Chapter Three - Marsha

In four weeks, I realized Jeremy and I had been on six dates. Brooklyn and Queens restaurants and lounges had become our go-tos so that we wouldn’t be seen together. I had to admit, I was the happiest I’d ever been since my days back in Antigua with Desireé. I often wondered what she would make of me sneaking around with Jeremy. She would probably be glad that I could relate to her in that aspect. She’d landed like a bomb in my high school because of her parents’ four-year separation. That separation kept her away from the boy she often called the love of her life. 
“But things would be different now,” I told myself out loud as I dressed for my seventh date with Jeremy. Desireé would be in her twenties as well—probably living out her dream of being married to the love of her life and possibly a mother. As outgoing, outspoken, and flirtatious as Desireé was, all she wanted to do was get married and create her own family. That’s probably exactly what she’s doing, I thought. She would still be the perfect person for me to talk to, as she had already been through this type of situation. 
I shrugged my shoulders as I unraveled rollers from my hair. I wondered if the day would ever come when I would be reunited with my old friend. I ran my fingers through the curls, pushing the left side behind my ear, styling my hair as Sheila had done for me on a few occasions. Several times, Sheila asked what was up with me. Why was I suddenly doing my hair differently, dressing differently, and sometimes not at home when she returned from work?
“Yuh meet someone t’rough ya school friends?” she asked me one night, when I returned home from a date late.
“No, not really,” I said honestly, but then followed that up with a lie. “A group of us been hanging out.”
Sheila nodded her head slowly, and I could feel her eyes on me as I tried to pass her quickly. “I don’t know what’s goin on wit you,” she mumbled.
I wiggled myself into a tight denim dress I had picked up on Fordham Road. It was probably the most revealing thing I owned. I hated bringing attention to myself in skimpy clothing, but I had to admit, I didn’t mind the attention I got from Jeremy. His hands were like a magnet to my body. He was always touching my lower back or boldly resting on my behind when we walked. He constantly gripped my tiny waist in his large hands, and he hadn’t asked permission to kiss me since the first time. When asked, he proclaimed that I was his woman, and I loved it.
I smoothed my hands over the denim dress in the mirror and slipped my feet into a pair of clear jelly sandals. Eight bangles adorned my wrists, four on each one, and medium-sized gold hoops dangled from my ears. Last but not least, since Jeremy let it be known that he loved my lips, I smoothed pink-tinted lip gloss on them. I smiled at myself in the mirror, happy with what I saw, knowing that Jeremy would be both happy and impressed.
We met at our usual spot, up the block and around the corner. This time, Jeremy didn’t plan to go far. “City Island?” he asked me, as he pulled away from the curb.
I nodded eagerly. I had only been there once before. The family had taken Ansol to Crab Shanty for his birthday. I didn’t think the food was amazing, but it was much better than the so-called seafood served at the small takeout Chinese restaurants that existed on every block in The Bronx. 
“We’re not that far from the house,” I said, as the proximity to home began to rattle my nerves.
“We’re not staying long,” said Jeremy. “We’re here for dinner, and then we’re gonna go to a spot in Queens.”
We ended up at Crab Shanty, and when the waitress came to take our orders. I noticed how Jeremy didn’t give much thought to ordering the most expensive things on the menu. He didn’t even blink when asking me what I wanted, and I responded with entrees on the expensive end. When the waitress walked away, I leaned in and asked, “I t’ought you weren’t working right now. How can you afford this?”
“That’s not your concern,” Jeremy said. “You want the food or not?”
“I do,” I said, thrown off by his sudden agitation.
“Okay then,” Jeremy said. “Don’t worry. If I couldn’t afford to be here, we wouldn’t be here.”
I nodded my head, deciding to trust him. He was a little older than me, and on his way to becoming a lawyer; he had to know how to manage his money.
