I needed to get out of the house last night – to dress up, wear makeup, be around strangers, and feel an atmosphere of boozy anticipation, but with Tommo.
It felt quite fitting to end up at O'Donoghues (an Irish Pub) – especially after reading Sally Rooney’s "Normal People", set in Sligo and Dublin. Tommo had the “parmi” with salad and chips, I had a booty "medium-rare" steak with steamed veggies and mashed potato, a schooner each.
We sat in the T.A.B, the Panthers were playing, a group of young women sat on the table yonder, most of the tables were groups of young men. Tables weren’t allowed to mingle. I slowly sipped my beer, the men too.
Everyone’s bets, I’m sure, were on the Panthers. It’s their year, I hear. A young woman was trying to get the attention of the young men. She wore a white shirt and a black bra. The shirt wasn’t buttoned but tied in a loose knot. She adjusted and readjusted the knot. The men were more interested in Cleary's footwork. The other young women were eating wedges, looking at each other's phones.
I thought about the family who owned O'Donoghues during the First World War and about the son they lost in Gallipoli. I saw the young man’s photo once – on display at Penrith Library. I thought about his mother weeping.
We came home after eating. I didn't feel like lingering. Tommo finished watching the footy (I think the Panthers won?), I read some of my book about young people in Ireland. They got drunker than we did.