She screamed, jumped up out of the bed, grabbed the phone with the intention to call him and instantly remembered that she had promised herself not to, so she rushed to the bedroom light switch instead, then laughed because it didn’t matter if the light was on.

 

But it helped she decided and went around the house turning on all the lights.

 

I can manage this, she told herself, after all it is not as bad as it used to be.

 

He and I are no longer involved, what he is doing is not my concern.

 

These are all just dreams she repeated until she felt calm and sane enough to try sleeping once again. 

 

 

September 29, 2011 

Thursday – 1pm

 

As I have said before, I really don’t know how to tell you my life’s story. It’s hard to tell you my story in a long straight line saying this happen, then this happen and then this happen. Which is how it should be right? Usually, in life one thing happens which leads to another thing which leads to another thing and so on but my life hasn’t seemed like that to me and my memories aren’t coming out like that. My life has felt more like a circle with many circles within overlapping simultaneously sometimes. Well, let me just say it’s a cycle. When I think of my life – how I have been living, a washing machine comes to mind with its water whirling the clothes around the spinner thingy inside going round and round and round. So I’ve decided to just put my life’s experiences that I’ve had so far into little headings so you can follow the jumbled sometimes chaotic process of my thoughts, my actions – my mind flow. 

 

                                                    JUSTIN         

 

As I sit here writing this letter to you, I get a little scared. I am no longer certain if I can hand these pieces of paper to you once I am finished writing what I need to tell you. My courage is failing me. Now, I find myself thinking that maybe this was not such a good idea at all. While it is a noble idea to want to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth – tell you the truth, have you get to know the real me, I find myself reluctant to speak this particular truth. 

As I have said before, telling the truth is hard. Accepting the horrible, negative truth about oneself is even more difficult. For some people that I know, facing the truth about themselves, the reasons why they do things, accepting all that they have done in their life’s span is difficult and remains elusive. They never seem to reach the point of realization that although all of those experiences – good & bad – have helped in making them who they are at this moment, their past deeds, experiences, mistakes, bad choices does not have to keep them in an eternal prison. At any point, one can make a different choice. Change the flow of things. Change the cycle – the rhythm that your life flows in. 

So here I am, trying to change my rhythm – my life’s flow and in doing so hopefully get out of my ‘eternal invisible prison’. Now, how do I be bare, naked before you? How do I get over this fear that’s gripping me, this fear of being embarrassed, ridiculed and look down on by you – my judge and executor?  You will see me differently after this, as Tristan does.

 

 

The sound of her phone alarming brought her out of her reverie. It is News Time, the reminder said. She was trying so hard to keep abreast of the events of the day but was failing miserably.

 

She decided not to watch the news and instead got up and got ready for bed. Once in bed, she scrolled through the phone that showed several missed text messages from Tristan. She was about to read the first one when she heard a knock on the door.

 

 

          “You are not answering your phone.” He reprimanded.

          Alexandria moved out of the way so he could step in.

          “Are you hungry?”

          “Yes.”

         

 

 

September 30, 2011 

Friday – 5am

 

You know, I know not everyone can handle the truth that we are all only human beings who are flawed, who will make mistakes but hopefully grow from them. And yet so many of us, me included, uses this very excuse – that we are only human - imperfect beings, flawed individuals to excuse our evil deeds. Yet I have come to see that we can be so much better than we are, I won’t use that excuse anymore. “Being only human” doesn’t excuse the wrong that I have done or caused.

Enough of my musings, this is the part that most don’t like about me anyway here goes, I am just going to go ahead and tell you what I did.  

 

 

“Where is your computer?” Tristan looked over at Alex seated at her computer desk, writing.

 He frowned as she quickly closed the notepad. 

             “What?” Alexandria pulled out the desk drawer and threw the book in.

            “Where is the computer?” Tristan repeated.

What is she hiding now? he wondered. 

      “They came in di house again.”

        “You didn’t lock up,” Tristan stated firmly, 

       “You should report it to the police.”

Alexandria didn’t see the reason to. So far, whenever she had called the police for help, they had never shown up.

“Alex report it.” Tristan spoke sternly. 

 The look on her face told him that she would not.

Tristan did not want an argument so in a conciliatory tone he said, 

             “I’m sorry that they took the computer.”  

She nodded and came to sit beside him.

He pulled her closer and sighed.

It felt good having her in his arms.

          “Dave, I didn’t know the door wasn’t locked.” She explained. “Dave,” - a shortened version of his last name Davis. It was her pet name for him. Why did it feel so good to hear her call him that? He could always tell when and how mad she was at him in which name she chose to call him. 

         

She was explaining how the thief got in – that they or he must have come in from the door leading to her brother’s room. 

His phone rang; Tristan stiffened and prayed it was not her.  Alex slipped out of his embrace and stopped talking. 

