Niall looks over at them again, then back at me. “Do I know the two drunks waiting for a pub to open on a Thursday at nine in the morning? No.”
“Then why did you wave?”
Niall loops his arm into mine, pulling me away from Fleet Street. “Because you likely want to stay on the good sideof those who are drinking at nine in the morning. Not, like, antagonize them.”
We continue down, what I’ve now gathered is, Westmoreland Street. We almost immediately pass another donut shop, which look just as delicious as Rolling Donut and much closer to both our apartments. Niall shakes his head. “Not as good I’m afraid,” as we continue to walk past the shop.
We round the corner of the next building and Niall stops, pointing to our left. “And there is your employer.”
Now, I loved going to CCSU and UConn. I met great friends there, had great professors, and left with a great education. But looking at the outside of Trinity College, the physical structure of the building, and I know this is a totally different experience. It just looks fancy, that it just looks historic and holds wisdom.
It’s kind of blowing my mind that I’m going to be a lecturer here.
“Did you want to go in and take a look around?” Niall asks. I look at the entrance and it’s a constant stream of people going in and out, which is a bit crazy given that classes aren’t even in session. I guess it’s equally a tourist attraction as it is a place of education.
“Part of me wants to, but part of me is thinking about how sleep deprived I am.”
Niall looks behind us. “Well…what if we had a tour guide?” I follow his gaze and see groups of people scattered around on the sidewalk. “Hey Alan!” Niall waves at a man in a yellow hat, walking over and hugging him. After a few moments Niall comes back over. “We can jump in this tour that starts in a couple minutes, but completely up to you.”
“You know the tour guide? A pub buddy? An ex-lover?” I’m looking at Alan, who seems to have at least twenty, if not more, years on us.
Niall pushes me playfully. “Funny. He’s actually a frequent patron of my shop. I guess that technically makes him a pub buddy.”
We join the group and Alan shoots his hand out to me. “I’m Alan with the Yellow Hat. And yes, that does mean we have more than one tour group leader with the name Alan. Welcome to Dublin! I heard you will be a lecturer here this semester. What department?”
“I’ll be part of the English department.”
“Well, pleasure to meet you. Let’s get you acquainted with your employer so you don’t get lost on day one.”
***
We’re well into the tour at this point, now about to enter the room for The Book of Kells.
“Before we enter the room with the exhibits and the actual book, remember what I told you to look out for. The Unhappy Turkey, The Happy Dragon, The Golden Page, and The Comic Wall. Take your time moving throughout the room, and come find me with any questions. We will meet in about fifteen minutes in the next room.”
The group separates out as we walk around the room, looking at the various displays and blown-up pages of the book. “You religious at all?” Niall asks, leaning in to take a closer look at a wall that shows the illustrated Latin alphabet from the book.
It’s all very visually impressive, given the age of the book. “No, not at all. My dad’s parents were super strict Catholics growing up and it put a huge strain on their relationship. He ended up going no contact with them after I was born.”
“That’s sad, but I get it.”
“No, no,” I say, “let me finish. The reason they went no contact is actually pretty crazy. My grandparents found out my parents had no intention of baptizing me or involving me in thechurch. So, to ‘save’ me, they offered to babysit me to let my parents have a night out. When my parents got home, no one was in the house. My grandparents had essentially kidnapped me and brought me back to their house, and planned on bringing me to their church in the morning to get baptized.”
Niall’s mouth is hanging open, and I notice a couple standing a few feet away from us staring at me. Any time this story comes out it always gets a bit of attention.
“So, what happened next?”
I wave the couple over who blush when they realize they’ve been caught, but come over anyways. Because why wouldn’t you want to hear the end of the story?
“My parents freaked out and call my grandparents’ house, which obviously they don’t answer. Mom and Dad are concerned with how the grandparents will react when they show up, so Dad calls the police and gets them involved. My Dad tried knocking on the door, to give them the benefit of the doubt, and they don’t answer. But they sure did answer right away when the cops pounded on the door. They handed me over as quickly as they could, while telling the cops how terrible my parents were.”
“Did they press charges?” The eavesdropping woman asks.
“No. They were asked if they wanted to. Instead, my parents opted for a restraining order. No contact, couldn’t come within 500 feet of us. I was actually given the option to lift the restraining order when I turned eighteen but ultimately decided against it.”
The couple nods and leave us, heading to the next room. “You didn’t care to get to know them, even after all that?”
“Kind of,” I say, guiding us around a display and heading towards the next room. “I think it was more of the fact my Dad was dead at that point, and in my head the connection wassevered. Hell, I don’t even know if they ever knew their son died.”
