Rifiuto: Non Miriena

March, 1992

"So I told him he was stupid, an' he pulled me 'air in response!"

Kathleen looked up at the sound of laughter coming from the living room. She knew that laugh, and knew it well; Rowan Gallagher had spent every day since she was roughly eight at the McGee household, playing with Timmy and Sarah. She hand the oldest McGee sibling had become fast friends, best friends, quickly, and slowly, a relationship had started to develop. They were loosely using the terms 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' for each other, but other than holding hands in public, they wouldn't do much, mainly because they often got teased by the other kids.

"Jamie O'Shae 'twasn't bein' mean t' ye, Sarah. 'e likes ye!" Rowan replied through her laughter. The eleven-year-old wrinkled her nose.

"Yuck!"

Kathleen poked her head into the living room. The kids were sitting on the floor, the television on in the background, playing a round of Scrabble. Timmy was sitting with his legs crossed, and Rowan had sprawled out beside him, propping her head on her hand, while Sarah sat across from them, tugging on the end of one of the loose braids she'd asked Kathleen to put her hair in that morning.

"Wha's yuck 'bout it? Jamie O'Shae's go' a crush on ye, Sarah." Rowan singsonged, as Timmy leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him. Sarah opened her mouth to speak when the news came on, interrupting the television show the kids were listening to. Kathleen slipped into the room, leaning against the wall.

"'tis breaking news. The Supr'me Court 'as ruled in favor 'o th' plantiff..."

"Wha' case are they talkin' 'bout, Mams?" Timmy asked, turning to his mother. Rowan sat up, and Sarah stuck the end of one of her braids in her mouth. Kathleen sighed, taking a seat on the sofa.

"'twas tha' one 'bout th' girl, aye? Tha' 'twas raped by 'er neighbor an' go' preggers." Rowan said, turning to Kathleen, who was stopped before she could speak by Sarah.

"Tha's no' nice t' say, Rowan." Sarah spoke up, the braid falling from her mouth, the ends chewed and sticky, a nervous habit of hers. Rowan turned to the child.

"Bu' it's true." She defended. "Her neighb'r go' 'er preggers an' she want'd t' g' t' England t' 'bort it." The girl wrinkled her nose as she mentioned the English, as every good Irish child must.

"I'd n'v'r 'ave an 'bortion." Timmy muttered, tucking his legs back beneath him. Rowan giggled.

"Ye wouldn't, Timmy. Ye'd 'ave t' be a girl." He met her gaze.

"Well, I wouldn't wan' ye gettin' an 'bortion, then. No' if it's me kid." The grin fell from Rowan's face; it was quickly replaced with a look of shock as her dark eyes went wide and her mouth dropped. Kathleen cleared her throat, standing, deciding it was the perfect time to take Sarah into the kitchen so her oldest could sort out his mess.

"Sarah, love, why don' ye come 'elp me make lunch."

"Bu', Mams-"

"Now, Sarah."

Once the two were gone, Timmy swallowed; clearly he was in trouble. But before he could apologize, Rowan was up and out the door. It took a moment for him to follow, but by the time he did, she was halfway down the block, headed for the bookstore. "Rowan, wait! I'ma sorry-"

"Fo' wha', Timmy? Fo' tellin' me tha' I'ma 'ave t' 'ave yer kids someday? Tha' I ge' no say, even tho' it's my body?"

"Rowan!" He finally caught up, grabbing her gently by the arm and turning her to face him. "I dinna mean-"

"Then wha' did ye mean, Timmy? I'm no' yer prop'rty! I'ma independ'nt woman."

He swallowed. "I know. I jus'... I jus'.... don't wan' ye goin' an' 'avin' kids wit' anyone else, 's all."

She studied his features for a moment, before stepping closer. "Ye promise, Timmy?"

"Promise wha'?" He furrowed a brow, confused. She giggled.

"T' be mine, forev'r?"

The boy seemed to think a moment, before nodding. "As long as ye plan t' 'ave no one else's kids bu' mine."

"So I'm yers?" She asked, sliding her arms around his neck. He pulled her closer, his arms going around her waist until she was held against his chest. Timmy nodded again, harder this time.

"Aye, Rowan. Mine an' no one else's." She grinned, rising on her toes to brush a kiss to his lips, because he was a couple inches taller than her.

"Good. An' yer mine an' no one else's. Forev'r an' ev'r." She kissed him again, and he blushed; the most the two preteens did was hold hands in public; they were often picked on at school by the other kids because they were dating- usually out of pure jealousy on the other students' behalf.

They moved to share another kiss when shots rang out; instantly, the two hit the ground, Timmy on top of her, as bullets flew over their heads. A quick glance up told Timmy exactly what had happened- an English police car had rolled past, and a few Irishmen- who were now nowhere to be seen- had fired on the car, and the police in the car had fired back, missing the kids by inches. Once things had calmed down, Timmy stood, taking Rowan's hand and helping her up.

"C'mon, Ro, let's go back t' th' 'ouse." The girl turned back, kneeling down and snatching something quickly off the ground.

"Bu' Timmy," He tugged on her hand, and she followed, the object held tight in her hand. She glanced down again. "they're rubbers."

"Doesn't ma'er, Ro. C'mon."

Once back on the porch steps, Rowan held the object out to him. "Timmy. They're rubber bullets. Rubber bullets canna kill."

He met her gaze, not realizing exactly how wrong Rowan's theory would be in exactly three years' time.