Niall O'Sullivan

high brow, low brow, none of that stuff in the middle


Posted on | December 2, 2017 | No Comments

My youngest has a strategy for when she doesn’t want to do something during the swimming lesson. She slides off the noodle or the floating mat and sinks into the water to tread a few inches beneath the surface, grinning back at me though chlorinated ripples. I laugh every time, scoop her back out and try again. Plonk. Back in she goes. She grins because she knows I’ll scoop her out again. She grins because she could do this all day. Sometimes I wonder how I look from her vantage point. An elongated pink smear of muffled authority. Scoop.Try again. Splash. Grin. She no longer drops off when I push her in the buggy for the full two miles between the pool and home. She demands fruit juice and chicken while I chew on silence. Each street flips from Endz to Gentry and back again. There was a time when the posh kids tried to sound common when they moved to places like this. The buggy’s wheels hoof over humps made in the concrete by tree roots. Every time I sink too deep into myself she shouts, “Chicken!”. When I’m chewing on some old hurt she cries, “Juice!”


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