He ignored the call and inquired instead, 

        “What else did they take?”

        “Who is dat?” 

He got up, went for the phone in his pants pocket and looked at the missed call as she watched him suspiciously.

 He made sure to look her straight in the eye so she would believe him and said, 

        “It is my friend Clay.” he lied easily. 

Her heart sank as she watched him - felt him.

He was lying.

She wondered if he knew that at that very moment; her mind was linked with his.

She was hearing his thoughts clearly, feeling his emotions, reading his actions, and knowing the mind of the caller. 

And so many other things that she could not even begin to explain.

 

 

Suddenly they were not alone.

There were other flighty, ferocious presence in the room.

Fluttering about.

Angry, fearful, fretful, sneaky.

Alexandria felt as though she was under attack!

Bombarded with negative energy and heat.

How could she explain that to him she wondered, there were no physical evidence to support her claim, just her senses working overtime.

 She stretched out her hand for the phone as she said, 

       “mmmhh, let me see,”

          “No!” he grabbed his pants and began to get dressed. 

 

 

It wasn’t difficult for him to get angry.

The anger came over him in an instant.

Tristan embraced it and felt safe within its clutches.

He wore it like an old familiar cloak and shield.

Feeling empowered and justified, he attacked,

          “Fuck, I shouldn’t have cum!” he shouted angrily. 

Alexandria winced, holding her chest as though he had hit her there.

          “Why ask me a question if you naw go believe me? FUCK!” he pulled on his shirt. 

          “It’s obvious you lying, if you weren’t you would’ve given me the phone long time.” or if you had deleted the stuff on your phone you would have given it to me, Alexandria thought, you have done that to me before.

 Hell, maybe he’s telling the truth.

She had deleted Mark’s messages and she wasn’t really doing anything wrong. And all the stuff that happened to her when the phone just rang well those things can’t be trusted and probably just a figment of her imagination, Alexandria reminded herself.  

 

But his next words and actions made Alexandria changed her mind. 

          “Alex, I’m not giving you my phone mek you search it up like you do all di time -” His voice was loud enough to tear off the roof. 

          “Mi tell yuh why mi did search di phone the one time and its -” Her voice was just as loud.

      “Fuck every time me come here yuh a -”

       “Because of what was happening to me!”  Tristan immediately interrupted, seeming agitated and uncomfortable as though he couldn’t stand another minute of hearing her speak.

          “Yuh a go on and on about what happen to yuh like ah my fault,”

           “Figet the past!” But she couldn’t.

 It wasn’t the past for her it was her present. 

“Why I looked in d” Alexandria tried to finish her statement.

          “Fuck! Mi tired a dis!” Tristan interrupted.

           “Yuh always mek mi feel like shit!”

           “When you when a have yuh man dem a call yuh, yuh nevah care how me feel.” 

        “Yuh have dem a flaunt in a mi face.” 

          “They weren’t my man!” Alexandria yelled in frustration.

Why couldn’t she keep her cool with this man?

She did it so well with others.

How many times did she have to tell him the truth… there had been only one man… and… there is something wrong with me! As though on cue Tristan said,

                                                

    “You noh see you a go crazy, mi naw go crazy wid you!”

     “TRISTAN!” Alexandria shouted.

She was in his face now pointing.

What was she doing pointing her finger in his face? 

She was a girl, shorter than he was, weaker than he.

He could easily take her.

What the hell is she doing?

Suddenly, the rage began to take over.

He became afraid that any moment he would hurt her.

He wanted to.

 

Tristan was out the door, slamming it shut, locking her in.

 

He began walking, tried to calm himself but the anger held its grip, it would not subside.

When had he become such an asshole? He wondered.

 I am an asshole.

With those words screaming loudly in his head, he brushed the tears from his eyes.

 Men do not cry.

He walked furiously to the bus stop.  

 

Alexandria did not bother wiping the tears from her eyes.

She let them run down her face. She hadn’t gotten control of this thing yet. It was still taking hold of her and it was bent on getting her killed. She gulped for air then buried her head in the pillow, curled up in a ball and began to cry hysterically.

Now, she could not stop the tears even if she wanted to.

They oozed out of her like a forceful, uncontrollable flood rushing through a small village washing away everything in sight.

She felt so tired, so drained, so exhausted.

 

Tristan was slowly convincing her.

 

When had she gotten so susceptible to other people’s opinions – to their feelings - Tristan and Dre’s opinions that is? And when had she begun to care what other people think of her?

Oh, but she wanted him to believe her. Why? She was not sure. 

 

It was getting harder and harder to remember all the stuff that had happened over the past five or six years.

 The memories were fading.

 Maybe it was all in her head…she did so often feel like she must be going crazy, that these things are just not real.

