Chapter Seven - Marsha

Valentine’s Day was another holiday that was huge in the States, and I finally had a reason to look forward to it. People overspent on tokens of love, from chocolates and flowers to extravagant dates, to tennis bracelets. I wondered what Jeremy had in store for me.
“Am I supposed to buy Jeremy someting?” I blurted out over a rare family breakfast encounter with both Sheila and Ansol. Once upon a time, Ansol was seldom home. But since his breakup with Karen, he was around more often.
“Who?” Ansol asked.
“Jeremy?” I answered, wondering where my self-control had gone, so I could’ve stopped that silly question from rolling off my tongue.
Sheila sucked her teeth with annoyance.
Ansol laughed. “I thought you were cool with him now,” he said to Sheila.
“I am. Kinda,” she said.
“So why yuh chups yuh teeth?”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Marsha, this is about Valentine’s Day?”
I nodded.
“Taaal. You don’t buy him shit. He’s a man. He spends the money.”
“But he always spends the money,” I reasoned.
“Didn’t you buy him someting for Christmas?” Sheila carried on.
“Yes.”
“Then that’s enough. You buy him someting for the Christmas and him birthday. That’s it. Let the mon spend the money.”
I looked to Ansol, and he shrugged. “Why don’t you have some input?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Ansol admitted. “I don’t tink about those tings.”
“That’s why Karen dumped you, cuh yuh nah tink,” Sheila snickered.
“That’s why Scratches is gonna dump you. Cuh yuh cheap ah rass!”
Sheila and I giggled, but Ansol was done with the conversation. He sopped up the gravy from his salt-fish with a fried dumpling, downed his tea, and left the kitchen without saying another word. Sheila and I made eye contact and shrugged.
“He’ll be okay,” Sheila said, brushing the whole thing off.
“So don’t buy anyting?” I reconfirmed.
“Don’t spend one rahtid dime.” 

*****


I didn’t buy Jeremy anything for Valentine’s Day, but I got myself dolled up in a way that I knew he would appreciate. I barely went to hairdressers, but for this occasion, I made an appointment with Sheila’s talented beautician, Suzie. In my opinion, my hair didn’t require as much attention as Sheila gave to her own head. I mainly kept my hair parted down the middle and slicked back in a tight bun. I never altered it with chemicals or color treatments, so I figured it had to be healthy. Besides, it was long and silky, supposedly the hair that everyone else wanted. What would I ask for in a beauty shop? I had Jeremy’s attention, and that was enough for me.
Suzie was known for transforming her clients into whoever they wanted to be just by coloring, cutting, and weaving their manes into interesting masterpieces. I didn’t need all that, but she was the only hairdresser I knew of. The day before Valentine's Day, I found myself in the shop packed with West Indian women waiting to be serviced by Suzie and her fellow Jamaican shopmates.
“So, it’s you, the Naomi Campbell lookalike Sheila talks to me about,” said Suzie as she draped a black vinyl shampoo cape over me.
I shrugged.
“Well,” Suzie went on, “no worries, I’m going to take very good care of you. You goin out for Valentine's Day?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to conceal my excitement for my first Valentine’s date.
“So what do you want to do with all this beautiful hair?” asked Suzie.
I shrugged again.
“Okay,’ said Suzie, “mi know dem say mi is a miracle worker, but mi need someting more than a mass of hair to work with. You seriously ‘ave no ideas?”
“Well,” I started, “I don't like anyting too crazy. I just want to keep it simple.” I didn’t want her to send me off with my hair standing on my head peacock style as I’d seen many of the women leave her shop earlier.
Suzie thought a minute, then stepped away and returned with a photo album. “Nobody really looks at this,” she said, “but maybe you could find someting in ‘ere.”
I took a deep breath and flipped through the book. There were a few styles that stood out to me, all of them done by Suzie. Still, I kept it simple and asked for a roller set.
