THE RAINBOW’S END
by C.K. Cute Kitten
“This was disappointing.” A cold wind blew, snowflakes and green shamrock confetti fluttering down onto the crowd. Bridget pulled her green scarf tighter and wished she’d just stayed in her warm dorm. The parade had featured bagpipers in kilts, Irish step dancers in green and gold costumes, people dressed up as leprechauns and throwing out chocolate coins to the children while the crowd was a sea of green.
On the surface, it had been fun, but deep down, something was missing. Bridget frowned, deep in thought as she moved with the green sea of people. Now that the parade was over, they headed off to various nearby pubs for green beer. The day felt like a sham, an excuse for idiots to drink themselves stupid. What had she been expecting? A celebration of Celtic pride? Getting in touch with the culture her ancestors came from? She was just a foolish Plastic Paddy, yearning for a culture and country she wasn’t part of.
Bridget shook her head and side-stepped a group of noisy young men in silly clover hats. As they brushed past, she could already smell the alcohol on their breaths. A hand reached out to grope her butt through her green woolen coat; she smacked it away and scowled. Perverts. That was just one of the reasons she didn’t like men much. Occasionally, there was a specimen she found attractive, but on the whole she was more attracted to women.
“Can you believe those shirts? ‘Kiss me, I’m Italian’, ‘Kiss me, I’m Puerto Rican’. How stupid. If you want the luck o’ the Irish, then you have to kiss an Irish girl on St. Paddy’s Day. Particularly one of the Fae. Like us, eh, Moira?”
That heavy Irish brogue caught her off guard. In this small college town, there was only one girl with a heavy Irish accent. Her heart sped up and her cheeks blushed. Bridget stood stock still, nervously looking around at the sea of faces, searching for her crush.
Moira stood a few feet away, pressed up against a lamp post as people walked past. The wind blew her golden curls and fluttered the hem of her knee length white dress. Bright metallic green thread in the shape of embroidered shamrocks glimmered on the hem in the weak March sunlight. The Irish girl wore a hunter green leather jacket with matching fringed boots and green stockings embroidered with gold shamrocks.
Moira was in one of Bridget’s classes. They’d spoken a few times, even worked on a project together once, but Moira was shy and reserved. She barely spoke. Bridget was crushing hard- the more she pushed and tried to get to know Moira, the more Moira recoiled. She only answered emails and texts relating to school work, and that had only been during the duration of their group project. She never wanted to hang out, no matter how many times Bridget asked. The only personal information Moira had shared was that she didn’t like men, and that was when a boy from class asked her out.
Yet here shy Moira stood, talking and laughing with another girl. Red ringlets poked out from the girl’s lime green beanie. The hem of her green skirt was embroidered with shiny golden shamrocks and she carried a violin case.
“Deirdre, you’re the one who wanted to watch the parade.” Moira stuck her tongue out and swung around the lamp post. “Besides, we need to get going. Oonagh promised turf from Tir Na Nog for the fire, and I don’t want to miss that!” She grabbed Deirdre’s hand and tugged her into the crowd.
A gust of wind burst upon the crowd; people grabbed their hats and pulled their coats closed. Moira’s white skirt flew up, revealing a glimpse of bulky mint green underwear peppered with darker green shamrocks. Two big shamrock-shaped tapes fastened to the front panel.
“Eep!” Moira bent over, struggling to hold her skirt down. Deirdre laughed, her own skirt whipping around her calves.
Bridget’s mouth went dry and her heart fluttered. Her vision tunneled in to the two girls. To Moira’s waist. Such bulky, bulging underwear. Almost like a diaper. She recalled all the times she managed to sit next to Moira in class, and all the faint crinkling sounds the girl made. She was certain Moira was in a diaper. The thought made her pulse skip a beat. Bridget herself was a closet diaper lover. Why did Moira wear diapers- for fun, or because she needed them? The question only fueled her flame for Moira higher. She needed to talk to Moira, to connect with her, like she needed air to breathe. She was in love with Moira.
She drifted closer to the two girls. Their talk of Fae, of Tir Na Nog- the Irish Otherworld, the land of the Fae- gave her no pause. She brushed it aside as them being silly.
“I’d like to see how Oonagh’s going to pull that one off. Besides, my feet are itching to spin a reel and my fiddle’s tuned for playing.” Deirdre held her hand out to Moira, red curls bouncing as the wind died back down.
Moira laced her fingers in Deirdre’s and followed the other girl into the crowd. Deirdre looked over her shoulder, her eyes sliding past Moira to skewer Bridget. She smiled. “So come, let’s go to the Rainbow’s End. There might not be a pot o’ gold, but the beer’s still golden. Along with some other liquids.” She giggled and Moira’s cheeks burned a rosy red.
Bridget quivered. Although the red headed Deirdre faced Moira, it felt like she was talking to Bridget. Inviting her to some pub called The Rainbow’s End.
Did she go? Did she stay? Something in Deirdre’s smile made Bridget feel like she was being invited to her doom. She shivered, and not from the cold. Deirdre and Moira took off, hand in hand. Bridget watched their retreating backs. Moira started skipping like a little child. Her shamrock-embroidered skirt flipped up, giving teasing glimpses of her thickly padded bottom.
Bridget licked her lips. She had no choice- she followed.