Short Story See you later Paul

14 White Strand has never looked so peaceful in a flurry of white snow. I can
remember those careless days of childhood that I had spent here, but happy
memories are inappropriate on a day like this. As I approach, wafer thin snow
crunches underneath my feet, but I can't face the anguish that lay behind that tall,
mahogany door. Not yet at least. As I turn on my heel I watch my breath curl up in
front of my face as I breathe a depressed, endless sigh. McHugh's bar is nearly
empty. I feel as if I need a drink or two before I can face the assembly of tears
and mourning faces. I step up to the bar and ask for a whisky. Then another.
Soon I find my hands trembling slightly and realize that it's about time that I left.
The weather's gotten slightly windier as I step out the doorway, the smell of
tobacco lingering in the air. I gave the door a half-hearted knock and waited a few
seconds, Im greeted by my uncle Frank. He's quite an absurd character usually,
constantly making jokes or wise-cracks, but today he's utterly deflated. I can
remember him showing me a simple card trick when I was nine. He had held up
my chosen card from the deck and gave it a quick wave with his hand. My four of
clubs had changed into the ace of spades in a flash. "But where's your card?" he
asked as smiled at me. He reached behind my ear and produced it. "But how I
questioned. "Magic" he laughed. "I'm awful sorry James." He says to me in a low
voice. "So am I" I reply with a shrug. Inside a sorry affair, our cramped living room
holds a number of close family friends. As people start to get up form comfortable
sitting positions to console me, shuffling forward while everyone else stands
aside, waiting for their turn to talk about Paul. I feel oddly fetched and void of
emotion as people speak mindless words to me. I feel out of place among people
who speak so highly of my father, and I hear a ring of compliments circle the
room, "he was a fine man, a real family man, never hurt a fly". I skan the room my
mother and a small tap on the shoulder notifies me that she's in the bedroom. On
the way through the narrow corridor I spot a familiar sight. Arsenal 2002-2003
squad- the poster reads. My old room is barely changed and has been kept in
pristine condition by my mother. I suppose my room was the only remnants of me
that she had left when I left. The exhausted be frame creaks as I sit down. I knew
she had trouble with me leaving, but I had to get away from Ireland, to try and
make something of myself. She had laughed the first time I mentioned the
possibility of moving away. "England? And what does England have that we
haven't?" "I just don't think I'm going to get anywhere here" I responded. I
suppose she still had my father at that time, but now what? Mary, Frank's wife sits
beside my mother on her bed. Once she sees me, she get's up to leave and slips
by me discreetly in the doorway. My mother lifts a trembling handkerchief to her
face. Her make-up is streaked across her face and her eyes are a bright shade of
red. I embrace her into a hug as all her weight collapse onto me. She keeps
repeating the same sentence in between her loud, tearful sobs. "What will I do
James? What will I do without him?" " It will be alright mum" I answer. "It will be
alright" I hadn't experienced many funerals before, but of those that I had tried to
keep out of the way as much as possible. I had always found some excuse not to
go, weather it would be work or another lie I had conjured at the last minute, just
to stay in the safety of my cramped, one bedroom flat. But now I was put in the

centre of everyone, their eyes bearing down upon me. There's now a strong
breeze in Strandhill cemetery. Around twenty of us gather round a medium sized
coffin. Fr.Convey starts his speech and as I read down the long, black tombstone,
I find the white font etches itself into my head "Paul Doherty-1954-2012" "And he
will live on in our hearts, and souls" Fr. Convey concludes. The coffin descends
slowly into the earth and I feel my mother grip my hand so tightly it hurts. Her
crying has blended into the scenery now as she leans against my shoulder, head
down, her hair a mess. The other family members pay there tributes now and
move on until finally my mother and I are left alone. I try to find some words of
comfort for my mother but suddenly my mind goes blank and I just don't know
what to say next. My dad was a big part of my life and it was so difficult realizing
that I could never hear him laugh or feel his worm embrace again. I find my mind
drifting back to the idea so being back in my flat were I could deal with it in my
own way, but unfortunately this was what I now had to deal with. This was the
final goodbye to a man who had previously meant so much to me.
-Robbie Kelly