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"Oh, fuck me!" Saoirse curses as she drops her mascara in the sink, hastily picking it back up and dragging it through her eyelashes.
I laugh watching her in the mirror, combing through my tinsel-laden hair with my fingers and trying to quell its frizz after walking to the venue in the rain.
The walk here was full of chaos, though we found it fitting for our final destination. First, Saoirse had to empty her entire purse to find her bus pass, then it began to pour once we made it into the city, and we had to run under shelter of our arms to the pub, tripping over our ill-advised shoe choice, mine of open toed wedges, and Saoirse's of the highest heels she owned. But now, in the women's bathroom vanity inside the pub, it all felt worth it, as the excitement coursed through us.
"Okay, you've got to tell me what I should write on my tits now," Saoirse uncaps a marker, and pulls down the front of her tank top. "You said you'd think about it, but you still haven't told me what you think, babe."
"God, I don't know," I turn towards her and lean on the counter, considering the options. "What about just, 'brits' and then 'out'?"
"'Brits out'? Your mind is beautiful, love," Saoirse smiles and hands me the marker. I begin scrawling out the words to be revealed. She practices her flash in the mirror, and the other girls in the bathroom giggle with us.
Suddenly, we hear the ring of feedback coming from the pub behind the bathroom door, and we all begin gathering all our various products into their variously colored bags inside bags. The show would start any minute now.
"Are you ready?" Saoirse asks, swinging her purse back over her shoulder.
"Of course," I grin.
"Right then. Let's go!" She pushes open the door leading back into the pub, and suddenly our every sense is flooded by the pub's energy.
It's dark besides the blacklight illuminating the sweeping neon lasers that scaled the walls and low ceiling. The crowd melds into one as a fog machine covers them in thick haze, doubled by the puffs of weed emanating from the crowd itself. There's a looping club track already blasting from the speakers that echo off of each other, enveloping every inch of the club in pumping music.
Saoirse grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd gathering in front of the stage opposite the bar, and through her expert weaving, we somehow end up at the front. She wasn't lying when she said she'd done this before.
And once we reach the front, the stage is lifted only a few feet off the ground, holding a DJ booth and two microphone stands in front of it. Then, behind all the equipment, is a wall-spanning Irish flag, with a distinctive logo printed on it. The logo of who we came all this way for.
Kneecap.
They were back in Belfast after a small European tour, and they were holding a local show to celebrate their return, with news of the show only spread by word of mouth, in their typical underground style. Thank god Saoirse heard of it, we had been huge fans of theirs for a while, and RSVP'd to the venue in a heartbeat. And despite the fact it was only my third week in Belfast, I was raring to go. Saoirse also figured it would be one hell of an immersion into Irish culture.
After getting to know the other fans standing around us, the music suddenly began to quiet, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
DJ Próvaí walks onto the stage, waving for the crowd to get louder. Saoirse and I scream along with everyone else, with Saoirse reaching her arms above her head towards the stage. DJ Próvaí has been her favorite ever since she started listening to Kneecap, so I expected nothing less as she giddily bounced up and down as he scanned the crowd.
“Gosh, he’s fitter in person!!” Saoirse says, turning to me.
I laugh, and we lock arms as we continue to vibrate with excitement.
Then, DJ Próvaí hits a few switches at the DJ booth and a beat begins to play, blasting through the speakers. As the crowd erupts again, the vocalists of the band emerge from backstage.
Mo Chara and Móglaí Bap saunter in front of the crowd, grabbing their microphones from their stands and welcoming the crowd. I couldn’t contain my excitement anymore and used all my breath as I screamed for them. Especially Mo Chara.
Really named Liam Óg Ó hAnnaidh, I fell in love with him over the course of becoming a Kneecap fan. He was endlessly cheerful and looking towards a brighter future, with his beaming smile and sparkling doe eyes. He was really what I wanted to see, of course, Kneecap was nothing without all its members, but Mo Chara was most special to me.
Him and Móglaí Bap walk up to the edge of the stage and reach in their pockets, pulling out small bags, which they lean down and begin doling out to the audience. Saoirse and I nearly faint as Móglaí Bap hands two over to us with a wink.
The tiny plastic bag is branded with the Kneecap logo and holds a fine white powder. Saoirse quickly opens the bag and pours some of the powder on the back of her hand, before snorting it. She throws her head back and laughs, taking my hand and beginning to pour out my bag as well.
