“It started with Saturday night. Then I knew for sure that Nolan could be found in the brown bar in our village. I was an 18-year-old girl who was impressed by this 22-year-old tall Irishman with dark brown hair and sparkling eyes. Because he came from far away, he was the only one in the village who didn’t know about my bullying past. With him, I started with a clean slate and discovered a Caitlin I’d never seen before. No insecurities, just an amicable young woman who joked and flirted. It felt like coming home. Nolan taught me to drink whiskey, he taught me how to play darts. Every now and then he put his arm around me, I would soften inside. More and more often I was also in the cafe on Thursdays and Fridays. I dreamed of a future with Nolan.
Mother changed color
As an only child from a warm Brabant nest, I could discuss everything at home. I told my parents about that nice guy from the pub. But when I mentioned that Nolan was from Ireland, I saw my mother blush. ‘Do you really want that? Soon you’ll be in Ireland with ten kids and a guy drinking!’ It was parental concern, but my mother’s prejudices made me anxious. If that was my future, would I want it?
Stolen my great love
For two weeks I sat at home on Thursday, Friday and Saturday dubbing. But I missed Nolan, I missed the pub. Tensed, I stepped through those brown swing doors again, my eyes searching the dart corner and Nolan’s dark locks. My stomach clenched at what I saw. My girl next door hung around Nolan’s neck. They spent the whole evening intimately together and not much later I learned that they were in a relationship. I exchanged another look and a brief conversation with Nolan, but it was too late.
I did my best to forget Nolan. Until a few years ago, I still regularly looked him up on Facebook. Then a feeling of regret came over me that I had once let this still handsome man walk. I should have made love to him when I had the chance. Among his Facebook photos I found images of him smiling brightly at me with a woman next to him. My girl next door, to whom he was now married.
Craving for Irish men
I myself was married, to a man who looked nothing like Nolan. He was not adventurous, small, maybe a little boring. I lasted with him for several decades, but I craved more. He must have noticed that there was a uneasiness in me. I listened to Irish music, I watched Irish movies, I immersed myself in the culture of Ireland and I tried to gather Irish people around me. My search made my husband jealous. He always cut off friendships with Irish men. And I never found the feeling of home that I used to have in that pub.
Visiting Nolan
Once it was there again. When my marriage was deteriorating, I once got on a plane to Ireland. As an exam trip for my daughter, but also a bit for myself. Over the years I had fallen in love with the culture, the people, the warmth. Once in Dublin I walked through the streets with goosebumps. The very cozy pubs, the musicians who spontaneously sing to you in the street, the helpfulness when I couldn’t find my hotel and two complete strangers ordered a taxi for me. I just heard here. There, in the midst of Irish life, the lack of Nolan became so great that I drove headlong to his house. I knew he had immigrated to his native country; I had stolen his address from Viavia. Full of anticipation I rang the bell, but I had to suppress my disappointment when it was not Nolan, but my girl next door who opened the door. In retrospect, I think maybe it was better that Nolan wasn’t there. I don’t know what I would have done if I had seen him. Declare love to him yet, in front of his wife? That had been embarrassing.
My old girl next door and I chatted in the living room. There I was, with the woman who was married to my great love and who was living the life I had always dreamed of. I looked around. Not an empty bottle of whiskey in sight. Dozens of pictures of Nolans happy family.
Crying my eyes out
On the plane home I cried tears, but not for Nolan. For the first time in my life I felt at peace with the fact that he wasn’t mine. He was happy, his wife was happy. It was good. I did cry for Ireland. Maybe I hadn’t missed Nolan all those years, but the feeling of coming home to a culture.
To my home forever
Not long after that trip I got divorced and found my new great love. A tall man, with dark brown hair, who likes to play darts. A Dutch man, yes. Yet I still fantasize about moving to Ireland. Now it’s just a dream, but when my daughters are out of the house, I pack my bags and leave for my home for good.”