“Two Guinness, please,” Noah requests like the walking Irish stereotype that he is.
“Can you show me some ID?”
I stare down at my feet while Noah replies, always feeling distinctly uncomfortable when he does this.
“We’re both twenty-one. We’ve just shown you our driver's licences to confirm that.” The magic woven into his wordspermeates the air, leaving a faint yet distinct lingering scent of burning rubber. My nose twitches, and I’m grateful he’s only able to do this to humans because I love my cousin, but I wouldn’t trust him with that kind of power over me.
We grab our drinks and find a small empty table in the corner, dumping our rucksacks on the seats next to us.
“So what’s first on the itinerary?” Noah asks before taking a large gulp from his drink.
“It’s not an itinerary,” I huff. “It’s merely a rough guide for the trip.”
“Do you, or do you not have us both scheduled for eight hours sleep each night?” he asks mockingly.
“Well, that’s just good sense. It won’t be a fun trip if we’re tired every day.”
“Okay, Grandpa, we’ll make sure you get your beauty sleep, but I’m addin’ somethin’ to the agenda.”
“What are you addin’?”
“We’re goin’ to a gay bar.”
Dear future Cara
We made it! We’re in New York City! It’s a lot dirtier than I imagined, and I spotted a rat bigger than a newborn baby on the street! It’s so busy, and everyone is so fashionable. Siobhan and I can’t wait to visit Times Square and Central Park tomorrow. Then in the evening, we’re going to go dancing! Luckily, we thought ahead and got Billy Nolan from the Belfast pack to make us some fake ID’s before we left. They’re not the best fakes, but they should do.
This is my promise to you, future Cara, in every state, we’ll do at least one thing that scares us. Because if you never try anything new, are you really even living?
From past Cara x
With that much-needed reminder, I return Mum’s diary to safety, stuffing it under my pillow in the hostel we’re staying in. A glance in the mirror tells me there’s no hope for the mop of red curls with a mind of their own on my head. I have a bit of stubble from a few days without shaving, and combined with my unruly mop, I look a bit bedraggled. Not exactly what I was going for my first time in a gay bar.
Nothing’s going to happen anyway. We’re only going for a few drinks to see what a gay bar in New York is like. And I made a promise when I planned this trip. A promise to my mum—that I’d try new things that scare me.
It was cold enough outside to warrant a jacket, but as we step into the bar/club in the heart of Greenwich Village, we’re blasted with the combined heat of over a hundred men filling the dancefloor. Unfortunately, it appears the bar is on the other side of said men.
The onslaught of scents and the cacophony of noise is sensory overload, and I have to take a deep breath to centre myself, trying to block some of it out. Next to me, Noah gives me one of his ‘You good?’ nods.
“I definitely need a drink for this. Maybe a shot, too,” I tell him.
“That we can arrange, Sammy boy.” Noah reaches up to slap me on the shoulder before gesturing for me to lead the way. One of the perks of being six-foot-five and as wide as a house is that I’m good at clearing a path in a crowd.
Several shots and a few beers later, I’m waiting at the bar for some water while Noah goes for a slash. The alcohol has made the sounds and smells more bearable, but I still can’t claim this is my idea of a good time. Some re-mixed version ofLet’s Have A Kikiby Scissor Sisters is blasting from the speakers so loud the vibrations rattle my bones.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
It takes me a moment to realise the man next to me at the bar is directing that at me.
“Erm, hi.”Oh, so smooth. He’s shorter than me at around six foot but he has a commanding presence, and his dark brown eyes pierce mine.
“Wanna dance?” he asks, cutting right to the chase. It’s on the tip of my tongue to politely decline, but…
Because if you never try anything new, are you really even living?
“Um. Sure. Okay…” I quickly down half the pint of water the barman left for me and suddenly wish I’d ordered something stronger. It promptly occurs to me that I don’t even know the name of the guy I’m going to dance with, but it seems silly to ask him that now.
He stops once we’re in the sea of bodies dancing, kissing, and doing…stuffon the dancefloor. Turning to face me, his arms loop around my neck, and when he steps forward, our bodies are flush with one another.
