Back in April, 2023, I visited Ireland for the first time to embark upon a 3-day hiking adventure with a childhood friend.
This is Part I of a 3-part story, wherein two old friends attempt to reconnect, only to be foiled by an objectionable, lonely man who’s on a much darker kind of adventure.
1
Tonight, my childhood friend and I are reuniting in Cork City over a tasty fried chicken meal that reminds me of home. Zach and I realize this is the first time we’ve spent one-on-one time together in thirty-three years of friendship.
The reason is simple: I have a twin brother who’s been by my side for most of my life. To be clear, this is a good thing—Aaron is the oldest and most important friend I’ve ever known—but it’s also why I don’t have a single childhood memory that only Zach and I share.
As is usual for loved ones who haven’t seen each other in a long time, we shake off the cobwebs by reminiscing about playing Donkey Kong Country on Super Nintendo, about Fran, who sold us basketball cards at FDR Sports off of 15-501; about the acorn wars we used to wage from the tree house in Zach’s backyard and the time my cousin picked up a chunky pinecone and laughed maniacally before flinging it at Zach’s terrified back.
We remember all of this, but none of these memories have anything to do with me and Zach, specifically. Zach laughs. I do, too. Has it really taken this long? We met in a kindergarten next to a planetarium in 1990 and waited until 2023 to spend a few days alone together.
But we’re doing it again, resorting to what once was, and if Zach and I have reunited on the southern tip of Ireland, it’s not to get drunk on nostalgia but to create new memories together.
After our second pint of Beamish, a dark brown Irish stout only slightly chalkier than Guinness, Zach’s jetlag finally catches up with him. We have an early bus to catch tomorrow morning anyway. We consider a nightcap on one of Cork City’s many bustling cobblestone streets (there’s a punk-rock dive bar blasting deep house that seems intriguing) but decide to save the party for another night and play a few quiet games of pool instead.
2
Zach’s family used to have a billiards table at their beach house in Emerald Isle, NC. Is it only a coincidence that we’re reuniting on the original Emerald Isle?
This nickname for Ireland dates back to a poem written by William Drennan in 1884. One of my writing professors, a Sri Lankan American who grew up just a few hours away from my childhood home, says human beings are nothing more than meaning pattern makers. I think we’re something more, but whatever we are, I’ve always found purpose in literary connections:
But when its soft tones seem to mourn and to weep,
The dark chain of silence is thrown o'er the deep;
At the thought of the past the tears gush from her eyes,
And the pulse of her heart makes her white bosom rise.[…]
Let no feeling of vengeance presume to defile
The cause of, or men of, the Emerald Isle.
The cause it is good, and the men they are true,
And the Green shall outlive both the Orange and Blue […]
Coincidence? I think not: I grew up in Orange County (NC), where Zach and I both went to Carolina Friends School, whose official color was green … and if there was ever any animosity between us, it was over our mutual preference for the color blue, Zach being a UNC fan while my allegiance remains with the Duke Blue Devils.
Though I’ve never been able to get through Carl Jung and Wolfgang Pauli’s theoretical-physics essay On Synchronicity, I know that good things happen when I follow my gut, an intuitive recognition that I’ve stepped onto some cosmic train. It’s why I booked my flight to Cork City on short notice; after all, Jung and Pauli suggested a scientific “togetherness principle,” and if we only focus on individual past events, we lose sight of the unifying thread of the cosmic chain.
In other words, there’s no such thing as coincidence, only connection
3
It's a comforting idea. But our newfound solo time in the empty pool hall is short-lived. Before we’ve finished our next pint of Beamish, an oafish twentysomething male ambles out of the ether, laying waste to the sanctity of the cosmic chain.
“Hey, boys. The name’s Ned. You fancy a game? How much?”
Over two dozen pool tables in the outsized room, and this drunken man of bicipital stature has chosen to impose his hulking frame upon us …
“Oh, no thanks,” I say. “We’re just playing one-on-one.”
“Come’n then,” Ned slurs with a thick London accent. “Twenny Euros. One game. I’m fresh off the boat.”
“No, really, thanks, man. Maybe later.”
“What’s your name, mate?”
“Zach.”
“Zach, come on then. You scared? Ten Euros. Being competitive is part of what it means to be a man,” Ned laughs.
Zach laughs in a different kind of way. “Is it?”
“No. It’s just jokes,” Ned’s face turns red. “Come on then, boys. Five Euros. I won’t take no for an answer.”
I look Ned in the eyes and speak to him with empathy. “Listen, Ned. We haven’t seen each other in years and want to catch up one-on-one if that’s okay. Maybe later?”
“Yeah?” Ned’s eyes light up. “Okay then. Later.”
Ned leaves us to our game but lingers nearby. Zach and I do our best to ignore him, but Ned is lonely. We can see it in his eyes and in the speed at which he’s drinking, and in the way his shoulders cave whenever he speaks.
As soon as I go to the bar for two more pints of Beamish, Ned swoops in on Zach.
“… Obama was a disappointment,” Ned is lecturing when I return. “I mean, really, don’t you think? He was only elected because he was black. Politics, mate. I would’ve only voted for Kennedy.”