“Wait, what?” I look up at her.
“It’s coke! Just do it, when are you gonna get the chance to do Kneecap coke again?” She laughs, pushing my hand up to my face.
I hesitantly follow her moves, but only manage half the line before I wave my other hand and Saoirse takes it for herself. At least one of us would be slightly more sober!
“God, I fucking love Kneecap!” Saoirse yells, and the crowd cheers at her. I pull her closer to me and try to tell her to calm down but I can barely say a word through my elated laughs.
After the crowd does their collective lines of coke, we hear the first notes of Kneecap’s most well known song, “H.O.O.D.”. Mo Chara begins this song, and Saoirse and I know every word along with him.
We throw ourselves into the music, swinging our hips and arms, nodding our heads to the beat. It’s everything we do in our dorm room, but dialed to the eleven.
When the chorus arrives, the crowd joins together in chanting with the band. “I’m a H, Double O, D! Low life scum, that’s what they say about me!” This was all I wanted it to be, in a bumping pub surrounded by people who love my favorite band just as much as I do.
The concert feels like being on top of the world, from the thumping “Fine Art” to the singalong “Get Your Brits Out”. Saoirse’s tit-flashing is hardly as shocking as maybe I thought it would be, as it’s apparently a thing, and there were quite a few other girls with slogans on their boobs as well for the duration of the song. As the song starts, I hand Saoirse the marker, and she writes “Mo” and “Chara” across mine. I was having too much fun dancing and singing with Saorise during the song to see if Mo Chara had seen me, though I didn’t mind, it was more so a joke for us than any onlooking men.
The set went on, and I never wanted it to end. Especially as my favorite song, “Cearta”, begins to play. For this song, Mo Chara jumped off the stage into the crowd and performed it in the middle of everybody. We all huddled around him, and he turned the mic to anyone who knew the words. My heart pounded in my chest as he stood so close to me, but any other feeling than pure hype couldn’t surface. Mo Chara turned around from singing the last line of his verse and held the mic out to me. He even made direct eye contact with me, and I couldn’t deny he was posing it to anyone else. I excitedly sang along, “C-E-A-R-T-A, Is cuma liom sa foc faoi aon gharda, Dúidín lasta, tá mise ró-ghasta, Ní fheicfidh tú mise i mo sheasamh ró-fhada!” Again, giving all the energy I did when I performed it for myself in the shower. Mo Chara smiles wide, his eyes lighting up. When the chorus finishes, he quickly takes off the sunglasses from his head and puts them on mine, somehow gentle in such a fray, before he continues passing the mic to another fan. Saoirse screams and shakes me back and forth, while I hold the glasses on my head, near ready to explode with joy as my face heats up red. Me, of all the others in the crowd? I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just some sunglasses, but I also want to believe it means so much more.
Eventually though, after what felt like a lifetime of traveling through their discography where it felt like nothing outside our little pub mattered at all, the encore came and went. The crowd disperses as the band begins to pack up their equipment.
Saoirse and I plan on heading to the bar of the pub to order a few pints. We could use a drink, even though we thoroughly enjoyed the concert, our feet hurt and we felt pretty tired by the end of it. Before we could order though, I had dropped one of my rings in the middle of the show, so we search the floor after everyone mostly cleared out.
“Know what, just go and order for us. I’ll keep looking,” I tell Saoirse, who nods, and walks towards the bar. I know her patience would run out soon, as her mind is firmly fixed on a pint of Guinness about now.
The floor is sticky and run amok by debris, which makes it near impossible to find anything, especially in this darkness. Though I couldn’t leave my butterfly ring behind, it’s far too cute to forget about!
As I continue looking, there’s a sudden illuminating light above me, and there! I found my ring almost instantly and put it back on. When I look up to find the source of the light, I stumble in shock. Mo Chara is sitting on the edge of the stage, holding his phone flashlight up.
“Lose something?” He asks.
“Sorry, it was just my ring.”
“Don’t be sorry,” He smiles. “I just wanted to help you out. But I’ve also found something of mine.” He sits with his elbows leaning on his knees, looking at me knowingly.
“Oh!” I reach up and take off his sunglasses from my head. “I-I didn’t know you wanted them back–“
“I’m having a laugh,” He leans back and laughs to himself. “You’ve got ‘em. Don’t worry about it.”
I nod, looking at my reflection in the lenses. My cheeks are already a rising pink.
“Hey, listen,” Mo Chara gets my attention. “You with a friend?”
