Drinking to Remember
Pairing - Ry/Col
Rating - PG
Summary - I was inspired by some of our myths and legends. For anyone who doesn't know, or wants to visualise - this is a Claddagh Ring: Intrigued? Hope so! Read on and I hope you enjoy some of my culture :) Please comment as I really appreciate it :D
Disclaimer - I own nothing - not even the ring! Oh, and by the way - Waxy O'Connor's is a real pub in Soho in London! :D
Even as he sat there, Colin knew he must be insane. Finally, everything that had happened over the course of the past while had rendered him incapable of normal functioning; there was no other explanation as to why on earth he would be sitting in the smallest bar imaginable in the middle of one of the hottest Julys on record.
Outside the normally raucous city was dormant; sedated by the immense heat that had rested in the air for the past week. As he’d walked down the street, his shirt sticking to his back after only a few minutes, Colin felt like he was in a deserted town; the last man on earth perhaps. The streets were deserted; shops appeared lifeless behind their awnings; the only sounds were the steady hums of fans and air conditioners that weren’t having any effect. Had a tumble weed blown in front of him as he ambled down the vacant pavement, Colin wouldn’t have been surprised.
He must be mad to have left the sanctuary of his apartment and its fridge like atmosphere; but strangely enough, that had been stifling him more than any heat wave possibly could. He’d only moved in a month before and everything was…nice – but it bore no semblance to him of anything in his life. There were no photos on display; no memories. That had been the point though…he would tell himself as he sat, mindlessly watching the television, or just sitting; absorbed in the minimalist living room trying to keep his mind blank. He had deliberately left all those photographs in storage…all those little things that reminded him…things he had moved here to avoid. He had left it all behind. Except one thing.
-o-
As he awoke to be greeted by another day dominated by the sun; its rays streaming a constant beam of heat across his bed, he realised that he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t face another day trying to forget. It was too difficult. As he splashed his face with water from the tap, its liquidity as cool and slick as melted ice on his skin, shivers went through his body as he momentarily forgot that he wasn’t supposed to remember. You need a clean break. A fresh start, away from everything here. Everything that reminds you of him; it’s the only way to move on. The ‘well-meaning’ words of his friends rang like a siren in his head, causing him to jerk his neck and catch a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. Colin watched his reflection and saw the droplets of water on his face rapidly dry in the stifling heat of the bathroom. He’d agreed to it all wordlessly, such had been his pain. He’d felt numb and allowed himself to be coaxed and pushed in this direction with little more than a nod of assertion.
Walking through the hall and into the living room he took in the surroundings of another day in his New Life. The walls were freshly painted white; accentuated by the expensive modern leather furniture that sat vacant before him. It felt like this was somebody else’s life; somebody else’s house. It certainly wasn’t a home and although he’d bought it, Colin didn’t feel like it was his. The mugs in the kitchen cupboards were matching; they were orange. Why are they orange? I don’t like orange…
He hadn’t picked them of course – he hadn’t picked anything in the house. That was the best way to forget, they said. He’d just been deposited here, away from everything he’d known, to ‘start afresh’. Deposited in this strange place where he didn’t belong. Where he didn’t exist; where nothing that had happened would exist.
Stepping into the humid daylight had been welcome refreshment in contrast with the clinical freshness of the apartment. He’d started to walk before he realised; his body was taking him down the street; helping him to get away, but as he’d walked no more than a few hundred yards his body began telling him that he should have stayed in the sanctity of his apartment. The new TV and the new Radio had told him that for the past week too – the heat was too strong to be out in, especially in the middle of the day. It was then that he’d stopped outside ‘Tir na nOg’, an Irish pub. Colin smiled weakly as he squinted up at the sign and translated it with ease in his head. The land of eternal youth. It was a story his mother had told him at bedtimes – a place with no sickness or hurting. A place where happiness lasts forever…
-o-
Colin shook his head and allowed a rare smile to pass across his features as he entered the dark cavernous atmosphere of the bar and let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. It was hazy, the air smogged with cigarette smoke although there were no more than a handful of people scattered around the room. He seated himself at the far end of the bar and inhaled the smells of familiarity; the smells of normality. The weary barman approached him; every movement a strain and causing him to sweat profusely Colin noted. He looked at him as if he was mad to venture outside the confines of his own four walls on a day like this. Colin knew he was probably right, but for the first time in months he’d felt comfortable.
‘Drink?’ he asked wearily in a strong southern Irish brogue that startled Colin as its deep rumbles filled the small room.
Colin reached for his wallet and scanned the bar for inspiration before his eyes fell on a familiar sight. He smiled inwardly. ‘Is your Guinness draught?’ he asked the barman.
