Myteenage summer

JEMMER came swanning into the shop, he swung from side to side, car keys jingling and suit jacket swinging. ‘You’re goin to have to get outa here some time today, dat’s all dare is to it, look at the day dat’s out dare.’

‘I know Jemmer, but what can I do, I’m stuck here till eight o’clock on Saturdays.’

‘Did ye hear about John Stafford? He’s going to jump offa de middle of de bridge.’

‘Ha? When?’

‘He’s going up dare now, look at him over on the Quay in his swimming togs.’

‘I’m quastseeged.’ ‘You’re quasteeged? I’m more quasteeged than you, and a lot of de girls are as well, daye absolutely love him, he’s a real man, hair on his chest an everything. I amn’t capable of lifting a loaf of bread, not a muscle to be found in my vicinity.’

‘It’s very hard, on the whole to be a real man.’

‘On the hole it’s very hard?’ ‘It is hard on the hole.’

‘I feel stroplyted.’ ‘You’re stroplyted??.’

‘On the whole, yes.’ ‘Dhere he goes, look at him, he’s goin up on the bridge, everyone is following him. C’mon, surely your Ma will watch the shop for a minute while we run up dhere, ’PEEE-ARSE.’

‘Jemmer don’t do that. Me Ma was furious the last time you imitated her.’

‘Shur I’m only jokin, ye have to admit dat it’s funny she calls ye dat.’

‘It’s only when I’m at the top of the house Jemmer.’

Seeing John with a tiny towel over his broad shoulders, marching intently along the woodenworks in his black togs and flip flops, made me realise that this really was an event that was too important to miss.

‘Feck it, I’ll just pull the door over, and leave Sputnik to keep an eye on the shop, me Ma is taking a nap, she won’t know.’

‘Dat dog’ll tear de arse offa anyone who comes in here, God help em.’

By the time we got to the hump of the bridge, John was screwing his cigarette butt out with the ball of his foot; he was surprised to see me. Focused and cool, he held out his hand, and with a Velvet smooth voice, asked me to hold his cigarettes.

‘Don’t let any of them get near em though.’

Even when he was projecting, he rounded his top notes and kept them warm, avoiding pinch, and was never guttural. TH’s were soft, there were no jagged bumps, his tongue brushed perfectly against his upper teeth when he said ‘THough’.

Cigarettes were gold dust to the lads, even the ones who didn’t smoke, would do if the cigarettes were free. He knew that I took the duty seriously. I liked being trustworthy; some of the lads liked walking all over their public image, youth can think it is entitled because it is young and rebellious. I thought they were anything but really, and knew that I was.

I showed my willingness by cupping the half empty packet of cigarettes in my hand and securing the box of Friendly matches in my pocket. Then, without much effort, he hopped over the fat grey railings of the bridge to a small cement step with an iron drain cover.

I never knew what it was for, but it made a perfect pedestal for his intensions. Throwing the towel from his shoulders he reached his hands up into a prayer pose, rose to his toes and made a perfect arc as he dove out and straight down into the River Slaney, he left barely a bubble as he sliced like a knife into the water far below…

(to be continued)