Eddy's Push Complex
Little Eddy watched for a few tears from his black- clad Mum sitting in the only chair, while everyone else stood listening to Father Flan's prayer for Da shut up in the box under a cloudy sky. Her eyes stayed dry throughout, pleasing the lad, and he imagined himself cuddled later in bed with her, Da, no longer able to make the poor woman moan with pain under his big belly three or four times a week.
She's a handsome mum I have, Eddy thought, with the twins to take care of while I'm the new man of the house. No more trips to the pub for me to call Da home, the worst one being the last, when he cuffed me outside, and insisted on walking the cliff edge, to show off I think. It didn't take much of a shove to send him toward the rocks below, and not a squeak out of the blaggard on the way down.
"Tell us what happened, lad," came all the questions for Eddy, who gave them all the same answer. "Da was wobbly on his feet from the smoky air in Donohue's and needed some sea air to clear his lungs," Eddy told them all. "He never heeded me about taking the short walk home the way he was."
Little Eddy watched Father Flan shake the holy water on the wooden box, wondering if it makes Da's voyage easier, to wherever Jesus is sending him. He wondered a little too if he needed to mention that little push he gave Da toward the sea when he faced the priest next week in confession.
First published: November, 2006
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