Hey everyone! I started writing this a while ago and now I'm curious to see how it ends, so enjoy! There's a bit of Gaelic in it but I won't go crazy on you. Cion's full name is Cionaodh which is pronounced key OH na. The shorter version is just Key an.
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Cionaodh Malloy stepped out of the lorry and made his way to the cliff which looked out over the Atlantic. The wind whipped his dark, shaggy hair away from his brilliant blue eyes and filled his lungs with the salty smell of the ocean. He breathed out forcefully but the tension did not leave him as easily as the sea air did. He looked out over the water and felt a tremor of excitement. It was familiar, he felt it every time he stood and thought of what lay just beyond. Beyond was freedom. Beyond was adventure. Beyond were the endless possibilities he thought of while lying awake at night trying to keep from feeling trapped. Behind held tradition. Behind held repetition. Behind held the ghost of his past relationships, most notably, but not most recently, Patrick.
Pat had been the first man to tell Cion that he loved him, and for the two years they were together, he was the only man to exist for him. Patrick had shared his bed, his table, his house, his car, his life. He had shared everything but his own heart and had taken that when he left one day saying something about "it wasn't working". Some time after Pat there was Rory. After him there was Michael. After Michael there was a few others who ended in the same predictable way. With the last one, Cion was so tired and bored of it he hadn't even argued. He just let the poor slob drone on and on about his needs till he realized that Cion wasn't even paying attention and indignantly bitch-slammed the door on his way out.
Cion kicked the dirt at his feet and watched his large boot disturb the green grass and the dark soil. A small chuckle escaped him at the thought of leaving his beloved Ireland for America and yet the desire remained. Beyond the water lay his destiny. Behind lived his mother. He so hated being a stereotype of a gay man being shackled to him mum's knee but he was all the woman had. How was he supposed to leave her alone in the big, bad wild countryside of County Mayo. He sighed again and bottled up his tension and apprehension at returning to the life that waited for him and hopped back in the lorry. He would get there someday, he thought and started the engine.
The lorry made it's way, at it's own time, to Margaret Mary Malloy's shop just outside of Crossmolina. It was a small little shop full of the oddities people associated with Margaret, or M as she was known to the townsfolk. Cion walked in and heard the jingle of the many bells attached to the door mix with the sound of the rainforest meditation cd that was playing. His nostrils were assailed by the smell of sandalwood incense which he knew from experience would keep with him for days. Cion was a large man and had to gently make his way through the artfully cluttered store for fear of knocking something over. He had made it halfway when his mother came from the back room dressed in a large orange caftan that made her look like a pumpkin.
"Ah Cion. Conas a ta tu, mo mhac?"
"Taim go maith, Ma. Conas a ta tusa?"
"Well enough." She went on speaking Gaelic. "Did you happen to see Father Murphy out there?"
"I didn't."
"He's been in three times this week trying to get me in to church."
"Maybe you should go. It has been a while."
"There's a reason it's been a while." M's back stiffened. "I've no need to go to church to hear funny little superstitions over and over and have those people pass judgements on me for not looking a certain way. Little biddies with their little church hats and beady eyes. No thank you. I've God enough right here."
"For a price, Ma."
"Hush your mouth, boy. God's the best seller there is next to sex."
"Ma!"
"Well He is and always has been. Sure and the Church hasn't sold Him enough over the years. I've always been of the mind that He shouldn't have made sex so enjoyable that people would rather have it than pray, but that's just me."
"And you're my Ma and I don't want to hear words like that coming from you."
"Oh grow up, son. I've had sex once or twice in my years. You might want to come around to the fact."
"I've come round to it. I just don't want to come round to it again and again." M laughed and her face seemed to shed years. In her day she had been the prettiest girl in the county and now twenty nine years later, it was still apparent when she smiled.
"What's wrong with you today? Your aura's all wrong."
"It's all the red meat I've been eating." Cion answered dryly.
"You're damn right it is, but that's not it. Your heaviness is weighing you down."
"What heaviness is that, Ma?"
"I surely don't know or I'd have said it and not been so vague about the 'heaviness'. Why don't you tell me?"
"Cause I don't know what you're talking about."
"Shite, don't joke with the jester he's heard 'em all."
"What does that even mean?"
"It means tell me if you want, don't tell me if you don't want, but don't lie to me, boy. I've seen it all and heard the rest."
Cion picked up a small stature of Kwan Yin and fiddled with it in his hands.
"You're thinking of Andrew?" M asked. Cion had been blessed with so open a mother that she hadn't batted an eye when he had told her he was gay. Sometimes though, he wished she weren't as comfortable as to ask him about his sex life.
"Who?"
"Andrew, the boy who left you? The one you've been spending time with? Remember him?"
"Barely. No. It's not Andrew. He said it wasn't working and I had just been trying to find a way to tell him myself."
"Fine. If it's not that boy, then it's another boy."
"It isn't."
"All right. Then you don't want me to know."
"I don't. Not really, Ma."
"I see. How can I help if you won't tell me what the problem is?" M sighed, a sound remarkably like her son's, and slapped her palms face down on the table. "Well, if you're not going to tell me what's wrong, you can come in the back and fix my drain."
Cion listened to his mother without paying close attention to a thing she said, a talent he had learned early in his life. At any given moment, should his mother quiz him on something she said to make sure he was listening, he could repeat word for word the last couple of sentences. However, the overall gist of it was lost on him. He was just about done with the drain, and she just about done with the story of how Anne O'Casey had insulted her new caftan when the bells rang out.
"Hello? Aunt M?"
"Grand," M said in a whisper. "Now you're cousin's here."
"Leave off, he's a good kid." Cion said in Gaelic, then switched to English for Tommy's benefit.
"We're back here, Tommy." Cion called and pulled himself out from under the sink. A young red headed man bounced in smiling from ear to ear.
"All right, Cion?"
"Fine, Tommy. How's it with you?"
"Grand. Auntie M?"
"You smile more than an idiot with ice cream."
"I've got a lot to smile about." Tommy said, not taking offense. "I've got a great family, a great job and a great girl. Life's grand." Tommy chuckled, then sobered. "Sorry about the 'great job' thing, Cion. No offense."
"None taken, Tommy." Cion said glumly, realizing it was too much to hope for that his mother hadn't heard it.
"What's this about the job?"
"I got fired, Ma."
"What?! Why?!"
"They didn't need me anymore."
"Like hell. They've been looking for men from all-." M stopped short in her tirade. "That's it, isn't it? They fired you because you're gay?"
"No, Ma. It doesn't matter. I'll find somewhere else to work."
"Cion, you've worked for near everyone who will hire you in the county."
"Shut up, Tommy." Cion barked.
