Listen up: Róisín Ingle on ... the parachute jump of life

She ended up there again. They have a €2 menu, you see. They have this double cheeseburger for €2. And six chicken nuggets for €2. And there are these twisty fries for €2 and they are not as tasty as the non-twisty kind, but they are bulkier. They give you a little bit more bang for your two bucks.

She was in here with two homeless men once and they introduced her to the joys of the melty cheese yokes, covered in breadcrumbs, which come with a chilli dip. One of the homeless men, who died last year, dreamed of being a chef one day. He was in raptures trying to describe the deliciousness of the melty cheese yokes. She thinks of him, and his smile and his enthusiasm for gourmet fast snacks, as she scans the menu. But it seems they have been discontinued and that’s probably for the best.

With the food in front of her, she has come to the conclusion that she’s never going to change. That she’s always going to end up here and that it could be a lot worse. She met a boy she knew once in virtually the same spot, years ago. She was hiding behind a magazine but he clocked her anyway. They both swore never to tell their mutual friends where they had ended up. She was having a Big Mac. And a chicken burger. He was sorting himself out with a quarter pounder and cheese. They were eating alone. Hiding. They were born that way.

She doesn’t understand herself. Only understands that she can’t change. She has spent so long trying to fix herself without smoothing out even one of the dents in her bodywork. Not one. And this place sells stuff that makes her forget. For €2, so it doesn’t seem like a crime. But when she leaves, she’s furtive.

And when she leaves, late at night, she welcomes in all the familiar feelings. Those awful feelings about herself, all that thinking “I am a bad person, I am a bad person. A. Bad. Person”. She gets into a taxi. She sits there thinking about everything and trying to ignore the dull, sick feeling in her tummy. She is thinking of people she knows who arrived at that point where they had to surrender and give up and they went away and got help and people taught them new ways of living and they worked hard and found a way through.

She is in awe of them but she doesn’t tell them. Can’t talk to them. Won’t reach out. They’ve come through and it seems they’ve been mended and they wouldn’t want a loser like her dragging them down. But does anyone really get mended, is what she is thinking, does anyone get properly fixed? Or do they just learn that every day is difficult in parts and joyous in parts and that unpredictable mix and mess is what really needs to be accepted.

In the taxi, she looks out at the Luas works taking over the town and their promise that the city will work better, more efficiently, soon. She leans her head against the window. The river is dark.

She wants to tell the driver to turn the sound down on the radio. Turn it off. If there’s one thing she hates when she’s in this place, it’s listening to songs she hasn’t chosen coming on and assaulting her ears.

She doesn't want to hear that song. And then she does. "Turn it up," she says. "Please". She recognises it from the first jangly musical introduction. She recognises it from her youth. Something Happens. Tom Dunne. It might be the greatest song ever written. On this night it feels like that.

Take your parachute and jump, you can’t stay here forever

When everyone else is gone, being all alone won’t seem that clever

Take your parachute and go, there’s gonna have to be some danger

Take your parachute and jump, you’re gonna have to take flight

That is the thing with the feelings, she thinks. They come and go. They rise and fall. There is fear and shame and then there is joy and hope all in the same breath.

Take your parachute and go, and wave to me as you are falling

Take your parachute and jump, you’ll hear a sound, it’s just me calling

It’s a beautiful day for jumping, and nothing’s here to keep you back

I’ll make it safer for you, your parachute is on your back

A song can change things. Not forever. But for the moment. She thinks of her own parachute all the way home. She imagines jumping into life, the wind catching her, holding her steady. She considers embracing the danger. She dreams of taking flight. She turns the key in the door. She is home. roisin@irishtimes.com