Thesssse People

I've needed some seperation from the world.

The blogging is all part and parcel.

Along with the car, we found evidence that someone had tried to start a blaze on my sister's porch.

This place...

I shake it off.

In my reality I'm compelled to take it as divine comedy. My God is a literary genius. And He's so funny when She's not overwrought.

Latey I'm getting misssti-fied. It's all the spit. Scarred tongues, stitched down the centre make speech sticky. Words slither sounding duplicitous. Disingenuous. Every smile seems a smirk, every sentence makes me squint.

I don't know if I like thesssse... people. I'm quite sure they don't like me.

Crafty. Making believe wisdom can be attained by way of consumption. So that they may bask in the horror of discovered exposure.

no. I'm quite sure I don't like thesssse...people.

Backdraft of Barba?ianism

I had psyched myself up for the backdraft of my reintroduction into BIM's inferno so I was able to see the artistry in God's literary form. I was awoken to my mother's frantic screams at 3:30am Easter Sunday. "WAKE UP!!!! WAKE UP!!!!! THE GARAGE IS ON FIRE!!!!!!!!"

I fumbled for my bedroom light, wrapped in a towel and went to investigate from an upstairs window. I could feel the heat on my face, the smoke in my lungs and the red eye was wide and vicious.

Too late.

Ricky's car was engulfed in flames and being parked in the garage and near to the cooking gas, the situation was dire.

I called my numbers 211 for the Poh-leeece, 311 for a fiiiiire....

...and for the next 15 minutes which seemed an eternity I clung to my purse, my child and my faith, screaming at Ricky that the hose was a waste of time and to step off before the car exploded.

Our service men were exemplary. Considering my location behind God's back they could not have stalled a moment in coming to the rescue. The police first- silent and sensitive. The firemen next- outing the blaze in seconds. I stood there with sad gratitude- my synicism in 'what if?' restored- but i didn't look at the damage. It was too fresh. Too ugly.

When the sun came up and I'd had a chance to let it sink in, I took my ashen clothes off the line to be washed anew and peeked to my left, holding my hands over my face. The colour of hell. The colour of envy. The colour of Barbadian cowardice and evil.

Poor Ricky is in a state of utter dejection. How can a bad boy from the block ever lift himself up from the ashes? He secured a license. He worked hard for that car. Earned the eight grand by the strength of his hands. Every single day he was outside tuning it, servicing it, shining it. It seemed to run on pride-not gas.

But in Barbados, Pride is a threat worse than Fury. A man like him should never get ahead. His caste belongs in prison or in morgue. He is nothing- he should have nothing. And so, with a match lit by jealousy, his hope was completely incinerated and replaced by something unsettling.

Though the delivery of God's reminder was pure Art, the reminder itself was obscene. Easter Sunday... what a sick and twisted lot! I too have risen from the dead and now I wait patiently but with absolute conviction in God's justice. Her wrathful and equally artisitc re-enactment of Acts 1:18 upon the ass of the firestarter is something I dare say, I'll almost enjoy.

The Honeymoon is Over

My cousin left yesterday after a long delay at the airport during which we made wishes tossing coins in the fountain, watched Abba and Queen videos as IZ ate chip crumbs off the bar and drank coffee with Florida sugar.
I said to the man behind me "Didn't Owen say we'd always have Bajan sugar?"
To which he replied "Didn't Owen say we'd be fully booked?"
- funny guy.
I went to the VD machine to pay for my parking and it froze with my card inside. I had to wait for the human being to open it up and let me out of parking prison...again...
Couldn't come home to watch t.v. cause my cable went off conveniently Thursday at 2:30pm. I was told by the voice that if I wanted it fixed before the long weekend I had permission to bring it in to Roebuck Street before 4. I was in Bay street at the time. The box was in Bathsheba. My telekinesis is a little rusty.
So Friday after the send off I got spruced up, turned around and took the long drive back to the bar hitting some sizable crators in the Belle along the way. I opted for red wine over G&T it being Good Friday and all. Then using my transmutating skills (which are not that rusty), I drank my easter sacrament to my honoured and intimate request for something melancholy and tragic.

The honeymoon is over.

Just Good Enough

My cousin has come into the island as God's remedy for my recent bitterness. Normally I find visitors more than a little tedious but she is exactly what I needed to restore my love for this country. I've been trying to show off as much as I can in the short space of time and I'm allowing myself to share in the fresh eyed experience of BIM. It's wonderful! Everything looks so much more vibrant. Everyone seems so much more friendly. The rain is falling when the sun's not shining and the moon is almost full.

How could I have forgotten how quiet you get entering the grounds of Codrington? The way the place itself creates a sense of reverence? The pride I have for my Alma mater!

How long has it been since I've gone in the sea? Months. And yet it surrounds me. Why don't I go in the sea?

The talent we have in this country!! 2 nights out in a row and I'm watching alternative bands rip it up. But I also pay tribute to the intimacy... they're not just musicians rockin' in a club. I went to school with these guys. I know their parents. I'm not only impressed-I'm honoured.

I laugh when I get lost and the directions make me loster. I smile as my son hunts crab and harvests wilks. I notice the little boy with the sticks and plastic bag kite. I hear the crickets and frogs. I'm glad we don't have self-serve gas stations.

I make my visits to the special places and I'm relieved they're still secluded. I promise myself not to say where they are because they belong to me. And I take stock of the places which cater to the high life, greeting the crowd with their kids and their food and their mass of paraphernalia. They're not intimidated by the yachts- the beach belongs to we.

My cousin says this place has a charm of "just good enough" unlike up north where the poor souls suffer in a world that's "just in case". I laugh at her observation knowing exacly what she means. I have 4 and a half more days of therapy before God returns me to my life. I plan on savouring every moment of my honeymoon in BIM.