Later that night, we went to see a Haitian kompe band. Antiguan people loved to dance to soca and calypso, and I could move my hips, but I was always too self-conscious to completely let loose the way I watched my siblings and cousins do on many occasions. With Jeremy and Kompe, it was different. As he pulled me in close, I would close my eyes and lose myself in the rhythms of the music and Jeremy’s heartbeat. I’d melt into him, and we’d become one, gliding and grinding across the floor. 
I floated like a feather up the tenement stairs when I got home that night. I could smell Jeremy’s cologne on my skin, and thought for a moment that Sheila might catch a whiff, but I kicked the thought out of my mind. It was a Saturday night. Sheila was probably at her third party. Still, I slid out of my jellies near the door so as not to disturb anybody, just in case. I walked lightly in the direction of the hall when Sheila flicked on one of the living room lamps.
“Welcome home,” she said smoothly.
“Sheila?” I said with a startle.
“Where yuh been all night, Marsha?”
“Out,” I shrugged.
“Out whey?” Sheila asked, jumping right into Antigua-talk.
I knew she was upset. She practiced sounding “American” so much that it was shocking when she let the West Indian dialect roll off her tongue. She didn’t talk like that regularly. She only spoke that way when she was around a lot of Antiguans or Jamaicans, or when she was angry. 
“I went to dinner.”
I noticed Sheila was dressed as if she had indeed been out herself. But I couldn’t figure out why she was home earlier than usual.
“Wit who?” Sheila asked.
“Friends. Is someting the matter?” I questioned back.
Sheila chuckled. “Is someting the matter? How bout when ya muddah ah call and tell mi say she hear she daughter out in the streets wit a Haitian mafia bwoy. An mi tell she, ah nah true. But come to find out, when mi ah go party in Queens ah see smaddy who look jus like ah you, ah whine pon smaddy who look jus like Steven dutty rass-clot friend Jeremy.”
I felt a shooting pang in my lower belly. I hadn’t felt anything like that since being put on the spot in high school by Desireé. Desireé. What would she do in this situation? She would stand up for herself.
“So?” I shrugged once more.
“So?” Sheila retorted. “Didn’t mi tell you to stay away from him?”
“You are not my mother,” I reminded her.
“But is me who is responsible fa you while ya here.”
“So yuh finally get what yuh want!” I shrieked, my tone a little higher than I wanted.
“What?”
“Since mi reach, yuh been pushin me to date. So now mi ah date!”
“But not him!” Sheila yelled.
“Why not him?”
“So many tings, Marsha. You’re a good girl, you could neva understand.” Sheila now sounded as if she wanted to cry.
“I’m not a baby,” I said softly.
“It’s not about that,” said Sheila. “He’s a womanizer, and him fam’ly do all kinda illegal tings! It’s just not a good look. You could get really hurt.”
“Jeremy wouldn’t hurt me.”
“How do you know?”
I didn’t know. I just knew how I felt with him. “Mi jus know.”
Sheila’s face twitched as if she would burst into tears any minute. “So that’s who yuh been wit?”
I nodded.
“Why did you lie?”
“Cuz I knew you would get vex wit me.”
Sheila shook her head and stepped closer to me. “Oh, Marsha, I wish you wasn’t so blind. But mi can see it in ya eyes. You have no idea what this man is capable of.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Neither do you, Sheila. He’s into me. I might even tink he loves me.”
Sheila’s shoulders sank. “If yuh tink so, then there’s no turnin back.”
“I don’t want to,” the words floated from my mouth as I realized I had fallen in love.

*****


Once the cat was out of the bag, my relationship with Sheila grew uncomfortably tense. I stopped sneaking around. Over the next few weeks, Jeremy pulled up to the front of the building and even came to the door to meet me as we headed out on dates. 
One Friday night, a week before I was to start teaching, Jeremy rang the doorbell. I’d been waiting for him in the living room and jumped out of my seat, ready to hit the town with him, but Sheila stopped me. 