Suzie looked discontented. “Customer is always right,” she said, followed by a disappointed sigh. “Wow,” she said as she combed out my tresses. “You have a lotta sun damage. You never ‘ad a trim?”
I shook my head.
“You ‘ave to trim regularly,” Suzie sighed.
Not only did she advise me on regular trims, but she also talked about deep conditioning and moisturizing. I nearly gagged at the amount of hair that hit the floor when Suzie started trimming. I felt like an old-time Hollywood actress when Suzie was done, though. I just wished I could have gotten my hair done without spending so many hours in the shop.
The place was hot, crowded, and loud. The women literally discussed everything from their unruly children to their cheating husbands. They wished ill on bad bosses and diced up annoying coworkers with sharp insults. I was so quietly wrapped up in their wild tales, it seemed like Suzie and the other stylists forgot I was there. The pumping music and booming voices were about all I could take. With all my discomfort, though, I learned a lot in five hours from what these women had to say. Like from the one other girl in the shop who seemed to be around Sheila’s age, who admitted to dating an older Haitian man.
“Careful,” one of the stylists warned, “dem Haitian mon quick to ‘ave a next wife and scatter pick’ney wherever dem ah go. If the wife find out him ‘ave a young gyal, dem love fi use all kinda voodoo and obeah.”
That’s when the horror stories began. One after the next, women told tales of Haitian men with secret families and vengeful wives ruining everyone’s lives with “witchcraft.” My imagination took off, and by the time I left the shop, I had to focus on grounding myself back in reality.

*****


Valentine’s Day came, and I waited in the living room, dressed in a black sweater dress, black tights, and suede ankle booties. I’d refreshed my roller set and tried my hand at a little makeup again. Eye shadow, eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick were all I knew to mess with, and I’d finally stopped stealing and borrowing from Sheila and bought a few things of my own.
Sheila had left with Scratches, and Ansol stayed in his locked bedroom, Sanchez love songs on repeat. I was glad to be left alone with my thoughts as I waited for my date in the living room.
When Jeremy rang the doorbell, I grabbed my coat and rushed to the door.
“Wait, wait, wait, I didn’t even get to see what you have on,” Jeremy said, pushing my coat open.
I placed my hands on my hips, giving a full reveal of the dress.
Jeremy whistled in approval. “I love it, mon amour,” he kissed me on my lips and handed me a bouquet. “I think you should put these in water first.”
I nodded and rushed to put the bouquet into a vase that took turns holding me and Sheila’s flowers. Once that was taken care of, I eagerly followed Jeremy out the door to his Audi, which he’d started talking about trading in for a newer model.
Jeremy drove down into the city and pulled into an expensive parking garage. We then walked to The Palm, a five-star Italian restaurant on West 50th Street in Manhattan.
I felt like I was shrinking as obviously wealthy white patrons eyed us, but Jeremy brazenly approached the maître d, who also looked confused, and spoke to him about his reservation. At first the maître d pretended not to be sure, but Jeremy whispered something to him, to which the serious-faced man replied, “I see, sir. I understand.” With that, he found our reservation and led us to a somewhat secluded table.
“Everyting okay?” I whispered.
Jeremy nodded without looking me in the eye as we followed the maître d to our table. The eyes of the seated guests made me nervous, but I put my trust in Jeremy as he strolled through the restaurant like he owned the place.
I carefully scanned the menu, full of cuisine I had only read about but never had. The white tablecloths and real silverware let me know that the place wasn’t cheap. Yet, I wanted to try everything. The plates and platters that passed me by made my mouth water. Jeremy stared intently at the menu himself before finally asking me what I wanted.
I cleared my throat, realizing I was at a loss for words. “I don’t know, and where are the prices?” I whispered.
Jeremy grinned and shook his head. “There are no prices on the menu, mon amour.”
Puzzled, I cocked my head to the side. “No prices? This food can’t be free.”
