Life is really odd sometimes. You can be happy as can be one moment. Three sheets to the wind. Not a care in the world. Enjoying the moment. Thinking about nothing at all. Then BANG. Something happens and pulls it all away. Not directly. But enough to make you realise some things...
Last Sunday I was due to meet up with Sparrose and emma_treasure for lunch, drinks and general tomfoolery. The day started well. It continued to be good all through to lunch time and beyond. While we were walking back from one end of the city, looking for a camera shop I believe, we passed through a large archway that makes up a section of the imposing Central Bank building. This is a well known spot amongst people from Dublin and the surrounding area as a meeting point, skating area, place to hang out and kill some time etc. Mainly becaue of it's plaza frontage, which is rare in a city that seems to pride itself on chewing up every square inch of amenity to recycle into chain stores.
Under this archway, sat a young girl, aged about 16 or 17 I'd assume based on the glance I paid as we passed by. Duck taped to the wall behind her were several sketches, done using charcoal or pencil. These are why I hadn't paid her more than a glance. They were fantastic. I always find it rude to stop and stare at something, particularly on a busy street, so I didn't. I kept walking but I was incredibly impressed and fascinated by them as I was walking. I noticed a guy, just as impressed as I, handing her some money, 5 or 10 euro I think, as he passed close to her.
She had a sketchbook on her knees which were draped in what looked like a jacket. She had a kind face but also one that seemed, not quite broken, but certainly downtrodden. She seemed somewhere inside her to have a spark of hope that procludes her from having that totally broken look. This girl was clearly no junkie, nor no usual street kid who had gotten themselves there out of their own behaviour and misdeeds. This girl seemed different.
Beside her, I noticed, while the man was handing her the money. Was a young boy, about 10 or so, who seemed unattached to the girl. He was wearing a black tracksuit with a distintive logo on the left side shoulder that was facing me and was standing next to her, almost facing her within arms reach, flicking through the pages of this girls other, seemingly bigger, sketchbook. He seemed to be just looking at the images and talking casually to the girl. I thought little of it. Perhaps she knew him somehow. Who was I to know?
This occurance took all of 20-30 seconds to complete. We never actually stopped walking, and the two girls were talking still. We continued unabated, crossing through Temple Bar, the cobble stoned, "culture quarter" of the city. The street was approximately 100 yards long to the narrow arched walkway that leads you back out to the Ha'Penny bridge, crossing the Liffey river. A busy spot and no mistake. The archway in this instance was different. It was the old style, Victorian era arch, built across a narrow walkway where people could only just stand 3 abreast. It widens slightly as it exits toward the bridge. It was at this widening that the next stage of this tale occurs.
As we emerged from the narrow section of the tunnel. I heard, then noticed a young boy walking rather quickly from behind me. He was talking loudly on a phone to someone, I couldn't quite make out what about, but it seemed he was happy about it. As he overtook me and made it to the archway steps, he hung up the phone. It was at that instant, in a genuine moment where the world slowed down just so I could realise what was happening, that I realised who he was. There, on his left shoulder was the same pattern I noticed on the boy beside the girl in the archway. I hadn't seen it previouls as he had come up on the side of me that obscured it. Under his arm was a package of some sort. He placed his phone back in his pocket and the movemet showed me enough of what he had under his arm to reveal that it was the sketchbook belonging to the young girl.
At this exact moment, the boy shot off at full sprint down the street with the young girls sketchbook tucked under his arm.
I've been reeling ever since. The intense inhumanity of such a thing. That sketchbook could have been the last thing that young girl possesed in the world. It could have been the only way she had of expressing herself. It had no commercial value to anyone. This young boy was dressed with, what looked like, new clothes. Easily worth a couple of hundred between everything he had. Yet he felt the need to steal a defenceless girls sketchbook and gloat about it to his friends.
This behaviour sickens me to my very core. I haven't been able to get that girl out of my head since then. I can still see her face burned into the back of my eyes.
What kills me most about it is that I did nothing to stop it. In that split second that I realised what had occured, I should have grabbed him and whipped the book back from him. I could have at least chased him. Damnit I played cornerback for my college team for 3 years, I should have been able to catch him. If not, maybe he would have dropped the book and I could get that. These scenarious have been playing over my head since it happened. I keep seeing her in my head, even when I'm awake. Something will remind me of what happened. And that will in turn remind me of how completely useless I felt at that moment. How I should have acted. How I should have at least tried. It was the lowest point of my life, and will probably always remain that way.
Personally, I'm up to my eyeballs in debt. I have bills left, right and center. I'm not enjoying work at all right now and I'm beginning to get myself into even more financial trouble with some unexpected bills that could tip the scales against me unless something, physical or divine, interevenes. And yet, I feel lucky to have these problems because of what I saw. No matter how bad things get for me, I have a job that will eventually pay well, I have a house in which I live with my family and I have my health and wellbeing. Overall though, I have my sketchbook.
I've been back to that spot a number of times now to see if I can find that girl. I still haven't found her. I hope she's alright. I hope she's had the courage to start another book.
