Fiction A Drink for St. Patrick’s

By Helena Mulkerns

The evening before Paddy’s day, Darragh made his way through the Aer Lingus departure gates in JFK for the first time in four years, almost to the day. The crowds arriving in on the ground floor were joyous and loud, in uproarious anticipation of the following day’s parade, the kilted pipers, green beer and all the rest. It was funny to be going in the other direction. Darragh was nervous, mostly, but he also felt a massive sense of relief. And of freedom.