Jeremy shook his head once again. “It’s not free. They don’t list the prices.”
“How do you know what to pay?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jeremy shrugged. “You shouldn’t be here if you have to calculate the cost before arriving.”
“What do you do for money?” I blurted out. “I know you’ve been looking for work at law firms, but you haven’t said anything about gettin hired. And you haven’t passed the bar—”
Jeremy raised his hand, causing me to freeze mid-sentence. “What do you want to eat, Marsha?”
“I could start with the Sicilian tuna tartare.”
Jeremy nodded his head in agreement. When the waiter returned, he placed our food orders and attempted to strike up a conversation about a movie we’d seen a week prior.
“I asked you a question,” returning to what I wanted to know about his livelihood.
Jeremy raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing for money?”
Jeremy looked down at the table and cleared his throat. “You like the places I take you and the things I buy you?” he asked.
I nodded my head.
Jeremy leaned in and spoke with a tone so low, I questioned if I’d heard him correctly. “Then don’t ask me another question about my money. It’s mine, and it’s not your concern.” His tone of voice curdled my blood. Suddenly, and very briefly, I was scared. I sat back in my chair and pursed my lips, not knowing what to say or do next.
“Understood?” Jeremy confirmed.
I managed a nod.
After enjoying the luxuriousness of the fancy New York restaurant, Jeremy led me on a short walk to the W Hotel on West 47th Street.
“What are we doin here?” I asked as Jeremy strolled through the lobby, same as he had strolled through the restaurant earlier that evening.
“Just trust me,” he said as he spoke with the concierge and got us checked in.
When we arrived at the room that Jeremy had apparently reserved in advance, I was pleasantly surprised with a trail of rose petals that led from the door to the huge, lofty bed. Even in my short heels, I could feel the softness of the opulent white carpet. I felt like I was walking on pillows, and immediately took my shoes off. Coming in from the dirty New York streets with my shoes on the fluffy white carpet just didn’t seem appropriate. I hooked my forefinger and middle finger into the shoes and stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in.
“What do you think?” Jeremy asked.
A breathless, “It’s beautiful,” came from my lips as I could think of nothing else to say. I was impressed. My heart picked up speed when I realized why we were at the hotel, though. Again, my mind and body were conflicted. My skin from the inside out craved Jeremy’s touch, but in my mind, I was not prepared, and I could not escape my thoughts, which were saturated with fear of not knowing how to please him.
Jeremy's hand encircled my waist, and my inner battle continued as he led me to the bed. “Marsha,” he said as he sat me down beside him, “I know you’re nervous, but you have no reason to be. You are the love of my life. There is no one else for me but you, mon amour. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I finally spoke my fears.
“I know,” said Jeremy, “but don't worry. Everything will be okay.”
“I’m not on any birth control,” I blurted, unsure of the right time to divulge such details.
“That's fine too,” said Jeremy. “We will let nature take its course.”
With that, he kissed me so gently that no matter how much anxiety I felt, I gave in and allowed him to usher me into another level of womanhood.

*****


I lay on my back next to Jeremy, eyes wide open, staring up into the darkness, only interrupted by moonlight peeking through the curtains. Some women said their first time was magical. Some said it really wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Others were traumatized. I felt the magic. Jeremy was so gentle and attentive, and I relished every moment of it. I thought about the slimness of my frame in comparison to women like Tina, but Jeremy’s soft caresses made it hard for me to insist on keeping myself covered. I don’t know what came over me when I grabbed Jeremy’s endowment. I caressed him, and he seemed to enjoy it, so I continued. I’d almost forgotten why I’d sworn off love for so long. But then I thought, things happen the way they’re supposed to, and for a reason. My first time with someone else could have been no big deal or a traumatizing experience. Now I could see how women ended up in the predicaments they were in. I understood why my mother had four children with a man who continued to have more children outside of the home. Magical lovemaking was enough to make a woman lose all her senses and accept everything else that came along with a man that knows what he’s doing.