I look at the whites in Zach’s eyes and hand him his pint.
Zach takes a step back from Ned. “Yeah, I disagree,” Zach says. “I think Obama did a lot of good.”
“Oh, yeah, I mean, me too!” Ned changes course. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel sorry for them, the blacks and the gays. It’s not their fault. Anyway. Say what you will about Trump, I don’t hate him … and don’t get me started with the woke stuff.”
Zach and I remain silent.
“At least he says what he means, you know?” Ned heaves his body onto the edge of the pool table. “He doesn’t give a shit. That’s admirable. You just got to go for it, mate. You know what I mean?”
“Well, it’s good talking with you, Ned,” I raise my glass. “But I think we’re going to play one more game if that’s alright.”
“Oh, brilliant,” Ned throws a 5-Euro bill on the table. “Who’s losing?”
Zach and I look at each other and decide, telepathically, that the best option is to put Ned in his place in the only way he’ll understand.
“I’ll play,” Zach says. “One game. But then we really have to go, man.”
“Who’s breaking?”
“It’s all yours, Ned.”
“You know what’s the worst, though?” Ned speaks at a furious pace as he slides the pool cue in and out of the space between his thumb and his forefinger, a tell-tale mark of a poor pool player. “It’s the rich white women who constantly complain about social injustice on social media. They’re just doing it for the likes.”
Ned flubs the break and puts his pint of beer on the felt table. “I’ve never been rich, okay? Sure, I’ve never had to worry about money—I’ve always had a safety net, but I’m not poor. I’m a free spirit. I don’t care about money. That’s why I said fuck it, I’m leaving London with five-hundred quid and moving to Cork.”
“Maybe don’t do that?” I say as Ned’s beer nearly sloshes onto the felt table.
“Ha, you’re right, mate. I’m already getting drunk. It’s great to meet you, Sam. Truly. I needed this chat after leaving London.”
“Why’d you leave?” Zach is calm and polite as he takes control of the table, pocketing one striped ball after another.
“Oh, you know. Girl stuff.”
Zach pockets two more balls before finally missing.
“You’re a shark!” Ned slaps Zach on the back. “My friends and family think I left London because I was trying to run away ...”
Ned misses again.
“So, what were you running away from?” Zach asks.
“Not running away. Well, not really …” Ned swigs his beer. “I had to leave. It was time to go. I had a childhood crush on this girl from when I was thirteen to twenty-four.”
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Break-ups are hard.”
“Oh, no. We were never together. She’s a bitch.”
“Oh yeah?”
Zach only has to make three more shots so we can leave.
“Yeah! She put a restraining order on me—I mean, who does that? And for nothing, really. Stupid bitches.”
Ned exudes aggression. I walk over to Zach’s side of the table to create some distance between me and Ned, feigning interest in Zach’s second-to-last shot.
“So that I understand,” I say. “Your childhood crush put a restraining order on you, and that’s why you had to leave London?”
“No, no, it’s not like that. You make me sound like a creep!” Ned walks over to our side of the table, holding his pool cue like a staff. “You know how women are. You want another beer? They play games. I never followed her home or drove by her house or anything like that … I just texted her a lot because she refused to answer me.”
Zach pockets the last of the stripes. “8-Ball, corner pocket left.” He barely misses, providing Ned with a gimme.
“I’m not a stalker, okay?” Ned finally sinks his first shot. “I mean, who ever heard of a digital restraining order?”
“Were you harassing her?” Zach asks.
Ned ignores the question and scratches, setting Zach up with a simple shot for the win.
“Have you ever heard of such a thing?” Ned asks me. “She called the cops on me after just a few texts.”
“Why’d you keep texting her if she didn’t want to respond?”
“That’s the thing. She never responded, mate. Who does that? Who ignores a person? Fucking bitch. I just wanted to talk to her, you know? Okay, boys, the next pint’s on me. Double or nothing. What are we drinking?”
“Sorry, Ned,” I put my hand on his shoulder and lie to him. “But we’ve actually got to go to dinner.”
“Oh, good idea. Where are you eating?”
I tell him the name of the most tourist pub in town where we have no intention of eating. “The Oliver Plunkett.”
“That’s crazy! I was heading there, too. Let’s link up for a pint after dinner?”
“See you later, Ned,” Zach is already halfway out the door, waving goodbye to Ned.
“Thanks for talking, mate,” Ned stops me and shakes my hand. “It means a lot. Really. It’s funny how life works. One door closes and another one opens. I’ll see you at the pub.”
Zach and I walk home and laugh about Ned’s intrusion. Tomorrow morning’s 2.5-hour bus ride to the Beara Peninsula, we decide, will finally give us a chance to spend some quality solo time together.
As is often the case with my work about traveling, the words clarity only comes much later. I never overthink when it comes to music, however, so if you’ve got 4 mins 37 seconds, why not take a load off, take a seat by an Irish river, and listen to an Emerald Isle melody? (it’s free)
Well. Now I’m hooked! 😁
The Neds of the world always know how to enter into moments that aren't meant for them... but then you did get a story out of it so, thanks Ned?