BWW Blog: Siobhan O'Loughlin - Broken Bone Bathtub: Cork, Ireland

This post is dedicated to my long-time French friend, whose name I still can't pronounce, Aurélien Buffet. Nine beautiful years ago, I left the USA for the first time to study abroad in the UK, and had several solo adventures discovering my homeland of Ireland. I journeyed to Cork. I stayed in a hostel. I met a sweet, shy, darling young Frenchman who did not speak much English, and I of course spoke zero French. He was a year younger than me (I being 19, and he being 18), and he was hoping to live in Cork long term and get a job and learn to speak English. I, with my pink hair and wide-eyed perspective, was absolutely impressed with my new friend. How brave he was, how strong he was, how scared he must be. So, I offered to help. I'd walk around with him and try to hand his CV out to the world.

This is how we became friends, and social media allowed us to stay in touch, so when I went to perform in England, Aurélien and I had a camping adventure throughout the gorgeous green island, and ended up right back where we met, where he now had an apartment, in Cork. His English is perfect, his humor the same, truly, my sweet blonde French pal and I, while maybe a little less brightened by the world, are still the same, and reconnecting after all of this time was easy. And he organized a performance for me to do for his ex-pat community in Cork.

A performance of Broken Bone Bathtub then took place in the home of a Frenchman named Ryan, for an entirely French and Italian audience, all our peers, in English, for my sake.

It was an honor. It was an honor to meet people so well traveled, so full of language and stories, and so full of love for each other. It's not so often that the entire audience of this show happens to know each other. But it's always a gift when they do. Ryan brought me an exorbitant amount of candles, his enthusiasm brimming, and I got to see the beauty of his home, and all of the places he has been. The Italians challenged my expectations, of course. I need to say that Noel, the Irishman, was way, way more confident washing my hair than the Italian man. Go figure.

We laughed together as the group praised each other, for their courage in life, the things they had accomplished, and how they had been there for one another. And we cried as they opened up the things they had not yet dealt with, not yet spoken about, but felt safe enough in this small group of loved ones, and me, the spectator, the naked one, the reveler, graced by candlelight and the sweet lilt of their accents. I was a good friend that night. I was as close to them as they were to each other, I saw the people that took care of Aurélien as he grew and changed over the nine years that I hadn't seen him, and when I came down in my robe I was hugged by them all, with a fireplace going, and our hearts in front of each other, and my mind so grateful to bare witness to their love for each other.

Aurélien has moved back to France now, and today is his birthday. I am sending him love from the West Coast of the USA, and gratitude for what his kindness has given me after all of this time. Bon anniversaire, ma Cherie.