“Yeah! Um, she’s getting a drink at the bar.”
“Right, if you wanna get her, we’ve got some room backstage if you wanted to hang.” He motions behind him, to a room tucked in the corner where DJ Próvaí was currently hauling his turntables into.
“Y-Yeah, of course!” I quickly blurt out, without so much as processing any of what he said, and quickly run over to the bar to get Saoirse.
“Saoirse!” I shout, grabbing her shoulder. “You’re never going to believe me!”
“What?” She turns around with a pint in either hand.
“Mo Chara just asked if we wanted to come backstage with him!!” I’m shaking now with both nerves and excitement.
“What?!” Saoirse almost drops the pints, but quickly hands one to me, and we both take a long sip before setting them on the bar and rushing back to the stage.
On our way, Saoirse turns to me. “Hey, check me, quick! Do I smell?”
I shake my head. “No, you’re good! And your makeup hasn’t moved an inch! Me?”
“You’re good!” She says. “That cherry perfume is delicious, trust me!”
I giggle to myself. I didn’t know where in hell this night was going, but I was damn ready for anything.
We make it to the stage and hesitantly step up onto it from the stairs on its right, shuffling towards the backstage door, intimidatingly labeled “authorized personnel only”.
But as we take our last chance to fix our hair and reapply lip gloss, the door swings open.
“There you are! Come in, come in!” Mo Chara holds the door open as Saoirse and I step inside.
It’s a pretty small room, most likely an equipment closet turned into a green room just for tonight. There’s two couches facing each other and a desk with a PC at the back. Miscellaneous tech and coiled cords are scattered around the room and stuffed into the corners. A low coffee table in the center of the room holds a smattering of half drunk pints and ID cards lying next to haphazard lines of coke. It really was quintessentially Kneecap.
“Don’t just stare, take a seat!” Mo Chara motions to the couches, where Móglaí Bap looks up from his phone at the far end of one.
“I promise I don’t bite!” He laughs, and Saoirse takes a seat next to him while I sit on the opposite couch.
“It’s so nice to meet you!” Saoirse says. “I’m called Saoirse!”
“Feicim, an as Béal Feirste thú?” Mo Chara replies, but I only recognized the Irish name for Belfast, otherwise I don’t know what he asked.
“Ní hea, tógadh mé i nDoire.” Saoirse puts her hands on her hips. “Díreach cosúil le DJ Próvaí!”
As she finishes talking, DJ Próvaí opens the door to the backstage room, and takes off his balaclava as he steps inside. Saoirse gasps, almost leaping out of her seat. Fans had seen him without his balaclava before, though I’m sure it was different in real life for Saoirse!
“DJ Próvaí! I’m a massive fan!” She exclaims, and he looks almost taken aback.
“Oh, well, thank you, love,” He smiles at her, walking over to the PC in the back. Saoirse follows him and leans against the desk, continuing on a conversation in Irish.
Mo Chara sits down next to me, his arm on the back of the couch as he leans against his hand. “So, you’re definitely not from around here.”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m American.”
“American?!” He gawks. “What in God’s name are you doing here then?”
I laugh. “I’m studying abroad for a few semesters.”
“And you chose here, of all places?”
“Well I’m studying English, and I was offered either to travel to London or Belfast at the time.”
Mo Chara almost can’t believe it. “Between London and fucking Belfast?!”
“I know, I know, it’s not the expected choice,” I had already had this conversation many times over. “But I already knew Saoirse from being online friends, and I knew I would be lost in London without someone like her. London’s huge, and when I visited there on vacation when I was in high school, it felt like going to a party I wasn’t invited to, I guess.”
Mo Chara nods. “I know what you mean. I’m sure only the English can make themselves at home there. Everyone else is always just labeled an outsider,” he seems to reminisce for a moment, before shaking his head. “Anyways, we’re happy to have you in our city! How long have you been here?”
“About three weeks so far!”
“Ah, has Saoirse made you experience all of Irish culture yet?”
“Well I’ve had the Guinness and red lemonade, but I mean, this night has probably been the most culturally immersive so far.”
Mo Chara laughs, but reluctantly nods. “I guess we are quite the culture shock. Music’s a good way to learn about a place though, or a language. Didn’t you know the words to ‘Cearta’?”
“Of course, it’s my favorite song,” I shrug. “But I don’t really know what any of it means, I’ve just memorized how it sounds.”