The man looked at Colin as if he was the most distasteful sight imaginable.
‘Sir, this is an Irish pub- we wouldn’t serve anything but draught’.
Colin shuffled as much as his sweat clad body would allow on the chair. ‘Of course, the heat’s getting to me. I’ll have a pint’ he mumbled.
The barman eyed him suspiciously before turning his attention to his craft and pulled the Guinness half way into the glass before topping off the head and placing it in front of Colin to settle.
Colin smiled his thanks and watched the barman disappear into a side room to the comfort of a portable fan. Colin placed his hands around the pint of black liquid that sat in front of him and felt its coldness flow through his hands as he raised it to his lips and savoured a sip. Closing his eyes as the liquid cooled his being as it travelled through his body, Colin licked the creamy head deftly from his top lip and exhaled a small sigh of pleasure. It was nectar from the gods, and just as he had remembered. It had been years since he’d had a proper Guinness; Greg had introduced him and Ryan to it when they’d been filming Whose Line in London. He’d convinced them to visit a bar he’d discovered a few weeks before they’d arrived and had made his regular haunt, called Waxy O’Connor’s in Soho. The place had the most stunningly obscure décor Colin had ever seen, and an immense atmosphere, unparalleled by any other pub he’d been in. That night after the taping Greg had been like a kid at Christmas showing off his latest toy to his friends. He’d bounded in exuberantly to be greeted by slaps on the back and offers of pints by the locals; leaving Colin and Ryan only to look at the place in awe. Colin remembered being warmly welcomed as Greg’s friend and he and Ryan eyeing their complimentary pints of ‘the black stuff’ with suspicion as everyone waited for them to try it with baited breath.
They’d had one hell of a night…and the mother of all hangovers the morning after Colin winced at the recollection as he took another slug of the stout. He smiled. Greg had smugly told him that he’d get used to it- that that morning was his rite of passage. He had scoffed when Colin said ‘never again’. And of course he’d been right. After the week’s taping he, Greg and Ryan would wander down through the London weekend evening and into Waxy’s to find their pints on the bar waiting for them.
-o-
‘I’ve heard of drinking to forget, but by the look of you you’re drinking to remember’ the barman’s strong brogue filled Colin’s ears once more, interrupting his thoughts as Colin looked up to find him staring at him as he wiped down the bar.
Drinking to remember Colin pondered as he drained the remains of his glass. ‘Yeah, you could say it has that effect’ he replied as he pushed the empty glass towards the barman in a silent request for another.
The barman complied and nodded his head. ‘It often has. It’s the magic of the Irish’ he said with a wink, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
Colin smiled and left his money on the bar as he went in search of a softer seat; somewhere to remember.
-o-
Sinking into the worn fabric of a sofa in the dark corner, Colin felt relaxed and at peace for the first time in what seemed like a century. The strange atmosphere of this dark pub was soothing and comforting. It had prompted a flood of memories; from the fun, companionable evenings in London to other, more emotional evenings. Emotional things that had been locked away in the dark recesses of his mind, in a box marked ‘not to be opened again’. He tried to shake them off as he felt that familiar pain and twinge of sadness descend upon him; idly he picked up the beer mat and began reading it.
Come to The Shamrock. More fun than a four leaf clover Colin read and stared blindly at the topless woman standing seductively beside a pole. An Irish themed strip club? What, do they dress as leprechauns or something? Colin laughed at the image he had conjured up and threw the mat across the table and caught sight of what the light was shining on.
He hadn’t looked at it in so long – impossible you might think as he’d never stopped wearing it, but whilst he couldn’t bear to take it off, he had never been able to look at it since. Nobody else had ever known its significance; if they had it would have been put into storage with everything else, for this held the most potent memories of all. It held everything.
Colin elongated his fingers into the ray of light that was streaming through the small window and watched them dance on the gold band of the Claddagh ring that he wore on his right hand and let it all come back to him. It all went back to those evenings in Waxy O’Connor’s; evenings when Greg would be joining in with the Irish folk music and limericks; leaving Colin and Ryan to talk and drink and just be. They’d poured over the various literary offerings that adorned the old book cases; reading Irish myths and legends, old wives tales and customs.
Tears prickled briefly at the back of Colin’s eyes as he ran his fingers over the ring; observing its position he remembered everything in one fell swoop; everything fell back into his mind with an almighty rush. Tears flowed silently down his cheeks; he brushed them away with his left hand, mingling them with his sweat.