“You okay?” Jeremy whispered.
“Yeah,” I breathed out.
Jeremy turned and put an arm across my torso.
I gripped his elbow, appreciating the comfort of his embrace and not feeling smothered.
“You really really never been with nobody else huh?” Jeremy asked hesitantly.
“I told you I haven’t.”
“It’s just hard to believe these days.”
“Well I have no reason to lie,” I brought my knees up under the sheets.
“No, you don’t.” Jeremy raised a hand to the side of my face and caressed my cheek. “I feel like I should know these things already. You really never even kissed anybody before me?”
A light giggle escaped my lips as I considered the fact that we were now far beyond kissing. “I have, but it was nothing worth talking about,” I said, thinking about that day back home at Nasir’s party. “And I don’t think I ever wanted to since then.” I felt myself falling into that solemnness that plagued me after that night, so many years ago.
“Nobody, um, tickled your fancy?” Jeremy said with a chuckle.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I never really gave anyone the chance. I never felt like I could trust anyone as much as—”
“As much as?”
An uneasiness crept into my stomach. I relaxed my legs under the luxurious sheets that cooled and comforted my calves. I took a deep breath. We just had sex, I thought to myself. There’s really nothing left to hide. “I had a best friend named Desireé,” I said. I’d said her name out loud for the first time in more than five years.
“Desireé huh?”
“Yeah. She was the only friend I ever had.”
“Why’s that?” Jeremy’s arm now pulled me in closer. He rested his chin on the side of my head, ready to listen.
“I couldn’t get along with anybody else. You know my dad is the minister of education in Antigua. He is responsible for every school on the island. He has a doctorate in education. He studied abroad, and everybody was impressed with that, and that’s how he got his position.”
“So you weren’t popular because of it? I mean, I was kinda popular in Haiti and Miami because of my parents.”
“We were all popular tanks to my dad,” I sighed.
“It wasn’t good?”
“My father has twelve children in total. Only four, including myself, are my mother’s.”
“Wow,” Jeremy whistled lightly.
“Yeah. We were a very popular family.”
“Your mother never wanted to leave him?”
“I don’t think so,” I pondered Delmont and Lucinda’s relationship as I answered Jeremy’s inquiries. “I never heard her say a word about any of it. Women would literally leave these kids on our doorstep, and Mummy would jus tek them in and raise them as if they were her own. And Antigua is very small, like the size of The Bronx. Everybody know everybody and everybody know everyting about everybody.”
“So what happened with um, your friend? What did you say her name was?”
“Desireé. Well, when I was little, I didn’t really understand what my dad was up to, y’know. He was jus, my dad. Every year, he would mek a visit to all the schools. He would spend the whole day there and speak with every class. When I was in grade five, he made his visit y’know, same as always. And I was always so excited to show off my dad and show off for my dad. I would show him all my work that teachers put up and everyting.” I paused as the emotions I felt that day crept in and heated me from the inside. I hated thinking about that day. I hated it when it crossed my mind involuntarily, like the memory of catching Jeremy talking to Tina in the hall during the Christmas party.
“What happened?” Jeremy probed, bringing me back to the present.
“So, I wanted to spend my lunchtime wit him. I went into the main office to find him, and it was mostly empty and quiet. All I remember is goin around one of the desks, and he was in the back with a teacher. He was um—”
“What?” Jeremy pushed.
“He was whispering in her ear, and his hand was on her behind. That was the first time I really understood the type of man my father was, or is, I guess.”
“So what does that have to do with Desireé?” Jeremy dug deeper.
“Okay, so after that, I just separated myself from everybody. I talked as little as possible. I never told anybody this. I felt like if I got too friendly, I would slip up and tell someone what I saw. So for years, I stayed to myself. I wouldn’t mek friends. I barely talked to my sisters and brothers. I didn’t go outside to play. I jus read. All the time, I jus read books. Then, when I reached high school, grade nine, I met Desireé.”
