Falling into easy conversation, a warmth filled me from the inside. Outside, a quaint town presented itself and rainbow colors painted against the different shops jumped out at me. “Are we here?”
Jaime looked around the town. “Ehm, not yet.”
The bus meandered through the small streets and pulled to a stop. “Now we’re here,” Jaime said, gathering his things. The engine cut, and the front door swung open.
A heavy feeling in my pelvis rose through my abdomen. My heart beat like an African drum, and I suddenly felt nauseous. I wanted to grab Jaime’s arm for support, but held back. What is wrong with me? My body was betraying me, and I didn’t understand why.
“Jaime, are you sure your mom and dad are cool with me staying the night?” I whispered.
“Aye.”
I ran my hand through my hair, but my fingers caught in the knots. My bag rested over my shoulder, and I imitated Jaime’s relaxed strides down the street. Deirdre’s wild hair bobbed near their car. She held a sign that read, “Seamus and Rory” in black and orange bubble paint.
I burst out laughing, the restlessness in my body dissipating through my feet and onto the pavement like a rain puddle.
Crisp, clean air welcomed me, and scents of rain, and possibly snow, lingered on the air molecules as they pushed against my body. I filled my lungs with Connemara air, and slowly exhaled before approaching Deirdre.
Standing behind Jaime, I noticed Deirdre’s grin as Jaime wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. Little champagne bubbles popped in my abdomen as I recognized their strong love for each other, and my heart ached, knowing that I didn’t have that intimate level of connection with my parents. I rocked back on my heels, unsure if I should wave or give Deirdre a hug.
Before I could commit to one greeting or the other, Deirdre wrapped me in an equally tight hug. My breath squeezed out of my lungs, and I dropped my bag on the hard, cold sidewalk. I embraced the warmth of her soul and inhaled the sweet fragrance of tea. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She squeezed my shoulders and turned to Jaime. “Ready?”
He picked up my bag in one hand and carried his bag in the other, and I followed close behind.
When we arrived at the house, Deirdre pulled us into the living room and gestured at the plastic boxes stack on the floor. “Rory, dear. I’ve been looking through the house and have quite a few ideas. I hope you’re ready for a brilliant night.”
I smiled and glanced at Jaime. He returned the grin and his eyes crinkled with mischief. Brilliant night, huh? I hadn’t a clue what she meant.
“This bucket is filled with treasure,” she said before removing the lid.
Peering inside, I saw the piled fabric, sequins, and hats.
“I already have an idea; I just hope it’s in here,” Jaime said. He ravenously dug under the top items, pulling out a pirate sword. “Ah-ha! Good as new.” The thin blade bent cock-eyed in the middle, and a significant dent permanently imprinted into the hard plastic. When Jaime swung, it shook.
“A pirate?” I asked.
“Not just any pirate, but a pirate from the 1990s, when I was a kid. Back then, we wore black bin bags and let our imagination soar.”
I squinted at him and laughed with uncertainty. “A what?”
“A bin bag. Everyone did it. Hottest Halloween costume of the decade.” He moved to the kitchen and rummaged under the sink.
“Do you mean a trash bag?”
“Yes, dear, it was what we did,” Deirdre said. “We didn’t have money for fancy costumes, so we got creative. The kids didn’t know the difference.” She readjusted the Halloween props, pressing down on the lid. A tattered photo album rested at my feet and Deirdre flipped through the weathered pages. When she got to the back of the book, she struggled with the sticky plastic sleeve and handed me a yellowed photo. “Would you like some tea, dear?”
“Yes, please.” I watched her move to the kitchen before turning my gaze to the old photo. Four kids, about ten years old, sat on a couch. Face makeup covered the children, and each wore a hat and a black belted trash bag. I identified them as witches, pirates, and wizards.
“Oh, wow. This is great.” I waved the photo at Jaime.
“Do you know which one I am?” he asked, leaning over my shoulder. Jaime’s warm breath stroked my neck, and I shivered.
“Uh, this one.” I pointed to the pirate wearing a bandana covering his head and an eye patch over his eye.
Jaime’s wide smile practically touched his ears. “Nah.”
“This one.” A wizard wearing a tall, pointed hat with tassels sat beside the pirate.
“No.” He shook his head. He was so close, I could smell his musky soap, so I breathed in deeper.