-o-
At the end of that year’s filming in London Ryan had taken Colin walking through St. James’s park in the early summer’s evening. They’d been together properly for about 6 months – of course nobody else knew, that was how it had to be, but this period of filming in London had brought them closer than before. Colin had put it down to the fact that they had been able to spend a lot of time together, but it hadn’t been lost on him that Ryan seemed to be growing more attached to their relationship.
They’d stopped walking to sit under an expansive oak tree; Colin running his hand through the dry grass and watching the birds trying to keep cool in the water. Ryan had taken his right hand and Colin hadn’t flinched because it wasn’t anything unusual, but he had turned to look down when he felt something slide on his finger. Looking at his hand in Ryan’s, he saw a gold ring glinting back with a strange design – a heart with a crown on top being held by two hands. Ryan was still holding it, having stopped short of sliding it over his knuckle.
‘Ry…what are you doing – what’s this?’ Colin had asked bemused.
Ryan blushed and his gaze flitted from Colin to the ring that he was still holding on Colin’s third finger of his right hand.
‘It’s a Claddagh Ring’ Ryan began.
‘A what?’ Colin asked, confused at the sound of the word.
‘It’s Irish. From a place called Galway on the coast of Ireland’.
Colin still looked confused; unable to say anything Ryan realised he would have to explain. God I feel sick he thought, taking a deep breath.
Ryan shifted so that he could face Colin fully.
‘It’s a friendship ring’ he smiled ‘traditionally used centuries ago in Ireland as a wedding ring. It still can be’ he blushed. ‘The heart’ he traced it with his finger, ‘symbolises love, the hands are there for friendship, and the crown for loyalty’ he said, tracing them all in turn, intermittently looking at a wordless Colin.
‘It’s lovely, Ryan….’Colin began
‘Wait – I haven’t finished’ Ryan interrupted him with a hesitant smile as he took Colin’s hand into his own.
‘The way you wear a Claddagh ring symbolises a lot’ Ryan said, feeling his heart racing. If you wear it on your right hand with the design facing outwards, then that means that the person wearing it is romantically available’ he said, placing the ring partially on Colin’s finger to demonstrate.
Colin blinked at Ryan; watched him bathed in the evening dusk as he gently clasped his hand and felt his heart skip a beat.
‘If you wear it on the right hand with the design inwards’ Ryan’s voice faltered and he cleared his throat before continuing, ‘then that means that someone has captured their heart’. Ryan hesitated to turn the ring.
Colin’s voice broke the silence. ‘What does it mean if you wear it on the left hand?’
Ryan blinked; he hadn’t expected Colin to ask that. ‘Um, if it’s facing outwards on the left hand then it means the wearer is engaged, inwards it means they’re married’.
Colin looked at his hand still in Ryan’s and then to his own, already ring clad left hand. I’m already married it reminded him with a pang of guilt as he glanced across to see Ryan’s similar band.
‘But on the right hand it signifies that someone has captured their heart, right?’
Ryan nodded. ‘If you wear it facing inwardly, yes’.
Colin reached across and took the ring and examined it closely before slipping it onto the third finger of his right hand facing inwards before stretching his hand to admire it.
Ryan stared in silence at Colin, at the ring he had given him that he had just placed on his hand. Colin felt his cheeks flush but he didn’t care; he offered his hand to Ryan.
‘I’m yours’ he whispered. ‘You’ve captured my heart’.
Ryan swallowed and looked at the ring glinting on Colin’s hand; at what it meant. He pulled him close and chastely kissed him before holding him in an embrace.
‘Oh Col, I didn’t know if you’d like it...if you’d go for it’ he said.
Colin pulled back and placed his hands on Ryan’s face. ‘I love it’ he said. ‘I love everything it means and I love you’.
Ryan’s face crinkled in a grin as he brought his hands to hold Colin’s tightly in his own. ‘I read about them in a book in Waxy’s and I thought it symbolised everything we are’ he said bashfully.
‘You really got into those Irish legends, didn’t you?’ Colin laughed as he caressed Ryan’s cheek. ‘There’s just one thing though..’ Colin began, looking at Ryan’s hand. ‘Have I captured your heart?’
Ryan dropped his hand and reached into his pocket and produced a box. Opening it Colin could see that it had 2 slots; one had contained his ring and the other held an identical ring to the one he was wearing. Ryan offered him the box and Colin took the ring out and placed it facing inwardly on the third finger of Ryan’s right hand. Words went unspoken on that balmy evening, for actions affirmed their destiny and their choices; nothing else was necessary.
Ryan had pressed him onto the dry grass and kissed him deeply and gently under the tree beneath the Turkish delight sky, taking his hand and listening to the melodious clink of the rings as their hands explored each other.
