Desperately Seeking - By Evelyn Cosgrave Page 0,98

chose a shy girl who had moved in from Newcastlewest. She gave me the impression that she wanted to be left alone, which suited me fine. I didn’t have the energy to make a new friend. Apart from an occasional encounter in the kitchen, I hardly saw her. She spent a lot of time in her room and I spent a lot of time out of the house.

I was throwing myself into as many different things as possible. When college opened I intended to join as many societies as there were nights in the week. I would debate, I would act, I would watch foreign films, I would learn to play the guitar, I would embark on Dungeons and Dragons; the only society I wouldn’t join was the Law Society. When I was an undergrad I had spent far too much time in the pub or crashing on other people’s floors. This time I would give myself a truly liberal education.

In the meantime, though, I was scouring the post-grad noticeboards for anything that would fill my evenings when I couldn’t stand the café bar any longer. I was delighted to find an array of cultural activities on offer.

One of the first things I went to was a play written by a student and performed by a mixture of other students and professional actors struggling to get a break. The theatre was a converted basement on The Crescent. I hadn’t known it was there though I must have passed it hundreds of times. It was a glorious feeling to sit on my own in the dark while the seats around me filled with the kind of people I hadn’t seen in Limerick since my early forays to the Belltable as a teenager: people who liked to see something new and experimental. They might enjoy it, but there was always a chance it would change their lives.

The play was called The Enigma, a well-chosen title. It was all voices speaking out of the dark with occasional bursts of dance or gymnastics. The actors looked like they should have been getting up for school in the morning but their commitment and enthusiasm were plain to see. After an hour I had no idea what the play had been about; the only thing I could say for sure was that I’d enjoyed being baffled. It was years since I had been to any play, not to mind one that was weird and low-budget and attended by people who clearly understood all the things that I didn’t.

It was the opening night and the playwright’s debut so there was a reception afterwards. I hung around because I hoped I might get into conversation with a few of the interesting people there. The men wore loose shirts and had inventive facial hair while the women had on big jewellery and very little makeup. Soon someone observed to me that the writing had been mature and daring. I wanted to ask him what the play had been about but he had dissolved back into the crowd before I could open my mouth. Then a boy told me that a gang was going round the corner for a pint. I thought, What the hell? and followed him.

As soon as I was out in the air, the only place I wanted to be was home. I didn’t have the energy to talk to people I didn’t know about a play I hadn’t understood, especially as those people were ten years younger than I was. Perhaps they weren’t as interesting as I’d thought they might be.

Mike would have put it all in context. He would have known whether or not the play was about anything. He would have made me laugh and feel good about the experience. He would have made everything clear.

Another night I went to a gig in the Green Room. The band was called The Fewer, The Better, a group of hot young musicians from Limerick. I had forgotten how easy it is to be at a gig alone: the music’s too loud for talk, and if the band’s good enough, all anybody wants to do is listen and watch, or maybe dance. Even I knew that this band was good but it was charming to watch so many young men make their way to the front to just stand with their arms folded and stare at what the lead guitarist was doing. You could see the awe and admiration in their faces. Afterwards I bought two CDs;