A Rainbow in the Terminal
Image of a rainbow umbrella, with piece title and author name plus Unapologetic logo which has a drawing of a frustrated woman holding her finger to her temple
By Conor O’Rourke
He first saw the rainbow umbrella through the Trinity Front Gate. The rain had been steady during his flying visit home. The bank holiday weekend gave him the opportunity to ‘pop’ back, see some friends and (briefly) question once again why he had emigrated. It was a romantic question, for the reasons were plentiful: a lack of jobs, affordable houses, eligible men...
These visits had established their own pattern over the years since he first left. He’d rush from the airport to a friend’s house, catching up over wine and cigarettes and staying up late despite the travel fatigue. The next day, there would be socializing – dinner, more drinks, a whistle-stop tour through their old haunts. They’d reminisce about college nights out and laugh at the same stories for there wasn’t always time to forge new memories.
Then, on the last morning, he’d slip away to town, claiming he had errands to run but in reality, he hated outstaying his welcome. People had lives to get on with and routines to uphold. As much as he enjoyed the company, he found being a guest in his friends’ houses rapidly depleted his social battery.
And for the first time in a series of trips, he had noticed a shift in the group dynamic. It wasn’t enough to radically change things but paths were beginning to diverge. Mortgage approval, an engagement, an all-but-certain promotion to partner – all reminders that his friends were moving on with their lives. The part he played in all of this, he realised, was beginning to diminish.
So he wandered, feeling somewhat like a tourist because he had nowhere to retreat. There were moments of connection but they were fleeting. He’d summon the energy to be chatty with a barista or an attentive salesperson but gave up when the reality that it wouldn’t lead to anything crashed over him. He’d settle himself briefly – with the intention to make a dent in his book or catch up on some life-admin – but his focus was too split to muster up motivation to get anything done.
That said, there was an air of superiority to his listlessness – he knew the places that were nice and not over-priced or descended upon by the masses. If tourists were the bottom rung, he was certainly a few steps up. And yet, he found himself aimlessly trudging through the obvious spots – the cobbled streets by the IFI, the busy stretch up to College Green, right up to Trinity’s wooden gates.
Then, he saw the umbrella.
A rainbow umbrella was not too remarkable given its availability at a high street store. But it was noticeable amongst a crowd and accentuated further by its owner: an elderly man, whose gray hair jutted out from under a flat tweed cap. At first glance, there was no obvious companion – more endearing, still? – but a shift in the crowd took him out of sight and impeded further scrutiny.
He saw the umbrella again at airport security.
Its colourful glint caught his eye as he joined the queue, his belt already removed and carefully packaged liquids out of his carry-on. The same gentleman was emptying his belongings into a tray by the scanner. The cap was dropped, revealing a glorious head of silver locks. He passed through without being patted down.
The flight to London was delayed by two hours. His stomach lurched when he saw the flashing message. He cursed himself for not checking sooner but it was a toss up between wandering the streets or the airport terminal. He splurged on a magazine he’d never buy elsewhere, bought a coffee for the complimentary chocolate, then resigned himself to camping out at the gate until the plane turned up – where he found the gentleman with the umbrella.
Did he believe in fate? Not really but it was all rather coincidental. Dublin was not a big city. But even he could acknowledge that ending up on the same flight after repeat sightings felt... noteworthy, at least.
He took a seat a few down from where the gentleman faced the windows. Only a few others occupied the space – they still had an hour until boarding. In his periphery, the gentleman sat reading a faded hardback, his head nestled into an emerald scarf, the umbrella resting by his feet.
They sat in silence for a while, interrupted only by the flow of announcements for those lucky enough to have a plane to board. It was odd to feel connected to the man, to feel like they shared a space, when the attention was not reciprocated.
Then, after ten minutes or so, the gentleman closed his book with an audible snap, sighed and turned to face him.
“In all my years, I’ve yet to find a place more tedious than the airport.”
It did not seem like a response was expected but he felt compelled all the same:
“School. On a Friday afternoon.”
“A fair point.”
He assumed the gentleman would return now to his book, that this had been the culmination of the supposed cosmic attraction between two travellers – but the gentleman pressed on.
“Have you been in Dublin long?”
“Just since Friday.”
“Back to work tomorrow or have you the day off?”
“I’m off. Which makes this delay somewhat bearable.”
He felt bad for not reciprocating questions. Given the gentleman’s age, surely he wasn’t due back for work. But now their distance had been closed, what had he to lose?
“How about you?”
“Familial obligations. Had me here, that is. I’m heading back to my preferred lifestyle of solitude.”
“Do you work?”
The gentleman gave a low chuckle in appreciation and he felt embarrassed.
“I retired many years ago.”
“From?”
Why was he persisting? Why did he suddenly care?
“This and that.”
“That’s vague.”
“Well, I have to maintain some air of mystery.”
