Snippet #2716810

Roisín O'Connor

"Eeuugh"

That was almost a word. The hangover, it seemed, was getting better.

Roisín O’Connor contemplated life as she lay face down in what she prayed was her own bed. Her head was trying to burst, her stomach seemed to be brewing fresh vomit and her tongue felt at least two or three sizes bigger than it should have been. And her face felt warm and heavy.

"Bleeeaagrh..." she muttered, in an almost conversational tone to the mattress. Despite her current condition, Roisín smiled mentally. She knew today would be a good day. After all, three facts lay firmly in her throbbing mind. Firstly her innate defenses against ethanol had not only allowed her to win the drinking contest, but were quickly working away, getting the alcohol out of her system. Secondly, she had finally figured out the subway system as evidenced by her getting home (she hoped). New city, new venture, new opportunities for stories. After all wasn’t New York supposed to be the city of dreams? Such things were always too good to be true, but Roisín was always drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Finally, and of all things, most importantly, she had avoided paying for any of the many, many drinks she had consumed the night previously.

Rosín inhaled deeply and instantly regretted it as her stomach protested. The duvet-filled stench of whiskey lay heavy in the air, mixed with the sharp tang of vomit and at the very least, four other unpleasant smells which she did not want to identify. Steeling herself, she cracked one eye open. Then, puzzled, the other. She wondered stoically if this time she had actually, literally drunk herself blind. Her vision was... beige. Slowly, realisation dawned upon her and she reached toward her face and removed the covers that were stuck to her sweaty face.

MISTAKE! Daylight flooded intrusively into her milky green eyes and spurned to sudden action, she rolled and threw her arm up to shield herself from the sun. "Christ!” She hissed, and pushed herself into a sitting position. Glancing around, it did seem thankfully, that she had made it back to her Air BnB apartment, alone, and by all that was good she had remember to plug her phone in last night/this morning. Reaching for her phone she had several snapchats from friends all around the world and from home. It was the one’s from home that she watched over and over until her body felt ready to move. Pulling off last night’s jumpsuit Roisín very ungracefully crawled to the bathroom and tumbled into the shower.

As she sat under running water Roisín decided that it would be a waste to let the day go on without seeing at least one of New York’s famous attractions. Though the thought of being in a big city or subway with people pressed up against her right now made her gag involuntarily and she wanted to be somewhere green. Central Park, wasn’t that supposed to be close by? Drying herself off and putting on her jeans, green tank top and a light white cardigan, Roisín googled the direction to the park. With luck it was only a 15min walk away.

With that Roisín pulled on her runners, plaited her wet hair threw her backpack over her shoulder and made her way to the park, pausing only to dip into a coffee shop to buy a hot chocolate and again to vomit, almost daintily into an alley way, and to readjust her ruby bracelet to over her cardigan and off her skin as it seemed to have absorbed some of the sun’s heat. Before long she found herself amongst the grass, sure the place wasn’t as grand as Dublin’s Phoenix Park, but it could serve as a home away from home for now. What she did love instantly was the variety of people who were walking around, people were sitting in trees, homeless men ate sandwiches, animals were being fed. Her mind began to fill with possible stories for all of them as she sat cross legged onto the grass and pulled out a notebook and pen and began to furiously write. She hadn’t even finished a page when she heard:

"OY! Stop recording us!"

Roisín’s head snapped up as she saw a rather dishevelled looking man marching towards the girl with her phone. The man, in Roisín’s eyes looked a little crazed, were these the crazy Americans her mother had warned her about? She wasn’t about to go tackle the man but she did pull out her phone ready to phone the Gardaí - urgh what was their name over here?- That’s right, ready to get the cops. “Hey mate! Calm the hell down!” she shouted toward him but keeping her distance, phone ready in hand to press call.