MONO ISSUE 2 - Flipbook - Page 61
LORELAI
by John Dorroh
after James Tate
Add a little bit of body text
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL DAY on the west coast, the fierce blue Atlantic winds bending
back the spines of grasses both weak and steadfast. There I sat, perched atop the moss
and algae-coated cliffs of Bundoran, County Donegal. There were a half-dozen surfers
donned in black wet suits and a couple of families with young children. I expected one
of the wispy lads or lasses to be swept into the sea and gobbled up like a piece of
bacon. A man approached from behind me. He didn’t frighten me at all. He took a seat
on the rocks, crossed his legs and said, “Hello, how do you do? My name is Ian and I am
looking for my lost daughter. Have you seen her?” “What does she look like?” I asked.
He looked up into the sky, tilting his head as if to avoid being hit in the face with sand. “I
don’t know,” he said. “What do you mean?” I asked. “You don’t know what your
daughter looks like?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her in over 20 years,” he said. “What
happened? Did you two have a fight?” I asked. “I don’t know,” he replied. “We might
have had more than a fight.” “Well, I’m very sorry that you lost her but I haven’t seen
any women who looked lost out here. I wish you had more information to go on.” “Me,
too,” he said. And then Ian started to sob uncontrollably, and I felt sorry for him. I found
a wadded-up Kleenex in my coat pocket and handed it to him. “Here,” I said. “Has that
been used?” he asked. “No, it’s been in my pocket since this morning.” He took the
Kleenex and wiped away his tears and then blew his nose. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re
a nice man. Do you think we could get a pint of beer at one of the pubs?” he asked.
“Maybe later,” I said. “I’m here to enjoy the view.” “It doesn’t change,” he said, “except
for when it’s raining. I will wait with you until you’ve had your fill of the beach and then
we can get ourselves a beer. I’m very thirsty.” “It could be a long time,” I warned him.
“That’s okay. I will wait. I haven’t had a beer in many weeks. I love beer.” I reached into
my pants pocket and pulled out 10 euros. “Here,” I said. “Take this and go buy yourself
a beer,” I said. “But drinking alone is not any fun. And it’s not healthy.” Ian stood up,
shaking sand and small wet rocks from his clothes. “You’re a very nice man. Not many
people would do what you have done.” “Thank you,” I said. “I guess I’ll see you later,”
he said, heading down the cliff toward the water.” “Sure thing,” I said. “And if you see
my daughter, please tell her that I waited as long as I could.” “I will,” I promised.
“What’s your daughter’s name?” I asked. “Lorelai,” he said. “Lorelai, Lorelai, Lorelai,”
he chanted as he traipsed down the slope toward the sea. I could hear him saying her
name for a long time. Ian did not go to the pub. Instead, he began to wade into the
turbulent waves. Two of the surfers tried to talk him back to shore. The children were
puzzled. He continued to meet the waves head-on until one of them grabbed him in its
giant palm and pulled him under, never to be seen again.
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