“He needs to come in and say hello to yuh fam’ly,” she said. 
I rolled my eyes. “Why? You know him already.”
“Yes, but now it’s different. He’s dating my younger cousin who I am responsible for.”
“You keep saying that. I’m not a baby—”
The doorbell rang again.
Sheila nodded for me to open the door.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jeremy asked when he saw my face.
“Sheila tinks you need to come in and say hello.”
“Oh, okay.” He stared at me, waiting for me to invite him in.
I sighed and whispered, “You don’t have to.”
“If this is what it takes to be with you,” Jeremy said, softening my resolve a bit. 
I stepped back and allowed him into the living room, where Sheila stood waiting.
“Good evening, Jeremy,” she said. I could hear her battling the disdain in her voice.
“Sheila,” Jeremy smiled, “if I’d known I was going to see your lovely face, I would’ve brought you some flowers. Marsha is keeping me at arm’s distance from the family.”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Where yuh goin t’night?”
“Just the movies and dinner.”
“Movies whey? Dinner whey?”
“Nowhere fancy. We’re just going to the movie theater at Bay Plaza, and then we’ll go to the Red Lobster over there.”
“Since when Marsha like Red Lobster?” Sheila probed.
“I eat there sometimes,” I stated, ready to go. 
Sheila looked us up and down. “Well, have a good time then.” She turned away from us, heading towards the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes, and we made our way out the door.
The next night, we went out again, and again Sheila insisted that Jeremy come in and say hello. She asked where we were going, what time he planned to bring me back, and wished us a good time. I didn’t know where Sheila was going with this or what she thought she would learn from these pre-date interviews, and it annoyed me. I was not going to stop dating Jeremy, so what was the point?
Sunday morning, I made the weekly long-distance call to my mother in Antigua to catch up. 
“Every night now, she makes Jeremy come inside and say hello, good night, or whatever. For what, I don’t know,” I complained about Sheila.
“Well, you live there,” Mummy said, “it’s about respect.”
“But I’m not a child,” I went on.
“No but—” my mother sighed. “Don’t mek trouble, Marsha. Sheila is lettin you stay in she place rent-free. Yuh need fa get along wit she.”
“But at what cost, Mummy?” I begged for understanding.
“Is me ask her to look out fa you. This is her way of doing it. Maybe she is a likkle bit jealous that this Jeremy is likin you. Maybe she like him first.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “She always criticizin him. Since mi meet him, she criticize him, callin him dutty bwoy.”
“Well, I did hear he dated one of she friends, and it didn’t work out well. Yuh neva ask what happened?”
“No, I don’t care what happened. It has nothing to do with me. Maybe he did do someting wrong to her, but she is not me. He wouldn’t treat me the same way he treated Sheila’s friend.” I twirled the coiled telephone cord between my fingers. 
“Maybe not, and Sheila need fa see that, so have Jeremy over sometime. Invite him in before he takes you out. Sheila need fa see that everyting is going to be okay.”
I sighed with exasperation.
“She’s doing us a favor letting you stay there.”
“You can stop saying that,” I groaned.
“Muh jus want you fa be respectful,” Mummy softly demanded.
When I didn’t say anything else, Mummy went on, “I haven’t heard much about Jeremy from you, though. Tell me about him.”
Confiding in my mother wasn’t something I was used to doing. In fact, while growing up in Antigua, I didn’t even talk to my older or younger sisters. I only talked to Desireé. There was so much about my mother that I didn’t understand, and I didn’t want to be like her in any way. Instead of filling her in on all the little details, I decided I would keep my conversations with Mummy about school, work, and the family. I would tell her very little about Jeremy.
I cleared my throat, “Well, he’s twenty-seven, and he’s a law student. His family is from Haiti—”
“Yes, I heard about that,” Mummy said. “I also heard that he’s from the Anthony fam’ly. They’re gangsters or someting like that. Some of them come to Antigua to hide out.”
