Etched Into My Skin.
V.
Yes, my name is John Cornelius O’ Callaghan the Fifth, and yes, I have a tattoo that specifies that I’m the Fifth. I guess when you hold onto something like a name in your family for so long, it’s bound to get to your head a little bit. I wasn’t too egotistical about it, though, and that’s not the real reason I got it.
My family was Irish; we didn’t really make a big deal about it unless it was Saint Patrick’s Day. That was the only day out of the whole year that my mother found drinking socially acceptable. It was also the only time we got together and got drunk as a family.
It was Saint Patrick’s Day.
~
Everyone gathers around the campfire in the backyard, laughing with a beer in their hand. We were about to start making some s’mores when Livia appears. I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever; touring has been running me ragged. I’d just gotten home a few weeks ago from one.
I grin and wave her over. All of us already considered her like family.
She plops down next to me and smiles. “What’s up, John?”
"Nothin’ much. Want a beer?"
She nods and I pass her a bottle.
My dad hands the pack of marshmallows and chocolate bars to Ross, while Shane holds onto the graham crackers.
"Alright, story time," dad chuckles. "John, do you remember your grandfather?"
I nod. Of course I remembered my grandpa. He’d raised me along with my parents. Besides, how could I forget the funeral, where not only had I said goodbye to him for the last time, but I had met Livy.
"Well," my dad says, "Back when I was a kid, he’d always make me and your uncle take baths in the lake. It was the only place with clean water."
"The first s’more is ready!" Shane announces, grinning as he hands it to Livia. "Ladies first."
She giggles and I roll my eyes. “Please continue,” I groan to my dad.
"So to get to the lake, we had to cross a swamp," he explains. "There was this path of rocks you had to follow and cross to walk over the swamp and get to the lake. One day, your uncle and I had spent the whole morning playing soccer, so we’d forgotten that we had church later." He laughs, taking a sip from his beer. “Your grandfather got so mad at us. He literally chased us toward the direction of the lake. He was right on our tail! So we kept running until we reached the swamp. We jumped along the rocks like we always did, but keep in mind, we were kids and scared to death of our dad. So we were afraid for our lives.
"He was right behind me, so I moved around your uncle to another rock. He just stood there. I looked back and saw your grandpa was getting closer, but he just wouldn’t move. So I shouted, ‘Hurry up! He’s getting closer!’ Your uncle looked between me and your grandpa, looking like he had no idea what to do. That’s when I realized: his shoe fell into the mud!"
Everybody starts laughing. I could picture it so perfectly; my dad yelling at his younger brother and telling him to hurry up, only to see him worrying about his shoe, while my grandpa crept closer and closer to them. The look on my uncle’s face must have been priceless.
My brothers and I laugh at our dad’s animated expressions. His eyes are wide as he stands to start acting out the rest of the scene, waving his hands around.
"I was like, ‘You idiot! Forget about the fucking shoe!’ But he just kept staring at it, looking all panicked. Our dad got close enough, so he started moving. But he starts crying over his damn shoe! So I go back to get it, reaching in the mud. Your genius uncle chooses then to topple over and fall in."
I was rocking back and forth, holding a hand to my stomach. It hurt from laughing so much. Even my dad was finding it harder to keep going.
"So we finally got to the lake," he says shakily. "And the fucking church bell rings. You should have seen how mad he got. He caught us and dragged us back. We went to church, still covered in mud because we didn’t have time to take a bath."
I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. Livia was literally on the floor on her back, clutching her stomach. She wipes away a tear, her entire body shaking. “I-can’t-breathe,” she gasps.
I laugh even harder. God, I don’t know how I wasn’t pissing my pants yet.
Shane’s face was red as he took a bite out of his s’more, thankfully not choking. Livia calms down and bites into her own, but I snicker when I see the chocolate on her face. I wipe it away and she closes her eyes, struggling to speak.
"I have to peeeee," she laughs.
It was one of those stories you just had to be there for. It was one of those stories that seemed like the funniest thing in the world when you were with your family and you were drunk. It was one of those stories that I wanted to keep alive. I wanted to tell my kids about the time their great granddad chased their granddad and granduncle all the way to the lake and not even getting clean because they were late for church. I wanted to tell them about the night their granddad told us the story, and how we all laughed our asses off about it while eating s’mores.