They held eye-contact for the first time. The gentleman was beaming, delighted with himself. And now, as he focused on the gentleman’s face, he realized that despite the wrinkles that stretched over his forehead and framed his eyes, and the luscious head of grey – there was a youthful energy radiating from him: a cheekiness. It was rather endearing. Who knew old people could be fun?
Before he could question further:
“And what do you do?”
“I’m an actor. And I temp... to pay the bills.”
“Stage or screen?”
“Stage, when they’ll have me.”
“How thrilling.”
It did sound exciting, on paper. The reality – countless auditions that led nowhere and the gradual breakdown of his self-esteem – left a lot more to be desired. His face betrayed him.
“You don’t seem as enthralled.” Some actor.
“It’s a tough industry.”
The gentleman averted his gaze, taking in an aircraft moving towards a runway. He seemed to sense not to probe further. The silence returned, awkward now. When it seemed like the conversation had dried, he reached for where his magazine rested on his backpack but knocked it to the floor. As he bent to pick it up, his hoodie sleeve riding up, the gentlemen piped up:
“Is that new?”
“I think it’s last month’s issue.”
“The tattoo.”
The movement had revealed a series of interlinking lines in a triangular shape under his left wrist.
“How can you tell?”
“The ink looks fresh. What does it mean?”
It represented an act of rebellion. Tattoos were something his mother always detested and an industry ‘no-no’ according to his agent. He had always worried he’d regret the design as soon as he got one. But playing by rules had yet to be fruitful so... he paid a man to stick a needle into him instead.
“It’s just a Celtic symbol that I like.”
“Well, it’s nicer than my tramp stamp.”
The mischievous grin was back and he allowed himself to chuckle. The gentleman shifted his legs with some effort and turned to face him.
“Are you happy?”
“Acting? Yeah, like, it can be a tough slog but it’s great when the opportunities do come along...”
He was cut off by a wave of the gentleman’s hand.
“Not your career. You can change that whenever you want. I meant, are you happy in general?”
How startling it felt to be rumbled by a stranger. No response was forthcoming.
“Forgive my forwardness but you just seem so... muted. Why is that?”
“I worry, sometimes. That...”
“What?”
“I can be a bit ‘much’, y’know? Too full-on, too invested. I find I tend to really throw myself into things... but it doesn’t seem like other people are like that.”
“That sounds like a great thing to me.”
His eyebrows raised skeptically.
“I mean it, who wants to be half-arsed?”
In theory, he understood the gentleman’s convictions. But his experiences had had the opposite effect. His enthusiasm was not matched by others, to the point that his dedication could isolate him. So, in his shame, he dimmed his own light, to protect himself as best he could.
“Is that it?”
Their eyes met again. An instinct in him wanted to tell the supposed gentlemen to run and jump. How dare he probe, so astutely, into his psyche? And yet, his question felt more heartfelt than any that his friends had poised over drinks.
“This might sound cliché...”
“Try me.”
“I feel so lost these days. Everything feels uncertain. There isn’t a place that feels like home, so I can’t comfort myself with that. It’s impossible not to compare myself to my friends, when I know logically that it’s pointless to do that. I’ve given everything I can over to an industry that may never recognize me and I just... don’t know how I am supposed to settle myself when... none of it makes sense.”
It was the most he had spoken all weekend.
“Can I offer some unsolicited advice?”
Airline staff had arrived at the adjoining gate and were commencing boarding to Paris.
“As trite as it may seem, trust things happen when they’re meant to. Stop worrying and try to enjoy the stage you’re at. You could be destined for amazing things but you have to show yourself some kindness along the way. And consideration. Whatever about all the things happening around you... what about how you factor into it all?”
The words washed over him. He knew the gentleman’s intentions were kind but... well, it was all easier said than done. A crowd had gathered at the gate now. The gentleman began to collect his things, letting the handle of the umbrella rest on his left arm. He wanted to tell him how the universe had let him glimpse the umbrella around the city, as if they had been brought together – but the words didn’t come out.
As the gentleman looked set to depart, he held out his right hand to shake. Then with a smile:
“Eat the cake. Believe in yourself – and eat the cake.”
As the gentleman had his boarding card scanned, he raised the umbrella in a salute. The sleeve of his coat slid down, revealing a faded tattoo, before he passed through the gate.
“Conor O’Rourke is an emerging author, currently working on his debut novel Reawakening - a queer romance, exploring mental health within the LGBTQIA+ community. In January 2023, his first short story, A Deep and Meaningful Conversation, was published by Loft Books and Reawakening was shortlisted for the Penguin/BBC WriteNow programme. His musical, Shauna Carrick Wants A Dog, co-written with Shauna Carrick, premiered in the Dublin Fringe Festival 2023, where it was nominated for Best Overall Production and the First Fortnight Award. His first play, Life’s A Drag, premiered in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2025.”
