ten years

It’s ten years today since the Good Friday Agreement. I remember that day well not just because of what was going on in the wider world, but because of what was going on in my world. In the afternoon I met V at Fat Boys in Fortitude Valley and managed to slip down the few steps between their top level and their ground level and land in an ungainly way on my lower back. While we sat drinking coffee, I was uncomfortably aware of how much my back was hurting. It had rained hard that day. I left V and walked slowly and painfully down Brunswick Street to the Village Twin, where M and I were supposed to meet after she finished watching a film. But she had got soaked on her way to the cinema, so we met only briefly and then went she went home. My flatmates had gone away for Easter so I walked the short way home to an empty house, starting to feel incredibly sorry for myself. My back was still hurting and I was getting worried. I talked to A, who told me to stay right where I was and she would come over and make me dinner. I loved her for that. In the end though, my parents came and took me to the hospital. Happily, though slightly anticlimactically in terms of this story, everything was ok and I had nothing more than bruising.

As I write these moments now, ten years ago they were in the process of being lived.

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