Forever & Always.

The sound of the smoke alarm brought me out of my dazed state. I’d forgotten about the chicken I had in the oven. I jumped out of my seat and ran to the kitchen where I proceeded to turn off the oven and dispose of the burnt bird. Dinner would have to be pizza again.

I sighed and ran a hand over my face. The past two weeks had been so hectic. My stay in St. Mary’s had to be prolonged, the year group had been taking their fellow student’s harder than most. Every day I met with another student who had a story to tell me about that boy named Max. It made me think of Fergal and I’d missed him a lot over the past two weeks.
Aidan had been moody and angry a lot. His new job, although one he loved, was a lot more stressful than he had first expected. Most evenings he came home in foul humour and would make snide comments about me, making me feel horrible. He’d taken to comparing me to Rachel, the girl he’d have married had she not followed Fergal to an early grave. He’d tell me how I was only half the girl she was and how he wondered why he had even proposed to me. I knew it was only because he was stressed. He proposed to me because he loved me. Why else?

The front door opened and I forced a smile onto my face. No need to put my fiancé in an even worse mood. His steps were loud as he stomped down the hall to the kitchen where I was seated at the table.

“Why does it smell like burning in here?” He asked as soon as he saw me. No kiss, not even a hello.

“Oh…uhm…,” I looked down at the blue and white checked tablecloth. “I…uh…let dinner burn by accident.”

He sighed, shaking his head, “You’re fucking useless. Did you know that? I work all day and when I come home all I expect is for there to be dinner on the table and you can’t even do that for me.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled pathetically. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Whatever! I’m sick of your stupid fucking excuses!” He approached me and I instinctively cowered away from him. “Why are you flinching, huh?”

I shook my head and tried to make my body relax, “I…I…I’m not.”

The next thing happened so fast I barely registered what had happened until after I felt the pain in my cheek. He’d reached out and punched me.

“You’re pathetic!” He spat and stormed out of the room and up the stairs.

My cheek was burning and my hand went up instinctively to touch it. It came back clean so I knew he hadn’t broken the skin. My heart was pounding and my breathing laboured. I had to get out of here. Had to escape. My coat hung on the coat rack and I grabbed as I ran out of the house, my destination already decided upon.



The grass was wet and slippery from the week’s worth of rain we had gotten. I was careful as I negotiated my way passed numerous headstones. It was getting dark and hard to distinguish names on the stones, but I knew which one was his. I barely even had to think about it.
I sat down in front of his picture, not even caring about the wet grass.

“Hey Ferg,” I whispered. “I miss you…and I need your help.”

It was so easy to tell him my problems. So easy to pretend he was actually sitting there on that cool Irish evening, listening to me moan about my life.
I told him about Oisín. The young boy always seemed distant and he had turned up with bruises on more than one occasion. I was afraid he was being bullied, but he wouldn’t tell me anything.
I told him about meeting the Jersey boys and what it had been like. Since that day, they were always on my mind. I wondered how they were coping, was Gerard still drunk? Had Mikey had a nervous breakdown due to all the worry? Was Ray still drinking himself into an early grave? Was Bob still a zombie, ignoring the things that were happening all around him? And, the question that kept running through my mind was, what did Frank think when he found out who I was?
In one way I wished I hadn’t run off. I’d love to get to talk to my short best friend again. But, if I became friends with him once again I’d have to become friends with the rest of them. I could probably handle that, except for Gerard. I couldn’t be friends with him, not until he could explain what had happened when he’d left me in Jersey all those years ago.

“And Aidan’s being horrible,” I told my best friend, fiddling with the faded lightsaber that I had left on his grave on the day I had visited him just before I had left for New Jersey. “He’s hurting me. I know he’s having a hard time at his new job, but he doesn’t need to take it out on me. He hit me tonight.” I whispered the last word with the hope that it would seem less real if said quietly. “What do I do Ferg?”

“You leave him,” I almost screamed before realising that it was not my dead best friend who had spoken. “You punch the fucker and then you walk right out.”

That voice. I knew that voice. I turned and gasped seeing who it was standing behind me.