I remember that summer in Cavan…
What is it about the friends you had as a teenager?! Gerard Smith recalls once such friend from his younger days in this week's WordSmith column...
A coat I got for Christmas, it came in handy over that cold snap. I was going to write about the recent frost; but decided to go back to summer. Back to a distant afternoon when the sun was so hot that walking barefoot up Cavan’s main street would fry your feet – imagine that!
That afternoon, new Converse trainers protected my feet from cooking; I admired them as I headed for home. So entranced by my fashionable footwear was I that I didn’t notice the lad approach, “What’s your name?” His question made me jolt, “I didn’t mean to frecken ya,” he said, chortling.
I didn’t know him, but knew of him, his bad-lad reputation. I replied, “Gerard,” apprehensive. He had a confidence I lacked, “You live at number six – I’ll call up for ya, tonight.”
I was home alone when he called. In those days I was always home alone. We walked down town. He stopped in front of a shoe shop, "What-ya think of them runners?" he asked.
"I like-em."
He called again the following evening, wearing the runners. He valued my opinion – I liked that. An unlikely friendship flourished, fast.
I was a pale lad, with a nest of brown curls. Conversely, he was a swarthy lad, with a shock of yellow curls – we made a striking pair. The dreamer in me imagined us being discovered by some music-mogul and launched onto the pop scene: SHAM, the Cavan: WHAM.
He had a morning job. He’d call for me after work. We’d walk, talk and ramble for miles. But above all, we laughed. Oh how we laughed. Our laughter liberated me from myself. Soon, I lived for his calling.
His holidays’ loomed, I looked forward to our adventures. Our first full day together was glorious. We hitch-hiked, jumping into the first car that stopped, “We’ll go wherever you’re going,” he told the driver, chortling.
Together, we were fearless. One Saturday he said, “Let’s go to Dublin.” Midway through the journey, his mood darkened. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He head swivelled, “Nothing.”
He brightened up in Dublin. We spent the day trying on clothes we couldn’t afford.
I tried on a black Crombie coat, he nodded, “It suits ya.” I put it back – buoyed by his approval of my appearance in the coat.
On the return journey his mood darkened, again. Walking home, he was subdued, “Will we go hitching tomorrow?” I asked, hopeful. “I’ll call for you in the morning,” he said, turning off to his house. Next morning, he didn’t call.
As morning ebbed away, I paced the house, willing his knock on the door. When it didn’t come, I called to his house. “He left early this morning,” said his mother. I ran up boreens; over our every Cavan crag and crevice, calling his name. No reply.
He always called for me, “Had I done, said something wrong?” When his dark mood returned to me, I pleaded, “Please God, make him alright?” I grieved a loss that hadn’t happened, yet.
Afternoon turned to evening. My parents’ were at work, I paced without their question.
It was 6.30pm when my front door rattled with rapid knocks! My heart sunk…
…then soared – did I recognise his rap?
I flung open the door, greeted by his familiar smirk. Such was my relief at seeing him, I felt tears swell. But, I checked myself and managed a smile, “Where’ve you been?” He burst into smile as he handed me a bag, “I got it for ya, it suits ya!”
He’d returned to Dublin to buy me that Crombie coat. I took the bag, and overwhelmed by his kindness I babbled proclamations… “I’ll pay you back…honest…I will…when I get a job…”
And amidst that babble and bluster, I didn’t say, ‘Thank you.’
Life’s divergent paths pulled us apart. Our friendship became a distant memory.
Until I returned to Ireland. Where, after a life-time I heard his sound again. In the supermarket queue, his laughter pealed somewhere behind me, a distinctive chortle that hadn’t changed. Our laughter doesn’t age, it dwindles.
I didn’t turn to talk with him. ‘Next time, I’ll mention that coat,’ I told myself. I heard of his death on Social Media.
At his funeral, I stood socially distanced with his friends’ and family, a stranger to them. When my friend passed me by on his final journey, I whispered, “Thanks for the coat mate, I loved it more than I ever told you.” I remember that summer in Cavan…
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