To Alanna, on Jirish Day

Of the things Alanna loved to tell people about herself, the fact that she was Jirish was probably her favorite.

The first time she mentioned this term to me, I was a teenager – an angry, confused, and hateful teenager. I was sulking on the balcony of our shared godmother’s Upper East Side apartment, trying to ignore the laughter and happiness coming from inside.

Sipping on a Coke, looking down at the Park Avenue traffic, I couldn’t help but think of the movie Sister Joan had showed in class that week – God Bless the Child. It had made me question what it meant to be here, in the United States, with white parents. What it meant to have only a last name bind you to your family. What it meant to be different.

I suddenly felt an arm around me, and looked to see it was Alanna. She had a habit of smiling with her entire face. Her cheeks would rise parallel to her ears, while her pearly whites caught the sunlight. Alanna was born to smile.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiled.

“Hey,” I sighed.

Alanna’s face softened, sensing something was wrong. She moved in closer to me, and checked behind us to make sure no one was listening. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Do you ever feel like you just…you don’t belong anywhere?”

“All the time.”

I remember being surprised by this. Alanna’s existence had always seemed effortless to me. She was effortlessly cool, effortlessly beautiful, and appeared to be where she was meant to be at all times.

“Really?”

“Oh sure,” she said, her smile returning.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not really part of this family. Like I’m not part of any family.”

“What?!” she half-laughed, half-screamed. “Lauren, that is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know. I’m Asian and no one else is.”

“Well I’m Jirish and no one else is.”

“What’s Jirish?”

“Well, my father is Jewish and my mother is Irish which makes me Jirish.”

“But you don’t look like you’re Jirish? You don’t look any different than anyone else,” I said, motioning inside.

“Sweetie,” she said, “neither do you.”

*

Dearest Alanna,

The other day, I chased a short blonde in heels down a flight of stairs and two hallways thinking it was you. I don’t know why I was shocked when she whipped around and asked if she could help me.

I wanted to tell her she looks like someone I lost, someone I miss every day, someone I didn’t get a chance to make enough memories with. I wanted to tell her how hard you’d laugh when I told you this story. How we used to laugh so hard our giggles would turn into silence, with only our gasps for air echoing in our ears.

I wanted to tell her whatever god took you got it wrong. I wanted to tell her sometimes the hate I feel for that god burns through me like a fever I can’t shake. I wanted to tell her all the things I’d give to hear your laugh one more time.

I wanted to tell her about the Jirish girl who came to me on a New York city balcony and reminded me family is more than blood.

But instead, I said, “I’m sorry. It’s just that you look like someone I know.”

“I hope it’s someone nice,” the girl said.

“She was the best,” I told her. “She is the best.”

Until I see your Jirish smile again,
Lauren

Faker<< >>Pick A Color

About the author : LJSharks

Lauren J. Sharkey is currently a Master of Fine Arts candidate at SUNY Stony Brook's Program in Creative Writing and Literature. Her thesis is based on how her experience as a Korean American adoptee affects personal, familial, and romantic relationships. Currently, she works as the Marketing & Web Coordinator, and also maintains the title of Editor, for Kaylie Jones Books. Additionally, she serves as the Creative Nonfiction Editor of Reservoir Journal.

6 comments to “To Alanna, on Jirish Day”

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  1. loewen53@gmail.com'

    Laurie Loewenstein - March 17, 2018 Reply

    Beautifully written.

  2. unclemikie@msn.com'

    Unclemikie - March 17, 2018 Reply

    Hey Lauren,
    I never met Alanna . You describe her as someone I would of liked to have had the pleasure to meet.
    She’s looking down on you with that smile you so like.
    Happy Saint Patrick’s day.
    Love Unclemikie.

  3. Amelia.m.nilson@gmail.com'

    Amy Nilson - March 17, 2018 Reply

    What a beautiful memory

  4. Mindy@theplaceforwords.com'

    Mindy, Gary and Anne's friend - March 17, 2018 Reply

    This is bittersweet but gorgeous honest writing and brings Alanna right back into the room! I hear her voice in your words. Sorry for your sadness. She was/IS one special talented firecracker so very missed.

  5. monechetti_2407@yahoo.com'

    Michelle Sharkey - March 18, 2018 Reply

    It’s experiences like this one I wish I had with Alanna and the rest of you guys. Sucks being the far distant cousin sometimes. Love you Miss you xx

  6. chrissharkey46@yahoo.com'

    Chris Sharkey - March 21, 2018 Reply

    Thank you Lauren our family is America were one big melting pot cooking on Nana s stove as she spins the ladle

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