And I wanted them to retell that story for ages and generations to come.
I don’t know why, but getting the roman numeral five for that story just seemed appropriate.
My family was Irish; we didn’t really make a big deal about it unless it was Saint Patrick’s Day. That was the only day out of the whole year that my mother found drinking socially acceptable. It was also the only time we got together and got drunk as a family.
It was Saint Patrick’s Day.
~
Everyone gathers around the campfire in the backyard, laughing with a beer in their hand. We were about to start making some s’mores when Livia appears. I feel like I haven’t seen her in forever; touring has been running me ragged. I’d just gotten home a few weeks ago from one.
I grin and wave her over. All of us already considered her like family.
She plops down next to me and smiles. “What’s up, John?”
"Nothin’ much. Want a beer?"
She nods and I pass her a bottle.
My dad hands the pack of marshmallows and chocolate bars to Ross, while Shane holds onto the graham crackers.
"Alright, story time," dad chuckles. "John, do you remember your grandfather?"
I nod. Of course I remembered my grandpa. He’d raised me along with my parents. Besides, how could I forget the funeral, where not only had I said goodbye to him for the last time, but I had met Livy.
"Well," my dad says, "Back when I was a kid, he’d always make me and your uncle take baths in the lake. It was the only place with clean water."
"The first s’more is ready!" Shane announces, grinning as he hands it to Livia. "Ladies first."
She giggles and I roll my eyes. “Please continue,” I groan to my dad.
"So to get to the lake, we had to cross a swamp," he explains. "There was this path of rocks you had to follow and cross to walk over the swamp and get to the lake. One day, your uncle and I had spent the whole morning playing soccer, so we’d forgotten that we had church later." He laughs, taking a sip from his beer. “Your grandfather got so mad at us. He literally chased us toward the direction of the lake. He was right on our tail! So we kept running until we reached the swamp. We jumped along the rocks like we always did, but keep in mind, we were kids and scared to death of our dad. So we were afraid for our lives.
"He was right behind me, so I moved around your uncle to another rock. He just stood there. I looked back and saw your grandpa was getting closer, but he just wouldn’t move. So I shouted, ‘Hurry up! He’s getting closer!’ Your uncle looked between me and your grandpa, looking like he had no idea what to do. That’s when I realized: his shoe fell into the mud!"
Everybody starts laughing. I could picture it so perfectly; my dad yelling at his younger brother and telling him to hurry up, only to see him worrying about his shoe, while my grandpa crept closer and closer to them. The look on my uncle’s face must have been priceless.
My brothers and I laugh at our dad’s animated expressions. His eyes are wide as he stands to start acting out the rest of the scene, waving his hands around.
"I was like, ‘You idiot! Forget about the fucking shoe!’ But he just kept staring at it, looking all panicked. Our dad got close enough, so he started moving. But he starts crying over his damn shoe! So I go back to get it, reaching in the mud. Your genius uncle chooses then to topple over and fall in."
I was rocking back and forth, holding a hand to my stomach. It hurt from laughing so much. Even my dad was finding it harder to keep going.
"So we finally got to the lake," he says shakily. "And the fucking church bell rings. You should have seen how mad he got. He caught us and dragged us back. We went to church, still covered in mud because we didn’t have time to take a bath."
I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. Livia was literally on the floor on her back, clutching her stomach. She wipes away a tear, her entire body shaking. “I-can’t-breathe,” she gasps.
I laugh even harder. God, I don’t know how I wasn’t pissing my pants yet.
Shane’s face was red as he took a bite out of his s’more, thankfully not choking. Livia calms down and bites into her own, but I snicker when I see the chocolate on her face. I wipe it away and she closes her eyes, struggling to speak.
"I have to peeeee," she laughs.
It was one of those stories you just had to be there for. It was one of those stories that seemed like the funniest thing in the world when you were with your family and you were drunk. It was one of those stories that I wanted to keep alive. I wanted to tell my kids about the time their great granddad chased their granddad and granduncle all the way to the lake and not even getting clean because they were late for church. I wanted to tell them about the night their granddad told us the story, and how we all laughed our asses off about it while eating s’mores.
And I wanted them to retell that story for ages and generations to come.
I don’t know why, but getting the roman numeral five for that story just seemed appropriate.