Rifiuto: Non Miriena

Late 1994

A ceasefire had been called, between the British and the IRA.

No one knew how long it would last, or if it would. All anyone knew was that all of the world was waiting and watching, while Northern Ireland and her people sat on a powder keg, awaiting someone to lite the match.

But at the moment, in the small corner of Derry, all anyone was concerned about was the Grade 11 dance that was to take place in the backroom of The Heights Bar in Loughinisland, County Down. That summer, six men had been killed when UVF republican members walked in during the World Cup final playoffs between the Republic and Italy and opened fire. Five had been wounded; the attack was said to have been in retaliation for an INLA attack weeks earlier; the gunmen had claimed a republican meeting had been taking place, but no such meeting was confirmed, and it was well known that The Heights Bar had no affiliation with paramilitary activity, especially of the republican kind.

Months after the massacre, the pub had been nearly stripped bare and cleaned from foundation to roof; any trace of the massacre was gone, save for a small plaque that hung above the bar, in commemoration of the victims. As for the dance, the parents and school had voted and decided that it would be best to get the kids out of Derry, away from the violence, and they all knew that The Heights had a big enough lounge area to house a school dance; plus the dance would be good business for the small bar, who, since the massacre, had struggled to clean its image. While there were a few protests against having the dance in a bar where violence and death had taken place, the overall feeling had been that, as Irish, be they Catholic or Protestant, they would persevere, and that such a young generation should not be tied to the past as the older ones were. The younger generations deserved to have some time without the worry of death lurking around every corner, even if only for a few hours.

So that was how Timmy and Rowan ended up standing for pictures with their friends at The Heights Bar at seven that evening. Rowan had turned heads like many of the girls had, though she herself had shown up in a dark red halter dress that fell to just above her knees and a pair of black heels- it was a dress she'd begged and begged her parents for for weeks; eventually, they'd relented, if only because it was really the only nice dress that was even remotely appropriate for a school dance, as her mother had stated when Rowan had showed them the photo in the catalog. The halter straps were just thick enough and the cut not very low that nothing would be showing; unlike many of the girls who had shown up to the dance in the popular slip dresses.

Her mom had helped her curl her hair and put it up in a cascade of curls from a high ponytail, and she'd been allowed to do her makeup for this one night. Unlike many girls at her school who were allowed to wear makeup, Rowan wasn't allowed until she turned sixteen, and even then, it wasn't in her character to focus on her appearance so much, so that was even a slim to none possibility of ever happening. But tonight, she'd dusted her eyelids with some rose shadow and wore a slick layer of gloss on her lips; she wanted to impress Timmy, after all, not the other boys at the dance.

And impress him she did.

When they'd met at the school to catch the bus to the pub, Timmy had nearly dropped the corsage he'd brought her- for unlike the Grade 12's, the Grade 11's weren't allowed a prom, so the dance tonight made up for it.

As the students all piled into the pub, moving to the lounge area, Timmy grabbed Rowan's hand, tugging her back outside. They stood just a few feet from the door, the stars overhead their witness to this beautiful night. They stood in nervous silence for several minutes, before Timmy removed the Claddagh ring he wore, and held it out. "I... I know we... we been goin' t'geth'r f'r... f'r a while now, bu'... I..." He bit his lip; she waited patiently. "Bu'... woul' ye... wear me ring, Ro?"

Her dark eyes darted to the ring in his grasp, and then back to his gaze. "Timmy, are ye askin'-"

"No! No' yet." He cried, blushing. "I jus'... I... 'pplied t' MIT in th' States an'... when I gradua'e nex' year, I..." He stopped; Rowan knew that Timmy had planned on graduating early. He'd gotten early admittance to MIT, full ride and all, if he could come at sixteen instead of eighteen. "I don' wanna go, an' ye... an' ye no' bein' anyone else's girl bu' mine. Please, Ro?"

She took it, studying the simple ring, noticing how the two stones seemed to glisten like the stars overhead. "Like a prom'se?"

He nodded. "Mams sai' tha'... since we're ser'ous... she gave me th' ring a couple days 'go. Technic'lly, I'ma t' give i' t' ye when we ge' engag'd, bu' since I'ma goin' t' MIT nex' year, Mams sai' I coul' give i' t' ye now..." He stopped, thinking. "A prom'se t' ge' engag'd someday?"

Rowan nodded, slipping the ring onto her finger before throwing her arms around his neck. "Oh aye, Timmy! Absolu'ly!" He caught her around the waist, a huge weight having been lifted off his shoulders at her eager reply. He kissed her once she stepped back, as giddy as she was that she'd accepted the ring. As they joined their friends, neither had any way of knowing that the promise would never be kept.