“You haven’t learned any gaeilge?” He looks disappointed.
“N-not yet, at least. I know some basic stuff, but nothing to hold a conversation. I’d love to learn, but I’ve just got so many interests and so little time. I do speak Spanish, but as with everything, I should really practice it more.”
“Don’t worry about it, a lot about language is difficult. Don’t I know that! But either way, you’ll pick up some gaeilge just by living here. I always think, another person attempting to learn Irish or living around it is another person saving the language.”
“You’re right,” I smile. He really could say anything and make it sound so inspirational.
"But you know Spanish? That's common for Americans, isn't it? Well, seeing as you are on the border of Mexico. That's a shit situation right now, though, what with that jerk-off in office. I can see why you'd want to leave when you could." He reasons.
"Yeah, it's been bad for a while," I sigh. "America's complicated. While almost half our population is disenfranchised, the country is still somehow the most dominant culture in the world. It's a weird thing to be American. And now especially, to be an American in politics or in activism. Because apparently bigotry is a 'matter of opinion' and human rights violations are just 'partisan policy', because everything in American politics is a matter of grand morals. It's frustrating. But I don't want to leave my country behind, I still love the same as anyone who loves their home. And I want to help make America better, not just give up on her. Of course it's not the same, but the spirit you have for Ireland sometimes makes me feel like there is a world where America can be ‘reunited’, so to speak.” I suddenly realize how long I’ve been talking, but shit if I didn’t say something worth saying.
Mo Chara looks sort of surprised. “I’ll be damned. Maybe I’ve got a simplified view of Americans, or you’re just an outlier, but that was the best analysis I’ve heard about America in a long time. I suppose too many conflate your government with your people, which, hell, like we don’t know what that’s like. All us English colonial projects are fucked up in one way or another.”
“Isn’t that true!” I laugh.
He continues staring at me in silence for a moment while I smile. Then he looks away, shaking his head. “I like that you think about that kind of thing. I swear I’ve had people fall asleep on me while I’m talking about culture and shit like that.”
I light up. “Me too! But I don’t know why some people are interested in it! Especially when it’s their culture, they don’t realize how important it is until it’s pointed out, or worse, taken from them.”
“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Mo Chara leans his head to the side, with a smirk on his face, which is now increasingly close to mine. I want to hold his pretty face and kiss him, but I only bite the inside of my cheek and stare back at him. And his lovely blue eyes.
Just as it seemed Mo Chara was going to say something, Móglaí Bap stands up from the couch and motions towards the door. “Tá mé ag dul ag ól pionta eile.”
Mo Chara nods. “Téigh ar aghaidh, beidh mé anseo leis an gceann gleoite seo.” He winks at me, but I’m lost.
Móglaí Bap scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Ok, I’ll be back in a second.” He pushes open the door and leaves.
“What did you–“ I start.
“Don’t worry about it,” Mo Chara waves his hand dismissively. “Do you want a drink? I got this for myself, but I haven’t drank from it.” He hands me a full pint of Guinness.
I nod, taking a sip. To be honest, I still haven’t assimilated enough to enjoy it, but I liked it just for its cultural value.
“What’s your name?” Mo Chara asks. I tell him and he smiles. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl, then.”
“What?” My chest tightens and I can’t make myself believe what he said.
“Nothing,” He laughs to himself.
Mo Chara and I continue talking about cultural identity, and soon Móglaí Bap returns with his drink, and as he sits down, DJ Próvaí spins around in his chair. “So, I was thinking we could have a session at mine tonight?”
Móglaí Bap holds up his pint in a cheer. “Wouldn’t miss it!”
They both begin packing their things up, Mo Chara begins to join them, before smiling at me. “You coming with?”
I quickly look over at Saoirse, who enthusiastically nods. I grab my purse and stand up beside him, so buzzing with nervous excitement my legs feel unsteady. “Of course!”
As we leave the pub, we quickly realize the rain hasn’t let up. And now with midnight behind us, it was colder, too. We were about to start heading out either way, but Móglaí Bap nudged Mo Chara’s arm, and motioned to me.
He hit his friend back, before Mo Chara quickly took off his black windbreaker and handed it to me. “You’ll catch cold.”
I hesitate, trying to be humble. “Oh, no, I’m alright, I don’t–“
“Mate, you’ve got no sleeves on that top of yours and it’s fucking blistering out.” He holds the coat out for me, and I slip my arms into it. “There you are,” he smiles at me as I zip up the front.