How does one convince someone else that “these things” are real and are happening to them when they themselves aren’t even convinced that “these things” are really happening?  She asked herself.

I am going crazy!

          Dear God, I do act crazy so many times since of late or maybe all my life, Alex conceded.

 

 

       “Why di RASSCLATH uno noh listen to me!” 

      “Me seh a noh dat mi when say”

        “Marci! Mi a big raasss wooman,” The profanity came out again.

 Raasss she was trying hard not to curse.

And she was doing so well with her promise not to use those words, until now. But who could keep calm with these people?

Dem noh listen! 

“Marci, mi a big woman, fifty years ole why mi need fi lie bout dat.”

Rosalind Thompson threw off her work shoes, transferred the phone to her neck and began to peel a ripe banana.

She listened and sometimes nodded to Marci as Marci explained.

 The phone beeped.

Rosalind checked who was calling and heaved a sigh of relief.

It was her daughter.

        “Marci me have anadah call me we call yuh back.” 

         “Hello”

          “Mom, you busy…can we talk?” Rosalind knew immediately that the “talk” she and her child was about to have would most definitely be about Tristan. 

          “Adonia, a yuh an Tristan a argue again?” Adonia, Alex had never heard her mother called her anything else.

 Rosalind Thompson liked the name Adonia, had always liked the name from the very first time she heard it.

She didn’t know its meaning and didn’t care.

The name Adonia, sounded like a goddess and that suited her daughter well. 

          “He’s becoming more and more like Dre` Mom” Alexandria complained.

 Rosalind wished her daughter would revert to the woman she once was.

The Adonia, Rosalind knew and use to be proud of, the daughter who would not be calling her to complain about a man!

           “Yuh know uno noh act like seh uno noh deh” 

           “Dat need to change!” 

“Or uno gone back together again?” 

Rosalind was trying hard to be gentle with her eldest daughter.

While she expected and was used to this kind of behavior from the others, Rosalind had still not gotten use to her daughter behaving insecure, fretful and suspicious.

And the many other weird behaviors she was currently exhibiting. 

Rosalind was not used to her daughter acting this way over a man, over anything for that matter.

 It broke her heart every time she heard the sadness, uncertainty and pain in her child’s voice.

Where was the confident, self-assured child she had brought up that faced any and everything in her life with courage, boldness, fierceness and a determination that sometimes bordered on stubbornness?  

This isn’t Adonia, something is wrong.

The two of them use to be so good together, but then that was years ago. Tristan was not the same anymore neither was Adonia.

“Mom, you believe me when I tell you that something weird has been happening to me for these past years, right?” Alexandria asked meekly.

Rosalind nodded her head.

Although Rosalind Thompson was not the type of woman who readily gave hugs.

 At that moment, she wished she were at her daughter’s side, holding her.

 “How much time, me a go tell yuh me believe you?” She chided. 

“Adonia, a me you a try convince or yuh self? Rosalind pulled the apron over her head and began peeling the potatoes for dinner as she continued talking.

“Why you don’t just look at it as a gift, weddah it is a blessing or a curse.”

She sat down for a bit. 

After a whole week of packing peppers at the pepper factory in Hague and dealing with Enid, Rosalind was looking forward to a weekend of rest and solitude.

 Solitude she would not be getting.

 She did not live alone, and the house will be packed this weekend.

She was having guest tomorrow.

But she hoped she would get some rest. 

All Rosalind wanted to do was to sit and rest her feet.

But she was hungry.

She needed to eat.

It was Friday, she was not going to work tomorrow she will rest later.  She threw the potato peels in the bag for her compost heap. Turned the stove on and put the potatoes to boil. After she finish eating, she will deal with that, she decided. 

“Why yuh don’t just accept it?” Rosalind asked. 

“Maybe then you wee can manage it.”

 Alexandria didn’t know how to explain that she was trying to manage it! 

“You know, sorry I called… I’ll talk to you laytah.” 

Rosalind did not want her daughter to hang up.

She immediately felt frustrated, angry and concern.

She could hear the sadness in her daughter’s voice. It was as though the sadness was coming through the phone, enveloping Rosalind. Why doesn’t this darkness that seemed to surround her child leave? Rosalind wondered. Adonia was always sad nowadays. That too was not the way she was before.

 I want my daughter back! 

“Oh, they came in the house again.” Rosalind immediately dragged the kitchen stool to her and sat down once more.

“What!” She was now holding the phone to her ear with both hands. 

“Wha dem tek this time?”  She asked. 

“a last night it happen?”

“No. Last week.”

“then something like that Adonia you should ah tell me from long time.” Rosalind reprimanded.

When the robbery had taken place. Alexandria did not see the reason for stating that to her mother, what purpose did it served, except to make her worry about her more, it wasn’t like her mother could catch the culprit or bring back the stolen computer. She was telling her now because she knew Rosalind would want to know.