“Well, he never talk to me about those tings,” I said as I realized he seemed to be associated with a mafia-like family, which could be the reason he always had money.
“But what about you and him?” Mummy pressed. “How does he treat you? How do you feel?”
“I feel good.”
“I know he takes you out.”
“Yes.”
“And he pays all the time?”
“Yes.”
“Okay… that sounds good to me.” Mummy sounded like she was ready to hang up soon. “The most important ting about a man, Marsha—”
I almost didn’t want to hear it. My mother was not the right person to gain advice from. But I listened.
“—is that they take care of you. Money makes the world go round. A man is to provide. If he does that, everyting else falls into place.”
“Yes, Mummy,” I said, semi-absorbing her advice. This is exactly what I hated about her. She was happy to receive financial support from my father, and nothing else. She didn’t demand respect and didn’t seem to care that he had completely tarnished her reputation by sleeping around and planting children all over the island. I believed in my heart Jeremy would never do that to me, though. 
It wasn’t just about money for me. It was about being loved and respected. Until Jeremy, I never expected these things from men. Now that he was showing me those things, I not only knew it was possible, but I was enjoying it, and I would do whatever it took to keep my relationship exactly the way it was. 

*****


I took my mother’s advice about letting Sheila get to know Jeremy in a different light. Over the next few weeks, even as I started my new job teaching an unruly bunch of high schoolers in the north Bronx, I coordinated opportunities for Sheila and Jeremy to interact more. I invited Jeremy in when he came to take me on dates, openly spoke with him on the phone in front of Sheila, and I even invited him to Sunday dinner a few times. After a while, Sheila didn’t seem as hostile towards him. She wasn’t exactly nice, but I could see that she was trying to be polite, and I hoped that that meant she was trying to see that he wasn’t as bad as she thought.
One day after a class, I sat exasperated, my elbows pressed into my large plywood and metal desk that probably surpassed me in years and experience. While I didn’t expect teaching to be easy, I certainly didn’t expect it to be as rough. Before coming to New York, I’d heard plenty about unruly students. The high schools were in a terrible state, but I was teaching not far from where I lived, in a predominantly West Indian neighborhood. I thought for sure that would mean something to the students. I thought that at my young age, with my accent, apparently connecting me to the Caribbean islands they too hailed from, they would find me relatable. Instead, though, I was a joke to them, and five minutes into the start of every class, I wished to be rescued. I wondered how my history teacher Ms. Reid would handle these students. She was not one to be played with. I might’ve been the only student highly impressed with her travels and experiences, but everyone respected her. I wondered if there was a way I could reach her when a teacher, Mr. Joseph knocked on my door. I looked up and put on my fakest smile, because I wanted nothing more than to continue to wallow in my misery. 
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Joseph smiled politely and invited himself in. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is fine, thank you.” I nodded and turned my attention to the lesson plans on my desk in front of me.
“That’s good,” said Mr. Joseph, continuing across the grey tiled floor. “I feel like I didn’t have a chance to officially welcome you aboard to the history department here at Columbus High School.”
I nodded without looking back at him.
“So, welcome. Um, I know things can be hard for first-year teachers. Especially for us small island people.”
I finally looked up again, and Mr. Joseph made eye contact with me.
“Where yuh from?” he asked. 
“Antigua, St. John’s.”
“Ah ha,” said Mr. Joseph. “You can be more specific. Antigua muh come from, and many of us are from St. John’s.”
I chuckled. 
Mr. Joseph had broken the ice. 
“I’m from Hodges Bay Area.”
Mr. Joseph nodded. “I am from Crosbies. Lindo? Any relation to Dr. Lindo?”
I nodded. “I’m his daughter,” I stated solemnly. 
“Well, I just stopped in to tell you not to hesitate to ask for help or anything. We have to look out for each other around here.” Using his left hand, he brushed the top of his right hand, indicating that he and I were “skin folk.” “Especially,” he added, “those of us with accents.”