As we start walking down the sidewalk, Mo Chara wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him.
I could stay cuddled into his side forever, the way he held me felt instantly at home and comfortable. I usually found it hard to connect with people immediately like this, nevermind stand close to or touch them. I had a loner inclination, but with him, I felt a connection instantly. Like we’d already known each other forever.
I wrap my arm around his waist and he looks down at me. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry, love,” he rubs my shoulder as we continue down the road.
Eventually we make it to the bus stop, and wait for a bus to arrive, allegedly any minute now. It was going to be 30 minutes to DJ Próvaí’s place, and I’m already tired. I was always more of a sleepy sentimental drunk than anything else. I found myself leaning my head against Mo Chara’s shoulder.
Saoirse taps me, “You alright? We could catch another bus back to the dorms,” she suggests.
“No, I’m okay!” I knew Saoirse would never forgive me if I did agree to that, she’d party until the sun rose.
She enthusiastically nods, shaking my arm. “Well then wake up!!”
Eventually the bus did arrive, with an exhausted old man at its helm. We stepped onto the creaking steps, flashing our bus passes. The bus was desolate, completely empty, and half of the fluorescent lights were out. Móglaí Bap and Saoirse sit opposite Mo Chara and I, while DJ Próvaí stands, holding onto one of the support poles. We were all a bit drained, as to be expected from both performing a show and dancing in the crowd of one, but I'm sure all the coke still had the men's adrenaline pumping. Saoirse most of all, she was still practically jittering, continuing to tell her ridiculous stories to an entertained Móglaí Bap.
"I see why and you and her are friends," Mo Chara says to me. "You're opposites, but balance each other out. Sort of like Naoise and I, you know. He's the funny one and lighthearted, I'm always more serious about things."
I smile to myself. I don't think I've ever met someone who could so perfectly put everything I feel into words. "I know, I'm the same way. I like that about you," I say, letting my head fall on his shoulder. I really wanted to fall asleep just like this.
“You’re fucking perfect,” Mo Chara practically whispers to me, holding my hand. My eyes are already wanting to desperately close, but I try to keep myself awake.
He tilts his head towards me. “Hey, do you wanna lay down? I’ll tell you no one else is gonna be taking this bus at this hour.”
I look at the three empty seats to my right, with no arm rests between them, and the idea of laying down sounds pretty nice. I stretch out my legs onto the empty seats and lie down with my head on Mo Chara’s thigh. I can hear Saoirse giggle, but I’m too comfortable to care. I can only think about if DJ Próvaí has a nice couch I could sleep on.
As I lay down and close my eyes, Mo Chara begins running his hand over my head and through my hair. I could simply melt away as he swipes my hair out of my face and behind my ear.
“What’s this shiny stuff in your hair?” He questions, in a gentler voice than usual.
“Tinsel,” I mumble. Saoirse put it in for me before we left our dorm.
“Tinsel,” he repeats. “It’s gold. It’s pretty, it matches your eyes, too.” He says it so matter-of-fact-ly. Outside of his charming smirks and passionate remarks, I guess he could be sweet. Though for someone so unapologetically himself, it’s not surprising he’s genuine with others as well.
“I can shut up now. I’ll just wake you when we get there,” Mo Chara pulls his hand away and crosses his arms. I’m sure someone shot him a look and he became embarrassed. So I reached up and pulled his arm back over me, wrapping around my shoulders, a way of telling him not to worry about anyone else. He doesn’t move away.
Then, it didn’t really matter where I ended up after that. I felt, strangely, like I was safe there, with this connection I just wanted to bask in for as long as it lasted. I hadn’t felt that way since I left my home state for college, then doubly so when I came to Belfast. But I couldn’t regret it, who knew I would’ve found something so special here, of all places? And while I wanted to hope that I would see him again, again, and again, I also didn’t want to worry myself about it. Whether he disappeared the next day or we kept meeting up, it didn’t change this one night, which would always remain the same perfect memory.
We are here now. Now is most important, because relationships and revolutions don’t stop to worry, there is only what action you are taking now, there really is no point in dwelling on the past or wondering what could happen in the future. If something is important, say it now. And if Mo Chara, who started a band with no hopes of success in a dying language to speak out for his culture and homeland, loved someone, she sure as hell wasn’t going to wait to say it.
While I thought to myself about everything, I felt a kiss pressed to my temple.
“Tá mé i ngrá leat.”