot to shift about six different times, getting caught up in explaining her plans for me over the next two days. “We’re lucky to have such lovely weather because when the weather’s nasty there’s not alot to do in Fermanagh. The country-side around here is beautiful this time of year. I think I’ll take you up to the old Manor House and to the lakes. Your grandad really enjoyed the lakes whenever he came. We can have pie and ice cream in the old fashioned kitchen where I took your mom and dad when they were here….” Jean went on with her extensive and well planned schedule for my stay in Ballinamallard. It all sounded nice and fairly interesting, but the pressing question in my mind was still Dave. Should I ask about him or just wait?

As we made our way into the quaint little village, Jean was quick to point out all the landmarks worth mentioning. “There’s Mr. Fisher’s house. He owns the company in town that Gary works for. He’s been awful good to him. I work with his wife on a lot of charity projects through the church. We’ve raised over 4,000 pounds for different causes. It keeps me busy. There’s our little pub, the one Dave and I used to own, and the hotel, and next door is my church. It’s all right here just outside my little door. I’ve only got to walk two doors to the grocery store and three to the post office. It’s very handy for me with Dave, you know. Here we are. It’s not much you know, but we like it.”

As we pulled into the little lot behind the house, engine revving wildly, Jean eased my nerves a bit. “Dave’s been expecting you. He knows that you’re coming and he’s been anxious for you to get here. It’s after 2:00 and that’s when I give him his drink. He’ll be hungry. You can say hello but he doesn’t like people to be in the room when I feed him. Sometimes he spills a wee bit and he feels embarrassed, see. After you say hello I’ll show you your room and you can unpack until I come up to get you, O.K. luv?”

I nodded as we entered the door. I could here a radio tuned in to a BBC talk show. It turned off as the door came shut. Jean whispered, “He may be hard for you to understand, since he’s no tongue, you know.” Again I nodded in nervous anticipation as Jean announced our arrival.

“Hello Dave. Sorry we’re late. I’ve got someone along for you to meet. You remember Sandra’s Brad, he’s a big buck now.”

“Yessh.” I entered the living room where Dave was lying on his back with a quilt over his waist and his hands folded together as if praying. He must have felt me enter as he held out his hands for me and I took them, but without looking directly at him. His firm grip pulled me down for a hug and I understood him to say, “Hello, Brad, God bless you, son.”

Jean helped me through some small talk about what we had been doing and gracefully showed me to my room. “I’ll feed this boy now and then we’ll go for our dinner in a bit, O.K.?”

That was it. It was over. Not frightening or gruesome or anything. And he wasn’t really that hard to understand.

As I was unpacking in the guest room, I noticed an old picture from Cedar Rapids of Jean and Dave outside their house on Memorial Drive. Dave was smiling and wearing a hat, one arm around Jean. They must have been about 35 then.

The next two days with Jean were walks, long talks and stories about the old days in Iowa, snapshots and black and white home movies of my mother as girl, and stories about Grandpa and Dave getting swindled on their first trip to Chicago. Dave threatened to beat some guy up if he didn’t refund his money for a pair of two left shoes. Jean told me about the troubles and an account of how she had helped to convict two IRA members in 1977. She told me anecdotes from the fish and chips cafe her and Grandma ran in Cedar Rapids. We laughed alot and called Grandma to tell her about what a great time we were both having. Jean called me her toy boy and told me that the ladies at Wednesday bowles were impressed with my skill at the game. She introduced me to Mr. Fisher and he gave me a personal tour of his company. We were the talk of Ballinamallard. When it came time for me to leave, Jean gave me her Claddagh ring over an Ulster fry and wouldn’t take it back. And I wasn’t really ready to go.