Welcome Backwards to Ireland - an excerpt from The Troubles
(please keep in mind this is still in editing)
Eventually, Mom took us back to the school, and after she left it hit me just how far from home I really was. As most kids around me busily readied for bed, chattering away and laughing here and there and paying me no attention, I debated whether I should take off my underwear before putting on my pajamas. I decided not to, slipped on my pajamas as quickly as I could and joined the line for the washroom, my wash kit in hand.
When I’d finished brushing my teeth and scrubbing behind my ears, I went back to my bed and slid between the starched, clammy white sheets and pulled my rug up tight against the chill. The wool itched against my cheek.
Soon Mr. Blackmore came in, said, “right lads, good night,” and flipped off the switch.
At first, the dorm remained deathly quiet and black, but before long the sound of hushed chatter rose as my eyes adapted to the dark, and the fellow in the bed next to mine said, “Who're you, then?”
“My…” I looked up to see who was asking, “I'm Paul. Nixon,” I said.
“Well then, Paul. Good to know you. So, where are you from then?”
I hesitated, unsure if I should say from Libya, Ireland, or America. “I came here from Alaska,” I said proudly.
“Really? Alaska? So, you're Canadian then?”
As we talked I began to relax and, after a few minutes, I even chuckled at something else he said.
Suddenly, the lights went on. Three older boys burst into the dorm laughing. They ran to the bed opposite mine and stripped the covers. “No, no!” said the young fellow in it. Two of the boys held him, squirming and pleading, while the third pulled his pajamas down. “Get ready,” he said, uncapping a tube of something in his hand.
“No, don’t! PLEASE!”
Next thing I knew, the third boy pounced. Moments later the young boy leapt from the bed and ran towards the washroom holding his crotch. The older