A Story that Needs Telling

I don’t want to do anything in desperation. I had done too many things out of desperation. For every single one of those hastily made decision, I had lived to regret them so deeply.

“Why yuh a sidung by yuself like poor ting?”

I didn’t want to answer. This would mean I am alive. Who wants to live when death is surely better? Or is it? I try to catch a little breeze. Prayed for the gentle tickles, for the mischievous ripples that would play along my bare skin. But there was only the comfort of heat, making me sticky and itchy all over. Not a single spot was overlooked. There was only the rapid tattoo of my heart and the shallow rush, in and out of each breath I took. A painful reminder that I have to get up, in spite of it all, and go on with this business of living. Yes I had to get up, even if I had to go back a bit to do so.

“Bwoy, you never learn, going ina circle always end up a di same place.”

Was that me or one of my granny’s endless lectures making an unwelcome appearance. I decided to lie back and follow that voice, wherever it led.

“Pickney, stop go ’round mi skirt, stay still!”

My world was not right. Something was wrong with this memory. I was seeing everything through lenses, topsy turvy. Obviously the cameraman was a novice.

“eediot, caah even focus on the scene.”

In a moment it shifted. There she is running in her nighty.

“Lawd have mercy pickney, go home!”