‘Let love and friendship reign’ he whispered, gazing into Colin’s dark eyes, echoing the inscription on the inside of the box that came with all Claddagh rings.
-o-
Let love and friendship reign. The words reverberated in Colin’s mind as tears dropped onto the table and he gazed at the ring. It still faced inwardly and it always would – no matter what. He may have been married to Deb and Ryan may have been married to Pat, but that night when they had put on those rings they had told each other that whilst they were married, their hearts belonged to each other. Wearing the ring on the left hand wouldn’t have meant as much; it symbolised much more on their right hands. It symbolised them. Well, for a time it had. Nobody else ever knew the significance; to others they were just some Irish style rings they had bought on the whim of their obsession with all things Irish after too many evenings in Waxy’s.
Where did it all go wrong? Colin’s mind asked the question that was ever present; a question he never felt he had a satisfactory answer for. They’d been together for years – yes it had been difficult as they were married and time together was fleeting a lot of the time, but that was how it had always been – it was how it had to be. That was the way they had agreed it would be; they would always get through the difficult times.
With a wrenching knot in his stomach Colin remembered how Ryan had said things could no longer be; the harshness of that last meeting, that last conversation invaded his being like a thousand knives. He had fought, begged, pleaded, questioned and cried. He could see that it wasn’t what Ryan wanted but he wouldn’t concede. Pat needed him now; he’d spent enough time away over the years – it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t be in two relationships anymore. He didn’t have a choice.
But he did have a choice. That choice just wasn’t me Colin breathed in heavily as he twisted the ring around his finger. He had never been able to take it off or turn it around; he never would. His heart would be forever held captive by Ryan; it was only today that he had allowed himself to remember that.
Looking at his watch Colin realised the cool of the evening outside would make for a more bearable walk home. As he stretched he felt the aches and pain travel through his body and a familiar weariness return. He’d sit a few minutes longer. As his eyes caught the welcome sign he remembered the name of the bar he was in – Tir na nOg and the story that his mother had told him often. Oisin had been led to the land of Tir na nOg by Niamh and had enjoyed a year in paradise before he had gotten homesick. When he wanted to return home, however, although only a year had passed for him, a hundred years had passed in Ireland. When he touched the ground of Ireland all of those years fell upon him and he withered instantly into an old man.
On reflection, Colin wondered why he hadn’t been scared of the story as a child. Like most folk tales, it had a moral. This one being that you should always be happy with what you have, for paradise is fleeting. Or, for the more cynical view, if you sell your soul to someone you can’t go back to how things were before.
But Ryan had. ‘Yeah, Ryan has’ Colin said to himself with resignation as he left the bar and encountered the empty street once more.
As he stared down once more at his ring, he noticed how his hand had aged. His years with Ryan had seemed like a flash, a blink, but sure enough, as the legend goes, upon his return to the Real World he had withered. He had aged for his heart and his eternal youth would forever be with Ryan. A strange shiver passed through his body and Colin shoved his hands in his pockets and began to wander back to the apartment.
-o-
Ryan sat on the ledge of the bay window and looked out across the evening landscape, thinking, as he had done every night for the past weeks about Colin. He knew that he’d gone and he knew that it had all been because of him; it was all his fault. He’d only been trying to do what was best. Best for who? That ever present question resonated yet again as he tried to justify his actions. Closing his eyes and resting his head against the wall, Ryan remembered and smiled.
He must have dozed off; he awoke feeling cramped and noticed his face was wet with tears. His dreams had been filled with memories of him and Colin, more vivid than usual. There was an ache in his heart that wouldn’t go away; it had been there since he had walked away, unable to look back – but it was stronger now. As he rubbed at the cramp, Ryan’s fingers found the chain around his neck and the ring it contained. He unhooked it and detached the ring from the chain, examining it in the early morning light. He smiled and shone it up with the end of his t shirt. The symbols and his words echoed in his head. Heart for love, hands for friendship and the crown for loyalty. Ryan swallowed the pain of his guilt as he realised he had been grossly lacking in friendship and loyalty. I should never have taken this off, he thought as he held the ring in his hand. His love had never faded though, however much he thought it might when he’d ended everything.
Ryan traced the ring purposefully and felt his mind clear for the first time in months. He looked out the window in the hope of sending his thoughts-something to wherever Colin was, but he didn’t know what. His eyes found the ring once more and he smiled. His eyes drifted to the third finger of his right hand; to the outline of the ring that made a strange blemish on his finger. No matter how many sunny days he’d exposed himself to, the outline of the ring had never filled in; it shone back at him in glowing iridescent white. It had stayed there, to remind him. To remind him that he could never – would never forget. Placing the ring once more on his finger, Ryan felt a sense of rightness and completion as the gold band covered perfectly the white outlines it had left. It faced inwardly, like it always had and like it always should.
