" No. I have to meet a friend at the mall." I hesitate and then say, "Sorry." I really am feeling sorry suddenly for leaving her to deal with it all on her own.
Pulling the door open, I call up to her, "Okay, bye. I'll see you later."
I wait for a few seconds, but she does not reply. I pull the door closed until the latch catches and push once to make sure it is locked tightly.
It is a bright day, but there is a nippy chill in the air, so I pull the belt of my jacket tightly around my waist.
When I get to the mall, Kieran is waiting for me at the entrance to the mall on the main road. He is wearing a dark cobalt pair of jeans with a very light grey, almost white sweater. It fits snugly around his shoulders and chest and then hangs loosely around his waist. He is staring deep in thought at the church across the road.
I touch his forearm briefly and say, "Hey. Sorry I am late."
He looks down at me startled, and then a smile lights up his face when our eyes meet.
Casually he takes my hand into his. This gesture surprises me, but his hand feels warm and holding it does not mean I am making a commitment to him. It feels nice anyway.
We walk past the village and follow the road along the Boyne River. We walk past the old Flour Mill, and under the traffic bridge, we stop to read the graffiti on the walls. We walk past the park. It is a clear, bright day and I notice a family with a kite. The dad is trying hard to keep the kite in the air with his cheering children running a-muck around him.
We stop near the kiddies play park and then we lean across the shiny, silver barrier and look down at the murky water in the river. The swans swim toward us eagerly for scraps of bread.
Glancing back at him, past my shoulder, I see him already looking at me. His face is full of concern when he says softly, "You look sad."
I step back from the barrier surprised.
He asks quietly, "Why?"
I look into his greener than green eyes and then the words burst out of me. I tell him everything. I do not really know him, but I tell him about my dad. I tell him about the constant fighting and bickering. I do not tell him how I believe love is lost. As I continue my monologue he looks at me forlornly, it is as if he actually understands my deep, deep hurt.