Albert Peterson: The Hibernia Strain

“Trying to mug me, I guess.”

“Yea you’re probably right. It was more than likely junkies looking for money to get their next fix. Anyhow, not to worry you’re safe now Emma.”

“I know.” A beaming smile spreads across her face. She tightens her grip on my arm, much to my approval, and we carry on down the street.

We make small talk along the way towards the taxi rank. It turns out that she’s a student in a local college, studying to become a primary school teacher. She does, however, come from another county. Coincidently it’s the same one I originate from, Sligo.

She grew up on a farm in the countryside, whereas I was raised closer to the city. I tell her that I work nightshift in a local factory and that I was getting a post-work bite to eat before our unusual introduction.

“You probably should message your friends to let them know that you’re ok,” I suggest.

“Maybe I will but then again maybe I won’t. I’m kind of pissed with them to be honest. If they weren’t so late meeting up with me then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I see,” I say with a disgruntled tone.

She must have picked up on this as she quickly adds “But then again I wouldn’t have met you if they did show their faces on time, so it isn’t all bad, right?”

I smirk in agreement.

We finally reach the line of taxis and walk up to the first one we see.

“Ok then this is you,” I say as the driver nods to acknowledge us as his next fare. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, and I hope you’ll be ok.” I gesture to the now slightly swollen pink mark left on her cheek.

“Oh I think I’ll survive.” We both share a grin.

I feel an awkward nervous sweat building up. This always happens to me when I’m about to do something I don’t feel comfortable doing.

I’m a shy guy who doesn’t usually stand out in a crowd. I watch my friends chat up the good looking women on nights out while I sit back and pretend I’m satisfied with my beer and general lack of confidence.

Now here I am. Fate has landed me in this situation where I’m talking to possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

Christ, I hope she doesn’t want to shake hands goodbye ! Mine are clammy with sweat, and I doubt very much that that combined with a salty residue from earlier would leave her with much of a positive lasting impression of me.

I tuck my hands into my trouser pockets. I’m not sure whether it’s a delayed surge of adrenaline from earlier, but I build up enough courage to say, “So…ahem, I was wondering…ahem if I could get your… em… your.”

I look down at my feet. My tatty converse trainers hardly convey the image of someone she would be impressed with. I can picture the type of guy she would normally date. Tall, well dressed and well groomed with good looks equal to hers and possessing a confident extrovert personality. Bail out now Matt; a girl like her is way out of your league!

“My?” she chirps.

“Your number.” I manage to choke it out.

I feel so mortified. I can tell my face has gone a deep beetroot red. Damn my apprehensive demeanour.

I look up, and her eyes are staring straight at me. Her eyebrows raised in a quirky questioning manner, at first, then drop into a slight frown.

“I don’t know if my boyfriend would approve of me giving out my number to handsome men, even one who’s my knight in shining armour.”

I’m pretty sure I can feel vomit knocking at the back of my throat. No, wait, that’s just my testicles imploding since I realise I never want to attempt to ask someone who is this far out of my league, out again because this is what happens when I do.

“I understand,” I whimper like an injured puppy.

Her face lights up with that delightful grin of hers as she laughs out, “Matt I’m kidding. I don’t have a boyfriend. Look I’ll give you my number in the taxi if you have nowhere else to be.”

It takes few moments for the realisation of what’s just being offered to me to sink in. Did she really just ask me to get in the taxi with her?

My train of thought is interrupted by the driver asking in a slightly annoyed voice, “So will we be leaving anytime soon.”

I look at Emma who is already sitting in the back seat, her hand extended in my direction beckoning me to join her. I don’t take a second longer and get in beside her, close the door and buckle up. She gives the driver an address. I recognise it to be in the direction of the city’s main college. It isn’t a long drive, about ten minutes away.

This situation is totally new territory to me. I sit looking past the front seat, out to the road ahead. There aren’t really many other cars on the road, mainly just taxis bringing people home after their nights out on the town.

We pass by the takeaway, where all the commotion happened earlier. There still seems to be ongoing trouble. Three Garda cars have arrived at the scene. There’s a lot of shouting, as well as people fighting and running around.

“Wonder what all the commotion’s about?” the driver enquires. We don’t answer. He doesn’t seem to notice, though, carrying on with his end of the conversation.

“Looks like you both picked the right time to go call it a night.”

This time I reply with a begrudged, yet agreeing sigh, while I continue to gaze out the window at the scenes unfolding. He must have picked up on our lack of interest in having a conversation with him as he now seems content enough to turn his attention back to the road and carry on driving in silence.

Outside it seems to be turning into chaos. Fighting appears to be breaking out all over the place. The Gardai are outnumbered and have lost all control of the situation. This is proven to me by the sight of one officer being jumped by two women while trying to wrestle a troublemaker off a colleague.

A Garda van pulls up as we leave the scene in the taxi’s rear view mirror. What in the hell is going on? Sure, the Gardai have to deal with brawls on a regular basis, but this is different. This kind of reckless havoc doesn’t happen here. Were we really the cause of some sort of mini riot?

Emma and I look at each other. A puzzled look is etched on her face. I’m sure mine’s displaying the same uncertainty. I pray the camera outside the takeaway was a live video feed only and didn’t actually record the events or else we might be getting a friendly visit from the boys in blue. I waive this idea and instead reassure myself that I didn’t do anything wrong. This self realisation of innocence settles me, and I relax into the seat.

Emma’s hand finds mine in the gloom. I whisper, “Crazy night huh?”

“It sure was,” she replies, “but it’s not over yet.”

She leans towards me and kisses me tenderly. This takes me by surprise, but I certainly don’t resist. Instead, I allow myself to melt into her soft lips. They have a faint hint of strawberry flavour to them. Fruity lip balm I presume or maybe she had been drinking strawberry cocktails. The source isn’t really that significant. The main thing of importance right this instant is that I’m getting to taste it.

She pulls away and whispers in my ear, “When we get to my apartment I’m going to show you just how appreciative I am”.

I’m not sure if it’s the remnants of alcohol in her system or if is she usually this seductive, but I love the fact that she is so forward. It saves me the terror of having to initiate it.

I catch a glimpse of the driver smirking in the mirror. Hah. I’m sure he’s well used to this scene playing out in his backseat every weekend. I feel a sly grin starting to break across my face, but it doesn’t get a chance to form as Emma has her hand around my neck and pulls me closer to carry on kissing.