‘I’m yours’ he said as he stared across the landscape to the beginnings of dawn. ‘Let love and friendship reign once more’.
‘Who are you talking to, Ryan?’
The familiar sound of his wife’s voice shattered Ryan’s thoughts, but he didn’t turn around; he didn’t need to. Maintaining his gaze across the morning, across the miles; however many may be between them, Ryan’s heart had returned to its rightful owner once more. A smile warmed his features as a tear of happiness cleansed his being, taking his thoughts back to where he knew he should never have left.
‘My love’ he exhaled.
-o-
Colin’s dreamt fitfully that night; but they were dreams of restoration and peace. The story of Tir na nOg came back to him as he remembered it clearer.
Niamh, her name means brightness…Niamh of the Golden Hair, from the Land of Youth where no one grows old.
Ryan. Ryan had been his Niamh; his golden curls shone in Colin’s dream, like a beacon of light calling him home.
Colin twisted in his sleep; the memory of the tale didn’t correlate properly, for Ryan had also been Oisin; the memory unsettled Colin in his sleeping state.
One day Oisin had told Niamh of his sadness – the sadness he recalled in his father’s eyes as he’d left to be with her. He would have to go back.
The sadness that was forever present in Pat’s eyes, he’d explained – it was his duty- his vow to go back…he had no other choice.
Don’t leave this place, said Niamh,
Don’t go away from me, my darling,
If you leave Tir na nOg,
You will never return.
Colin awoke with a start, his heart racing and shook the resounding words of the tale from his head. Too much Guinness and too much blarney he chided himself; pulling the covers around his body, he huddled into the blankets in an attempt for a dreamless sleep. A sleep he knew would not come as he gazed at his right hand.
-o-
Of course I will, said Oisin.
I love you and could never be happy without you.
I’ll come back so fast you’ll never know I left
Niamh warned Oisin not to touch the ground when he went back to Ireland, for if he did he would not return. Oisin had forgotten those words; upon making contact with his native soil had instantly withered into an old man; as the horse galloped off, he knew he would never be able to return to Tir na nOg.
-o-
Ryan had called everyone, demanding to know Colin’s whereabouts; his need fuelled his desire. He had shouted, screamed and threatened until finally he got his answer. He knew where he needed to be. Pat had stood by silently watching; she knew this day would come once more. A silent glance exchanged between them and Ryan had gone.
I’m coming back, my love he said as he sped along the empty roads, a smile once more on his lips, lighting up his features as the dawn cast a steady gleam onto his Claddagh ring.
For although Ryan had left to go back to his homeland, he had never touched the ground; he had never stopped and now he knew he was headed back to where he belonged.
-o-
Colin poured a tall glass of water from the filter in the fridge and sighed as it quenched his thirst. The radio alerted his attention as he froze; heart beating faster as he listened to the lilt of the song and the words filling the room:
Land of my heart. My soul is yearning.
Land of my dreams. Light in my eyes.
I will come back. I’ll be returning
to my love, to Tír na nÓg.
The ring weighed heavy on Colin’s hand as he tried to shrug off the persistent song and his dreams as mere coincidence, but uneasiness dominated his thoughts.
The knock at the door was slight; it would have gone unheard had Colin not been sitting in silence. He hadn’t answered the door since he’d been there – no one would call, there would be no point. No one knew he was there. And yet he immediately found his hand grasping the handle.
Opening the door he saw his love before him; golden curls shining in the afternoon sun and eyes as green as the emerald isle itself. On his right hand a ring that matched his own sat facing inwardly, just as he had placed it there all those years ago. Their hands met and entwined, joining what only distance had parted.
Colin traced Ryan’s cheek with his hand, reacquainting himself with the touch, the contours as Ryan’s eyes pinned him strongly; imploring forgiveness. The radio still played in the distance of the kitchen:
And the trees gently dance in the whispering breeze,
And the clouds shed soft tears as they cry.
Soon my love shall return from his journey afar,
And my heart can whisper a sigh
And my heart swells as birds sing their song.
Soon my love shall return, and he’ll kiss me again,
And my heart no more shall long.
Colin smiled, feeling the texture of Ryan’s skin beneath his palm as he realised Ryan may have gone back, but he never touched the ground, for he hadn’t aged or withered. He was still his.
As Ryan’s lips brushed his own his heart ceased to long. They held each other’s hearts once more as they had pledged they always would. Colin’s sigh filled the room as he realised happiness had returned to him; along with his love back to the land of Tir na nOg.