 

 

September 30, 2011 

Friday – 10pm

 

I met Justin when I was six years old. He was eleven. Samantha and I were playing in the front yard. Sammy saw him first and thought he was cute. I looked up and over at the boy to see if my cousin was right, so far, the boys she thought were cute I did not. At that age, I didn’t see boys as cute. He had very cool dark, black skin and beautiful white white teeth. He was smaller, shorter than the chocolate brown girl standing beside him. He seemed sad and alone, I thought. He stared at me as though he had heard my thoughts and was agreeing with what I just thought. It was as though we connected across the distance of the yard. I felt a jolt of energy, physical attraction rushed through my body and for the first time, I liked really liked a boy.  

They introduced him to me as my half-brother. His full name was Justin Thomas Saunders. Justin and Juleen were my Dad’s kids. They explained to me why Justin and Juleen’s last name didn’t match ours.

The story goes like this. 

Dad met Justin’s mom, Jacqueline Saunders in Kingston when he was in his last year of college. I think it was a one-night stand or something because the day they brought them to our house in Falmouth was the first time Dad laid eyes on them. By the time Jackie found out that she was pregnant, my Dad had already finished college and moved back to Falmouth. At their birth, Jackie hadn’t bothered to put the name of their father on their birth certificate. She gave them her last name instead so that it would match with the other two kids last names that she already had. Justin and Juleen were her third and fourth kids respectively. I don’t think Jackie had intended to let Dad know that she had his kids but she couldn’t take care of them, so she sent them to their Dad – my Dad.  

 

I was six; they were five years older than me and fraternal twins as Andre and I are. Dad was often applauded for his prowess as a man. He had “hit” it twice having twins two times. Must be something in his juice, his male friends would laugh and say. Like me, Justin was the first born. Though Juleen always acted as though she was the older one and Justin often times allow it, unless it got out of hand. He came out ten minutes before Juleen while I came out eighteen hours before Dre. I was born at 9pm on March 22, while Dre was born at 3pm on March 23. So now, I was no longer the older child in the house, I now had a bigger half–brother and sister. I was elated.  

From the onset, Juleen and I never got along. And even as a child, I understood why. You know that story; it’s no different from so many others.

So the dynamics of our family changed after Justin and Juleen came to live with us. Dre and I easily adapted to our new extended family. It wasn’t any big deal to us to have two more persons living at our house. Dad bought another bed and placed it in our room. Juleen and I slept on one bed while the boys slept on the other.  

From the start, Juleen and Andre got along immediately. Justin and I warmed up to each other eventually. In the first few months that Juleen and Justin started living with us, Justin and I really didn’t talk much. He had his own problems and I had mine. 

 

When we were growing up, Justin always looked younger than his age. He was smaller than the other boys, enjoyed reading instead of playing football and was the darkest one in our family. A point that Auntie Bobbette often liked to point out, so you know, he had his share of taunts and jeers and for a time, as he grew older those taunts and jeers got worst.  

 

We became friends one weekend down Granny V’s house. He found me crying at the back of the old broken down board house. It was the kitchen but got burnt out and so Granny V no longer used it. However, it was still intact enough for someone to go inside and close the door. I was leaning against the banana tree glaring at that old burnt out kitchen and crying my eyes out. He tried to comfort me. I remember that he brushed my tears away with his small dirty hands. Justin had been playing marbles in the street with the new friend he had made and had come around the back of the yard to wash his hands. As he brushed away my tears, I held on to his hands and begged him not to tell. I knew, he knew. He had seen where I was coming from and with whom. He hugged me tightly and promised not to tell. He told me everything would be alright. We both knew it wouldn’t. Juleen came around back looked suspiciously at me and Justin hugging, holding on to each other tightly and informed Justin that Granny V wanted him to go to the shop. When Justin left, Juleen grabbed me, shook me hard and told me I was a whore. That she knew and she would be telling. But she never did tell my parents, though she told others. Instead, Juleen used her knowledge of all the accumulated “bad things” I did in those early years has a leverage. For many years, Juleen would get me to do whatever she wanted by just threatening to tell. Well, after that day Justin and I got close. He taught me to do all the guy stuff that I wanted to learn like playing marbles and such a like. And through the years that followed, we would only get closer. Justin was gentle, attentive, listened to and understood me when I talked. Something no one else seemed to do. Then, it seemed as though, he talked to me about everything and anything. And too, there was that unmentionable secret that we kept between us. As we grew, we became best friends then lovers. 

 

 The cock-a-doodle-doo sound of the rooster and the bright sunlight through the window that indicated that she didn’t need the electric light to write, told her that she had stayed up all night writing. She closed the book and curled up on the bed and fell instantly asleep. 

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