1, Thursday, Peoples' Names and Phone Credit
Thursday started like any normal day. I was woken up by the gardener of my neighbour. He was using the whipper on the lawn at seven o’clock. I looked over the street and recognized One-ie. I don't know his proper name but all the community call him 'One-ie' owing to his missing left foot replaced by a prosthetic lower leg. When he is not using his whipper he is very pleasant and appears to happily accept the name we give him. He will often share a drink with me in a roadside bar on the odd occasion we are both there, and then we usually have long conversations about the English Premier League which of course he knows a lot more about than I do, but I digress.
I made myself a strong coffee and turned on the cable television. After a second stronger coffee I decided to do my violin practice using my electric violin without amplification on the far side of my home from the whipper noise, so as not to disturb my girlfriend and my great aunt who were both pretending to sleep despite that annoying buzzing noise coming from across the street. After a little over an hour of practice I realized that the noise had stopped so I put away my violin and had a well needed cool shower. I do understand that in the heat of the day, whipping the lawn would be uncomfortable for a gardener, but I would have preferred nine o’clock rather than seven o’clock, still, I got my practice out of the way early. From here onward I will just call my great aunt ‘Mamma’ as the extra generation gap is not that significant to us. She is called Miss T. by her daily helper, her friends who occasionally visit without prior notice call her Miss Lyn, people passing by call her Miss Chin as she has oriental features and all the family call her Mamma. After a large glass of water [doctor’s orders], I then went to the local cook-shop for my girlfriend’s breakfast. Today’s choice as most day’s of the week was ackee and salt fish with a boiled banana, a piece of boiled yam and a fried dumpling. That type of breakfast is too heavy for me, but it would, as usual, keep my lady going until the evening. She dressed quickly after her breakfast and went to work before ten. After a lazy morning I shared lunch with Mamma who is in her nineties. During the meal she informed me that she needed me to collect her medications, so after lunch I headed out of the home in my ten year old Honda and traveled the half a mile to the North Coast. On the way down the hill a route taxi was parked on the narrowest section of the road in front of me. As I tried to pass the taxi, another taxi came hurtling towards me which I narrowly missed and had to give way to. My heart had nearly recovered when I reached the pharmacy. Whilst I was squeezing the vehicle into the last remaining parking space, face out, of the hot and dusty small shopping centre that contained a restaurant, bar, variety store, barber and pharmacy I heard a loud commanding voice shout,
‘Hey Shorty, Tell Blacker to pass the push-broom.’
As I alighted from my vehicle, I looked in the direction that the voice had come from. I saw only one man. He was a big man, mature in years, fairly thin and tall. He was positioned about six feet or two meters up an aluminum workman’s ladder with his feet facing outwards. The wrong way to my mind. The man was wearing blue overalls and a New York Yankees baseball cap jauntily placed on his head. He was leaning sideways and I wondered for a moment if the ladder was tied at the top, because I could see the bottom and it wasn’t tied there. He was using a hammer and nails and was fixing a new awning over the bar window. At that moment I heard another voice from someone I couldn’t see,
‘Donno where ‘e is Lenky.’
‘Oh mi see it,’
Why he needed to use a push-broom on a ladder I do not know, but I was amused by the use of descriptive nicknames and the fact that the man on the ladder’s skin tone was so dark that no one could be blacker that him. I thought maybe the colleague’s real name was Blacker and also, if I called him Blacker he would probably be offended.
At this point my interest in this situation was broken by a call from Sharon, an ex-girlfriend of some three years. I knew her number which means she was still using the same phone chip I had bought her. We had had a rather casual relationship for about a year which wasn’t going anywhere. I had recently bumped into her with boyfriend in toe and young baby in arms near the clock in Ocho Rios. She was a beautiful Indian featured model, dancer and entertainment co-ordinator with smooth olive skin and dark eyes under thick eyebrows. She was very well spoken, being quite tall and she almost always wore five inch heels and extra long false hair extensions. I answered the call which probably I shouldn’t have. She started,
‘Hey, What you doing?’
The line went dead because obviously her phone credit ran out.
I called her back, which I shouldn’t have because I suspected she wanted to continue our relationship. I continued,
‘I am teaching this afternoon after I get some meds for my aunt.’
‘Can you send me some credit babes? I want to see you sometime.’
I am somewhat bemused that she needs credit from me as her boyfriend has a nice approximately five year old BMW. I certainly don’t want to get into any argument with him, and anyway I am happy with my life without Sharon. She continues,
‘Oh, Do you know of any land selling near Tower Isle?’
‘Is it for your Baby-father?
There is no reply. She apparently doesn’t want to talk to me about him. After a pause she continues,
‘I will call you later.’
At this point I put my phone in my pocket and entered the pharmacy. I was waiting for the pharmacist when I got a text from another young girl who I knew, who had wanted to have a relationship with me in the past.
‘Please send me phone credit.’
Trisha was in her early thirties, beautiful and petite with exquisite African features that I had dated a few times before Sharon. She was somewhat aggressive at times and I found her unnerving. I thought about the two beautiful Jamaican girls for a moment. As I continued to wait I pondered whether to send the desired credit, but in the end was proud of myself that I stayed strong and didn’t send any as it would only lead to more and more demands. At length I paid the cashier, collected the medication and left the pharmacy. Exiting the door I felt the oppressive afternoon heat and glare. I casually looked towards the ladder wondering if Lenky was using the broom, but he was eating a patty in a brown paper bag still six feet up the ladder facing outward. I had missed quite a bit of action whilst I was in the air-conditioned shop. I started the car and headed homeward.
After delivering the medications to Mamma I got a text from my phone company offering deals on phone credit if I ask friends and family overseas to send me credit. I think probably unfairly, ‘Only in Jamaica.’
I showered and dressed for the hotel at seven and left home to play piano in a fine dining restaurant nearby. On arrival the security guard reminded me to park facing out. I thought about explaining for the hundredth time that my equipment is in the trunk of the car so I will have to unload the car before I park if I have to comply with his instructions, but I kept my temper and parked. I then squeezed my tools and book past the oleander bush behind the car, scratching my arm as I did so. Annoyed for just a few seconds I walked in through the lobby and my happy mood returned with the usual ‘Good Evenings’ and ‘Good Nights’ to and from all the staff in view. Inside in the restaurant it was rewarding and fun as usual as I entertained the diners with my jazz selections. After a while I received the same text on my phone from the phone company encouraging me to ask people overseas to send me credit. I cringed again at the thought. I decided to change the mood in the restaurant. I started playing Jamaican folk songs and watched the happy waitresses who swayed to my music as they served the guests. Once my set was completed it time for a light meal and a cup of wonderful Jamaican coffee.
An hour later I returned home. I reversed my car to its parking place under the mango tree beside my front door so it was facing outward. This enabled me to unload some of my equipment and make a safe and easy exit in the morning. I closed the gates and entered my home. I then turned on the computer and made notes of my day. After this I searched my room for some A4 paper, turned on my Canon printer and printed off a page and a half. I realized I was getting sleepy. I found a manila folder that I hadn’t used in my files and finally put the folder with printed notes inside on the back seat of my car.