Three Twisted Knots

I often think we talk things to death, Nathaniel and me. It’s not a bad thing: we like to talk things to death. If you saw us sitting together, the three of us, you might think Nathaniel and I were like articulate magpies, flicking from one shiny thing to another without a care as to whether or not anybody outside our peculiar little space can follow. And you might think Aoibheann was the one not following.

If you thought that, you’d be a fucking idiot. Because Aoibh is a genius. She is mad. She is judgmental. She is inhibited. She is simplistic. She is capable of internalising almost anything; in fact, she may internalise everything. And maybe that’s what makes her capable of doing what she did last night.

I’m not going to write down what she did, what she said. Because somebody might find this, and then it would be worthless. Because the beauty of Aoibheann’s genius is in the perfect, crystalline surprise and shock of it. I was shocked. In fact, I was horrified. But even I had to admit it was amazing. If Nathaniel and I are the magpies, Aoibheann is the jewel in our nest.