“And you guys became friends?”
“Yeah. I tried not to be friends with her. I tried to avoid her, but she insisted. After a while, I gave in. I started going out a little bit. I even ran track for a while. But Desireé was boy crazy, and I wanted nothing to do wit boys. I didn’t want to end up like my mother, jus home with a bunch of kids and an unfaithful husband. I wanted to graduate high school, go to college in the States, and then travel the world studying history. Maybe even write some kind of history book. I love history, y’know.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jeremy laughed lightly.
“Desireé was really into boys, but she always talked about one. She was from the Dominican Republic, her father worked for the embassy in Florida, and her mother brought her and her brother to Antigua because he was cheating on her and she wanted to divorce him.”
“Wow.” Jeremy pulled away slightly, so I adjusted myself closer to him and turned to face him.
“Anyway, Desireé always talked about this guy in Miami. He was the love of her life, she would say. But he was Haitian, and her family didn’t like that. Supposedly, they were a crime family or someting like that.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I laughed. “It would be funny if you knew him.”
“Oh, because all Haitians know each other?”
“No,” I laughed harder.
“Haiti is not as small as Antigua. We don’t all know each other,” Jeremy grunted.
“I didn’t mean anyting by it,” I said, realizing he was offended, so I attempted to clean up the moment. Instantly, his energy changed, but I didn’t want to lose the closeness and warmth I felt toward him. I’d been holding on to these feelings and thoughts for years, and it felt good to finally tell someone.
“And I know what people say about me,” Jeremy continued. “I don’t come from no crime family.”
“Okay, I never—”
“Just making it clear.”
I stiffened. If I didn’t move, I could hold on to the comfortable intimacy of the moment.
Finally, Jeremy kissed my temple. “Tired?” he asked.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Then let’s call it a night.” Jeremy wrapped both arms tightly around me as I buried my face in his bare chest, and we drifted off into our separate twilights.

*****


Desireé fanned herself with her hand as Marsha stepped out onto her front porch wearing a skimpy green, spaghetti-strapped dress. “Yes, hot gyal!” she shouted.
Marsha blushed, as she’d never adjusted to comments on her looks, even coming from her best friend.
“You ready for this party, mamacita?” Desireé said, grabbing Marsha’s wrist as they both skipped down the steps.
“I guess so,” Marsha groaned.
“You always play like you not down, but you know you always down for a good lime.”
Marsha giggled. “Just lissen to you, talkin like a Antiguan.”
“Antigua muh come from!” Desireé shouted. “If I can’t be in Miami with the love of my life this summer, then fuck DR and Miami! I’m an Antigua-gyal now!”
Marsha’s shoulders bounced as she laughed uncontrollably at Desireé’s silliness. “How we gettin to this party?” she finally asked after they’d walked a few feet down the road.
“We can catch a ride,” Desireé stated.
Just then, a car pulled up beside them and a girl called out to Desireé from the backseat. “Hey gyal, where yuh off to, nuh?”
“Hey Darlene. We goin to Nasir’s party,” Desireé informed. “Ya goin?”
“Yeah, Sherrie bredda ah guh carry us dey,” said Darlene,
Sherrie peeped her head out from the front passenger window. “Yuh want a ride?” she asked.
“Hell yeah, chica,” Desireé said with her hand already on the car door.
“Marsha, yuh comin too?” Sherrie asked.
“I guess,” Marsha said flatly. “If that’s okay wit you and yuh bredda.”
“Is fine,” said Sherrie. “Jus nuh let ya stushness rub off pon the seat.”
Everyone laughed at Marsha’s expense while Marsha stood still.
“She’s just playing with you, mamacita,” said Desireé.
Marsha looked at Sherrie, who grinned slyly.
“Aren’t you just kidding?” said Desireé.
