Being a Belfast woman who has been uprooted and replanted several times in different countries and continents, has made Noreen Kane a little peculiar.  Having performed poorly at school under the loving tutelage of the nuns, she found herself at 30 yrs old avidly studying in a foreign country to become an Occupational Therapist and now at 69 yrs old doing an Open University degree in Arts & Humanities and Creative Writing.  With a short little span of attention and all the traits of a Scorpio she is consistently sucking the marrow out of life.  After writing alone for 65 yrs, she became a member of two Northern Irish Writing Groups, Words Inc and this writing thing last year.  She has discovered that she relishes critique, as it has improved her writing and performing skills.  Her writing isn’t specific to one genre, but the more intense the emotion the better. Noreen’s ambition is to wake up breathing.

The Miseducation of Dora Flannagan

Walking to the bus-stop we checked the time of the next bus into Belfast city
centre. The time-table said that a bus would be along in fifteen minutes. But it could be five minutes early or twenty minutes late, according to the whims of the driver.
Let’s walk to the next stop, instead of standing here.
My mother was incapable of just standing at a bus-stop and waiting for a bus.
We had done this all my life. Caught between bus-stops so many times, Lord knows how many we had missed over the years.
Hi, Dora! How’s it going? A neighbour called out as we passed their gate.
Fine Sonny, we’re on our way to town. My mother smiled at him.
We trotted quickly on. Looking at me she asked,.
What’s it like being Mrs Orr? Has anyone called you a ‘Bore’ yet?
No people usually have more manners. She grinned at me.
Formalities now out of the way, she got to the point.
I’ve been watching television in the mornings.
I didn’t know there was TV in the mornings.
Television for Schools, I’ve been getting quite the education.
Oh! I remember that, we used to watch that in class.
Well, the other day there was a programme about sex education.
She dropped that from a great height!
The silence between us developed its own personality while waiting for one of us to speak.
I caved as she knew I would.
Mammy, you’ve got five children what do you need to know, that you don’t already?
Ach, there was nothing else on. It was after the History, and I just wondered how they’re teaching it these days.
It’s still done the same way with the same results, Mammy.
Are you mocking me Ber-na-dette Flannagan?
Jesus, she’d broken me in three and forgotten my married name.
You’d be surprised at the things even a gype like you could learn from it.
I glanced at her. She was looking uncomfortable with the whole topic.
Where was this going?
Like what, what could I learn from it?
Oh, all sorts of things. There’s things I’ve never heard of.
Like what?
I swear as the smirk faded from my mouth, I felt the trap closing around me. I was like a fly caught on the sticky paper we used to hang from the ceiling in the summer. I knew it was there and I still slammed into it. She side-eyed me, her bright red lipstick pursing.
They were talking about oral sex, and I’ve never heard of it.
I knew what was coming next, I just knew it. This bloody woman.
Do you know what it is? Heat was soaking her cheeks by now.
Mammy you’re 70, what do you need to be knowing that for? Have you got a new boyfriend you’re keeping a secret from us all?
It was just deflection. I was hoping to distract her, knowing she would explode.
What the hell is wrong with you? I could never look at another man after your father.I had one good husband and that was enough. Anything after him could only be a disappointment. What would your Daddy say if he could hear you?
Guilt! The Napalm in my mother’s arsenal. It was good for every occasion and blistered our skin.
It was a joke for God’s sake, just a joke.
Well, if you’re the only one laughing, how funny are you? You’re such a fool at times, Bernie.
We reached the bus-stop, still no flaming bus.
Let’s keep walking to the next one.
I thought I’d got away with it.
Well, what is oral sex?
Mammy I don’t know! Why do you think I would know? I can only make a guess.
I was reluctant to tell an outright lie. A good liar needs a good memory and a quick wit, neither of which I possessed, according to her.
What’s your guess then?
She was relentless.
How was I going to dance around this?
If I was too knowledgeable, she’d want to know how I knew about it.
Well, when you take medicine orally you put it in your mouth, so I assume it’s
something to do with that.
I was tap-dancing.
Oh… She frowned, looked at me and then looked to the bus-stop in the distance.
Fourteen steps further, the penny dropped. She turned to me, face aflame and put her hand to her cheek.
Oh my God! The poor prostitutes! Sure you couldn’t be paid enough to do that!
I burst out laughing.
Now what’s so funny? Is this another one of your jokes?
No, it’s just your reaction.
I watched in disbelief as another bus rumbled past us.
A thought occurs to her.
But why are they teaching schoolchildren, on TV, about what prostitutes have to do?
That was a good question.
Maybe it was a Careers programme you were watching Mammy.