Notes (Part 2)

 

Her name was Granya. She was a chatty little woman with a thick accent and was a proud mother of just two boys. She talked nonstop as she drove us down a long empty road and into a dark forest. My mind instantly saw the three of us being used as live offerings to ancient Celtic gods. We would be painted and adorned with flowers before we were chopped to little pieces and burned on a pyre. I began planning my attack on little Granya. She was out-numbered. We could surely overthrow her. We sped out the other end of the forest and pulled up in front of a large mansion. Granya threw the car in park and grabbed her purse. “I’ll just go grab Paul.” and she power walked down the long driveway, her short brown bob bounching with every hasty step. We sat in the car reasoning with each other. Granya didn’t seem like a threat but we were entirely at her mercy now and she could take us anywhere. In my mind, Paul was that beastly dog-skinner hired by Cruela D’evil to accumulate fur for her coats. I imagined Paul calmly strolling out to the car before yanking us out by our necks, Granya standing behind him counting a wad of cash. We agreed that we’d wait to see where she was taking us before abandoning the vehicle and turning on our cell phones for that parentally feared emergency phone call home. 

Paul turned out to be a gangly 14 year old boy who sat uncomfortably close to me in the back of Granya’s tiny blue hatchback. Paul didn’t say much at all and had no reaction to a humorous comment I made about Irish cows.

Granya did finally take us to the petting zoo. We were relived by this and thanked her profusely as we slowly backed into the wooden entrance gate. But she just stood there. Paul sat in the back seat starting straight ahead. She pointed in the direction of “the stone” so we walked that way, hoping she would leave so we could focus our attention on the chickens. We gathered around the stone which was housed in a filthy glass box that was nearly impossible to see through. We pretended to read the plaque that explained the historical significance of the Turoe Stone. In reality we stood huddled over the box eyeing Granya. “Why won’t she leave?” Jared asked. While she seemed harmless, her fast, nonstop talking somehow worried us. She seemed so eager.

She never did leave so we abandoned our hopes of scratching farm animals and sauntered slowly back towards her. “Told yer it a’int worf lookin’ at.” and she opened the passenger door. We still didn’t want to get in but her hasty words and mom-like pushiness had us all buckled in and on the road in just a few minutes. She claimed to know what time the bus back to Galway left and though we insisted she just leave us at the bus station, she decided we were coming over to her house for breakfast. It was noon. We stopped at a market so she could pick up a few things and we also somehow acquired another boy who squeezed in next to Ari. This one was eleven or so. Granya took us to her colorful house and the boys silently jumped out of the car and ran straight inside. There were two other boys in her small living room and some chickens strolling around in the backyard.

Granya was very sweet to us and asked all about our adventure and talked about how much she loves talking to people. While we spoke, she prepared an assortment of breakfast meats and tea and also brought out little shortbread cookies. She franticly made the meal and then sat to watch us eat it. We had eaten breakfast already and were all oddly far from hungry. We each forced down a polite helping before she snatched up our plates and reloaded them. The meal was heavy and greasy. The sausage was making me queasy. I kept tossing hunks of meat onto Jared’s plate when Granya would look away. We continued a pleasant conversation until she suddenly hopped up and grabbed her purse. “I’ve got to go pick up Peter!” and she climbed into her car and sped off, leaving three American strangers in her house with four young boys.

We sat awkwardly and peered through the door at the kids in the next room. They had little concern about us but would occasionally eye us and then whisper and giggle. We washed our dishes and were tidying up the kitchen when her husband came home. He walked through the door to find three strangers with fistfuls of bacon and tea cookies. He looked at us briefly, smiled and said, “Cheers. Mornin’.” and then disappeared behind a door. I wondered how often his unhinged wife brings strangers home. He wasn’t the least bit curious about us or how we got into his house. We waited in the backyard for Granya, cooing at the chickens and burying the last of my sausage patty in the flower bushes.

When Granya returned, her car doors swung open and three more boys climbed out, including one with a broken leg. “Alright. You tree ready? V’got to catch the bus soon!” she said to us, winded. She was throwing things out of her car to make room for us. She tossed bags and knapsacks into the grass. She thoughtlessly flung the one boy’s crutches over her shoulder, sending him gimping off to retrieve them. We piled into the car with two of the seven kids and she sped into town. She rapidly bid us sweet farewells and best wishes as she barreled around curves and over hills. Her car came to a screeching halt at the bus stop just in time.

We clawed our way up over the boys and out onto the sidewalk, careful not to bump Peter’s broken leg. We thanked her one final time and with no more words she peeled off down the street, no doubt to pick up a few more boys. We stood silently, kind of dumbfounded by the whirlwind venture. 

"How peculiar." Jared said.