It’s a Beautiful Day

Samantha McKenna

“It’s a beautiful day.” The train conductor was the third person to affirm the fact since my journey had begun at 8am. Both the taxi driver and lady in the ticket booth had been equally enthusiastic in announcing their acknowledgement of the exceptional temperature.

I was grateful to secure a solitary seat at the end of the carriage affording me the perfect view of all of its occupants without having to engage with any of them.

The chatter grew louder as we travelled along the tracks.

“Did you ever see the likes of it?”

“I hope it won’t be like three years ago when we had one week of sun in April and then we didn’t see it again for the rest of the year!”

It always fascinated me how people could converse for so long on the same topic every day without seeming to notice. Surely there are so many more interesting things to discuss, like war, religion, space, love, life, the meaning of life, the meaning of death for that matter. Racism, sexism, ageism, any of the ‘isms’ were surely fodder for a more stimulating conversation than the weather.

I wondered what had occurred in the past that the obsession with the weather and its daily discussion had become etched in the Irish psyche.

It was rife throughout the carriage. Women discuss the benefits of drying clothes outdoors so early in the year. Children planning a rare evening of outdoor activities on the local pitch. Men discussing everything from farming to the state of the roads were all affected by the arrival of this miraculous day.

Even the teenage girls who were not talking were taking full advantage of the weather by posing their scantily clad bodies against the sunlit windows of the train and pouting into their phones.

Their brightly coloured barely-there clothes made me conscious of my own attire. I looked down at my dark dress and heavy black tights and the sudden awareness of them made my legs itch. How strange I must have looked in this colourful scene, like a child’s puzzle where they had to spot the odd one out. I would pose no great challenge standing out today to even the youngest child.

Uncle Frank was there when I arrived and though I did not dislike him, his bachelor ways had left him sorely deficient in conversing with anyone but his own peers, and other than an awkward hello and a gesture to the car, our journey home was silent.

The sun had risen to its majestic highest when we pulled in to the drive. Without hesitation, Frank went ahead leaving me to acclimatise to my surroundings. I closed my eyes and allowed the heat of the sun to flood my face as the birds and the lambs filled the air with joyous harmony.

The grey house loomed large before me and, as I had done earlier on the train, it looked out of place in this beautiful setting. Inside the dimly lit room felt cold and empty and the joyful sounds of nature outside were replaced by muffled whimpers and the monotonous drone of prayer.

I wished I was back in the safety of the train, where the weather was the only concern of the day. I forced myself forward to the centre of the room to say a final goodbye that would never be heard.

It was a beautiful day, and it would change my life forever.

Samantha McKenna is a member of Inklings Writing Group, who meet on Tuesdays at 11am, and on Wednesdays at 7.30pm in the Annebrook House Hotel, Mullingar. Aspiring and fun writers welcome.