Last Sunday I was due to meet up with Sparrose and emma_treasure for lunch, drinks and general tomfoolery. The day started well. It continued to be good all through to lunch time and beyond. While we were walking back from one end of the city, looking for a camera shop I believe, we passed through a large archway that makes up a section of the imposing Central Bank building. This is a well known spot amongst people from Dublin and the surrounding area as a meeting point, skating area, place to hang out and kill some time etc. Mainly becaue of it's plaza frontage, which is rare in a city that seems to pride itself on chewing up every square inch of amenity to recycle into chain stores.
Under this archway, sat a young girl, aged about 16 or 17 I'd assume based on the glance I paid as we passed by. Duck taped to the wall behind her were several sketches, done using charcoal or pencil. These are why I hadn't paid her more than a glance. They were fantastic. I always find it rude to stop and stare at something, particularly on a busy street, so I didn't. I kept walking but I was incredibly impressed and fascinated by them as I was walking. I noticed a guy, just as impressed as I, handing her some money, 5 or 10 euro I think, as he passed close to her.
She had a sketchbook on her knees which were draped in what looked like a jacket. She had a kind face but also one that seemed, not quite broken, but certainly downtrodden. She seemed somewhere inside her to have a spark of hope that procludes her from having that totally broken look. This girl was clearly no junkie, nor no usual street kid who had gotten themselves there out of their own behaviour and misdeeds. This girl seemed different.
Beside her, I noticed, while the man was handing her the money. Was a young boy, about 10 or so, who seemed unattached to the girl. He was wearing a black tracksuit with a distintive logo on the left side shoulder that was facing me and was standing next to her, almost facing her within arms reach, flicking through the pages of this girls other, seemingly bigger, sketchbook. He seemed to be just looking at the images and talking casually to the girl. I thought little of it. Perhaps she knew him somehow. Who was I to know?
This occurance took all of 20-30 seconds to complete. We never actually stopped walking, and the two girls were talking still. We continued unabated, crossing through Temple Bar, the cobble stoned, "culture quarter" of the city. The street was approximately 100 yards long to the narrow arched walkway that leads you back out to the Ha'Penny bridge, crossing the Liffey river. A busy spot and no mistake. The archway in this instance was different. It was the old style, Victorian era arch, built across a narrow walkway where people could only just stand 3 abreast. It widens slightly as it exits toward the bridge. It was at this widening that the next stage of this tale occurs.
As we emerged from the narrow section of the tunnel. I heard, then noticed a young boy walking rather quickly from behind me. He was talking loudly on a phone to someone, I couldn't quite make out what about, but it seemed he was happy about it. As he overtook me and made it to the archway steps, he hung up the phone. It was at that instant, in a genuine moment where the world slowed down just so I could realise what was happening, that I realised who he was. There, on his left shoulder was the same pattern I noticed on the boy beside the girl in the archway. I hadn't seen it previouls as he had come up on the side of me that obscured it. Under his arm was a package of some sort. He placed his phone back in his pocket and the movemet showed me enough of what he had under his arm to reveal that it was the sketchbook belonging to the young girl.
At this exact moment, the boy shot off at full sprint down the street with the young girls sketchbook tucked under his arm.
I've been reeling ever since. The intense inhumanity of such a thing. That sketchbook could have been the last thing that young girl possesed in the world. It could have been the only way she had of expressing herself. It had no commercial value to anyone. This young boy was dressed with, what looked like, new clothes. Easily worth a couple of hundred between everything he had. Yet he felt the need to steal a defenceless girls sketchbook and gloat about it to his friends.
This behaviour sickens me to my very core. I haven't been able to get that girl out of my head since then. I can still see her face burned into the back of my eyes.
What kills me most about it is that I did nothing to stop it. In that split second that I realised what had occured, I should have grabbed him and whipped the book back from him. I could have at least chased him. Damnit I played cornerback for my college team for 3 years, I should have been able to catch him. If not, maybe he would have dropped the book and I could get that. These scenarious have been playing over my head since it happened. I keep seeing her in my head, even when I'm awake. Something will remind me of what happened. And that will in turn remind me of how completely useless I felt at that moment. How I should have acted. How I should have at least tried. It was the lowest point of my life, and will probably always remain that way.
Personally, I'm up to my eyeballs in debt. I have bills left, right and center. I'm not enjoying work at all right now and I'm beginning to get myself into even more financial trouble with some unexpected bills that could tip the scales against me unless something, physical or divine, interevenes. And yet, I feel lucky to have these problems because of what I saw. No matter how bad things get for me, I have a job that will eventually pay well, I have a house in which I live with my family and I have my health and wellbeing. Overall though, I have my sketchbook.
I've been back to that spot a number of times now to see if I can find that girl. I still haven't found her. I hope she's alright. I hope she's had the courage to start another book.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
How was the meet in the end?
Well hon, I believe what goes around comes around and that wee tyke will get his just desserts sooner or later.
xxx