Justin Hall's personal site growing & breaking down since 1994

watch overshare: the links.net story contact me

Skelleggin' Ireland

Barbara O'Donnell

She was Bill's daughter, far younger than he, and the generation gap was like an open wound between them. She really hated her dad. They both shared a passion for poetry and writing, and they spent their days together working in the Anchor, but she was itchin' to leave.

A glimpse of Anchor/Bantry life:

The red light coming in through the window was flashing on - off - on - off on the faded wood counter. It was actually a miniature lighthouse that was casting the light on us, on me. I looked up at the various instruments nailed to the walls and admired their age. They seemed to have character dictated merely by their faded brown colour. They all tried desparately to give this small bar their small bits of character, but as I thought about it, only another drink could really succeed at that. I looked around me, there were fewer people here now than I remembered. Soon I would be meeting Barbara here, poor Barbara, daughter of the owner. She's aspiring towards a career in nursing, but was also entertaining vague notions of being a poet, of writing poetry. What she's showed me seems to be statements about her father, whom she dislikes intensly.

She walked into the bar area from the back, carrying a plastic bag with some bottles in it. She gave a general greeting to everyone gathered around the bar huddled over their newspapers and looked up at me with a slight smile on her face, "You been here long?"

"Yes." It was a lie, and I looked over at the bartender to see if he noticed. He looked up at me and I smiled and raised my eyebrows at him. He knitted his brow and returned to cleaning glasses. Actually I had been there for barely five minutes, and hadn't even had time to order a drink.

"You want anything?" she reached for a diet coke and a glass.

"No, I'm fine."

"I've been having the worst morning of my life," she poured the diet coke, "You sure you don't want anything?"

"I'm fine. What took you so long?"

"My alarm didn't go off, and pardon me if I look like hell," did she ever, "because my father and mother woke me up with their arguing and I haven't had a chance to make myself look nice."

I looked around the bar to see if anyone was listening to us and looked at her glass of coke. "Let's go."

She squinted up at me while she dug into her pocket for a lighter for the cigarette perched between her lips. "After I finish my coke okay? Jeez I just got here."

"Yeah, but I've been here for fourty-five minutes, and I want to go outside." I was talking too loud, some of the other people might hear me.

"You didn't tell me that, I'm sorry."

- J.Hall (9/7/92)

ireland | trip | life

justin's links by justin hall: contact