Why I Let My Hair Grow Out by Maryrose Wood Page B

our twenty-fifth anniversary any day now, and it was the power of love and clean living that kept us looking so young. The doctor rolled her eyes.
    â€œI hope you didn’t come to Ireland for the crack!” she said to me. “If this is the quality of banter you have at your disposal, you must be sorely disappointed!”
    Colin saw the look on my face and hooted with laughter. “Watch your words, Doctor! She’s from the States; now she thinks we’re a bunch of drug addicts! Not ‘crack’ like in America, Mor!” He slapped his knee. “ Craic! The pleasure of talking. The fine art of humorous conversation.”
    â€œIt’s the national pastime,” said the doctor, as she taped some gauze over my scraped forearm. “Especially for those with not much else to do.”
    â€œWell, it’s the cheapest form of entertainment, if you don’t factor in the cost of your drink,” said Colin. “What do you say, Doc? Will she live?”
    â€œShe’ll have a bit of a stiff neck tomorrow, but it’ll pass.” She helped me slide off the examining table. “You might wait a day to get back on the bike. Where was it that you fell, Morgan?”
    I didn’t actually know, but Colin did. “It was on the old hill road,” he said. The pace of his quick banter slowed, as if he were choosing his words deliberately. “The one that goes past Kelly Ryan’s place.”
    The doctor arched an eyebrow. “The road that leads up to the mound? Now I’m not surprised at all. That’s an old faery road, my dear!” she said, turning to me. “Funny things are bound to happen if you go up there alone. Didn’t your ‘husband’ here tell you?”
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“superstitious claptrap!” fumed Colin, as We Once again barreled down a narrow road in a wide van. “Can you believe such nonsense, coming from a doctor no less! An educated person, if you’re convinced by all them bloody diplomas framed on the bloody wall.”
    â€œBut you said yourself that it was a ‘faery mound,’ ” I said. I didn’t understand why he was so angry, but I was glad it wasn’t at me for a change. “What is a faery mound? And what is a faery road?”
    â€œIt’s a bloody mound and a bloody road that was built by the bloody faeries in the days of Long Ago!” he roared, going way too fast for my nerves. “It’s a hill and a road, that’s all it is and all it needs to be. Bloody embarrassing, all this living in faeryland. Makes us Irish sound like a bunch of dim bulbs. Bet you wish you were home again, eh, amongst the twenty-first century people?”
    â€œColin?” I felt like I’d never spoken his name aloud before. Maybe I hadn’t. “What are you so pissed off about?”
    He drove on for a minute, letting the van slow to a pace only a bit above the speed limit. “Here’s what it is,” he said, finally. “And mind you don’t repeat any of this, especially to Patty. But I don’t want to work for a bloody bike tour company all my life, you know? I’m saving money to go to school.”
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œDCU’d be fine with me. That’s Dublin City University,” he explained. “Technology, Mor. The Internet. That’s the economy of the future.” He tapped an unlit cigarette on the dash before sticking it in the lighter. “All over the country, the high-tech companies are starting up and the folks who get in on the ground floor are doing very well for themselves, very well indeed. It’s the new Ireland.”
    I wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with faeries, but Colin wasn’t finished yet.
    â€œDon’t get me wrong. I love this bloody country, as much as any man can love a country, and that’s the truth. But it’s the new Ireland I want to be a part of. We can’t survive on tourist