“Of course, muh jus jokin, get in the car, Marsha. My gawd.”
The four girls hopped out of the Honda in front of a wide yellow home, set on cinderblocks. Desireé strutted ahead, and Marsha followed her into Nasir’s backyard. Soca music pumped from a speaker on the bright yellow back porch. The air was filled with the aroma of night-blooming Jasmines called Ladies of the Night. Marsha noticed that they were everywhere in his backyard, and they were truly intoxicating. She was feeling the party vibe immediately and didn’t hesitate, the way she often did, to indulge in some underage drinking with her classmates.
Surprisingly, it was Nasir who offered her a drink. He barely spoke to her in school. In fact, when Marsha was a freshman, he was one of the main students talking trash about her and her father. In the months leading up to the party, though, Marsha was hearing that he liked her. She didn’t believe it, but Desiré assured her the rumor was true. Now, here he was, hands outstretched, offering a beef patty and a small cup of Antigua’s signature rum, English Harbor. Marsha accepted both.
When she was finished with her patty, Nasir asked, “Wanna dance?”
Marsha shook her head. The only time she danced was when Desiré encouraged her to participate in the last parade of carnival, dressed in a costume and marching with a team of other costumed dancers. Other than that, Marsha didn’t dance in public.
Nasir looked disappointed as he thought for a minute. “Maybe on a slow song?” he suggested.
Marsha shrugged.
“I mean, it is my party,” Nasir went on. “How do yuh not dance with the guest of honor in his own yaad?”
Marsha giggled.
Nasir smiled, and as if he’d planned it, a sweet Frankie Paul tune floated from the speakers. Marsha could not resist as he swirled his hand around her waist, pulling her in close. As he guided her to the middle of the yard, where everyone was stepping in closer to grind and whisper sweet nothings, her head whipped around searching for Desireé. Not too far away, Desireé was close up on another soccer player, with a beer in hand. As if she knew Marsha would look for her, she too looked up. The girls made eye contact, and Desireé nodded. Marsha fought the urge to reach up and pull a strand of hair down to play with. She reminded herself that there was no need to keep her fingers busy. She was dancing.
Lover’s rock, liquor, and the scent of the night orchids were a cocktail for full-blown intoxication. Marsha danced for what seemed like all night with Nasir. In between songs, they sipped more rum, and in between sips, Desireé egged her on from a distance. Without asking, Nasir planted a quick, soft peck on Marsha’s lips. Shock paused her for a second, but her paralysis didn’t last long as Nasir kissed her near her ear and along her jaw. His hands slid down her back to her rear, and Marsha became slightly uneasy, not sure if this was going where she wanted it to. This time, she looked around for Desireé and didn’t see her.
“You okay?” Nasir asked.
“Yuh see where Desireé gon?” Marsha asked.
Nasir shrugged. “She was over there somewhere a while ago,” he motioned to where Marsha had last seen Desireé near the porch. But Desireé was no longer there, and neither was the boy she was dancing with. “Maybe they went inside. Let we go and find them,” Nasir suggested.
Marsha agreed and followed him inside. They passed through a kitchen and by a small bathroom, then through a wide open living room. Three doors on three of the walls led to three other rooms. Marsha thought about knocking on the doors, but Nasir led her straight into the one that clearly belonged to him. He closed the door behind him, and Marsha thought she heard the door lock. Nasir noticed the concern on her face and suggested, “Desireé and Mikey really like each other. They probably over in my brother’s room.”
Marsha nodded in agreement.
“Sit,” Nasir gestured towards his flat twin-sized bed directly across the room from the door. “Mi nah worried bout no outside clothes. It’s okay. We danced a lot, yuh might wanna tek a rest.”
Marsha couldn’t disagree with that either, and so she kicked off her shoes and made herself comfortable.
Nasir wasted no time joining her. Neither did he waste any time warming her up for what he wanted. Aggressively, he pulled her in close. Before Marsha could make any other moves, his mouth covered hers, and his tongue forced her lips open. Marsha gasped, afraid that she might choke. Nasir was oblivious. He pushed her back so that she was lying on the bed and continued harshly sucking at her lips and then her neck. He grasped her left breast with his right hand and squeezed. Marsha gasped again, but Nasir was still unaware of her fright. He let go of her breast and snatched the top of her dress down, revealing the same breast he’d accosted through the material of the dress.
“Wait!” Marsha finally shouted.
“What?” Nasir said between what was now bites, along with the sucking.
“Stop,” she said.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I don’t—I don’t want to--”
Finally, Nasir stopped and looked at her.
“Yuh don’t want to?” he asked in legitimate shock.
“No.”
“Desireé said you did. She said that’s why all’yuh come here tonight.”
“Huh?” Marsha said with no clue what he was talking about.
“Yuh gettin cold feet now? C’mon. Mi like you. Mi know yuh like me back. Unless it’s true what they say.”
Now Marsha understood. Desireé had been talking to her about Nasir for the past few weeks, priming Marsha to accept him when the time came. She’d been telling her that Nasir had his eyes on her. This was a setup. Marsha never dated; meanwhile, Desireé dated all over, trying to keep her mind off the “love” of her life and her fighting parents. However, the girls were inseparable, and this led everyone to believe that maybe Marsha didn’t like boys. Maybe Marsha liked Desireé. Desireé once mentioned that if Marsha were to date just one boy, then the rumors would stop. It all fell into place, clear as day in Marsha’s muddled mind.
“I gotta go,” she said. She stood up, freeing herself from Nasir’s grip.
Nasir grabbed at her again. “Yuh don’t have to,” he said. “We can chill and talk. It doesn’t have to be sex. We can jus mek out, yuh know.”
Marsha backed away from him.
Nasir stood up and grabbed at her one more time. This time, Marsha swung, not knowing if her fist landed, because she was in flight mode as she darted out the back door from which she’d come. She shot through the crowd of partygoers, toward the front of the house, where she sprinted past Desireé and Mikey.
“Marsha! Marsha!” Desireé called as she chased Marsha down the road.
Finally, reaching a bend, Marsha stopped, doubling over and panting. Her hands lightly grasped her kneecaps as she struggled to regain her breath.
“Yuh did that shit on purpose!” she finally shouted when she had enough air in her lungs.
Desireé stumbled backward in shock.
“Don’t look surprised!” Marsha hollered. “Yuh so worried about what everybody else ah tink bout we friendship! Well, don’t worry no more. We was never fuckin lovers, and now we nah even fuckin friends!”
“Tranquilo, Marsha. You’re overreacting,” Desireé said, raising her arms to gain some control over the situation.
“No I’m not. Yuh sent him after me cuz yuh don’t want people to tink we is lovers. I loved you, Desireé, but as muh best friend. Mi never did care what other people tink. And now mi couldn’t care any less, cuh we nah even friends no more.”
Desireé’s bottom lip trembled as she fought back tears. “Marsha, I didn’t mean for you to get upset. I just thought that you and Nasir might like each other. So I tried to hook you up. I wanted you to loosen up a little.”
“And you wanted the rumors to stop.”
“Okay, so maybe you’re right about that!” Desireé shrieked. “Maybe I just wanted everyone to be wrong about you.”
“Muh nah care what they tink!” Marsha yelled in Desireé’s face. With that, she turned down the road, thinking she would walk all the way home if she had to.
“Where are you going?” Desireé called after her.
“Home!” Marsha yelled back. “Go back to the party!”
“You can’t just walk home alone,” Desireé said, scurrying after her again.
Marsha stopped short and turned around. “This is my land. My yaad. Antigua muh come from. Mi nah have no worries. Is you who have to worry. Go back to yuh party!” Again, she stomped down the road in the direction of home.