I nodded. 
From that conversation, Mr. Joseph became my best work friend and mentor. He was in his fifties, with teenage children of his own. His wife, a native of Antigua as well, was a nurse at a hospital in Harlem. She packed Mr. Joseph’s lunch every day and sometimes sent something extra for me. They’d even invited me over for dinner, but I put it off, initially. Once students noticed that Mr. Joseph had my back, they gradually calmed down. I sometimes sat in on his classes to observe his technique and adapted what I could to my own classroom. Some of it worked, but I knew it would be a while before I could move with the ease that Mr. Joseph had in his classroom. 
One evening, Mr. Joseph and I were exiting the school building for the day at the same time. We stood for a while by the black wrought-iron gates, chatting about the upcoming unit I’d be teaching soon. It was November, and though the cold New York air was starting to cut its teeth, I didn’t mind lingering for advice on rolling out the unit and keeping my students engaged. We were just about to part when I heard a car ferociously honking. I turned to see Jeremy parked at the curb, waving me over.
“Oh, there’s my boyfriend,” I said to Mr. Joseph. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Please tell Mrs. Joseph I said thank you for the dumplins.”
“I will, Marsha,” said Mr. Joseph. “Have a good evening.” He waved at Jeremy, who didn’t wave back and continued towards his own car.
I hopped into the passenger seat of the Audi, and before I could properly greet Jeremy, he started with me. “Who is that?” he asked.
“Who?” I responded. In my excitement to see him, I’d forgotten about Mr. Joseph just that quickly.
“That man.”
Still unsure, I turned to look out of the car window.
“Don’t play with me, Marsha,” Jeremy said sternly. “The man that you were coming out of the school with.”
“Oh, that’s Mr. Joseph,” I explained, reaching for my seatbelt.
“Mr. Joseph?”
“Yes, Mr. Joseph. I told you about him. He’s from Antigua, and he’s in the history department.”
“Oh.” 
“What’s wrong?” I asked, recognizing that he was still upset.
“You have something going on with him?”
“Something going on? No. Of course not. He’s older—”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“That means something to me—”
“So that would be the only reason you wouldn’t talk to him?”
“What? No! I’m with you!”
“Are you? I came to pick you up today because our dates are cut short on the weekends. After all, you’re so tired, and you have so much to do to get ready for work on Mondays, and then I see you walking out the building with this man.”
I instinctively scratched the back of my neck out of confusion. “He’s my co-worker,” I said calmly, “and we were just leaving the building, saying goodbye for the day.”
“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” Jeremy pushed.
“Because I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Yeah, but how do I know that?”
“Jeremy, I don’t know what you want me to say or do.” 
“I want you to know your place as my woman, and don’t let me catch you hanging around other men.”
My heartbeat sped up. I released my seatbelt and put my hand on the door handle to exit the car. 
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jeremy bellowed, further unnerving me.
“I don’t want to fight, so I’m going to take the bus home as I planned.”
“I’m not fighting with you. I’m just telling you what I’m not gonna tolerate.”
“But I’m not doing anything behind your back!” I yelled, louder than intended.
“Don’t do it in my face either!” Jeremy yelled.
I felt tears trying to force themselves from the pockets of my eyes, but I didn’t want to give Jeremy the satisfaction. I pushed the passenger door open and exited the car. I rushed down the street so fast I almost forgot where I wanted to go. As I paused to gather myself, I drew in an ample amount of the crisp air and brushed away the few tears that had escaped. I saw a few people watching me, so I straightened up, smoothed my hands over my clothes, and calmly walked toward the bus.
I didn’t tell anyone about the argument between Jeremy and me. I knew that it would only taint Sheila’s impression of him, and I didn’t need that. If I told my mother, it might come up in other conversations that could come back to Sheila. So, I said nothing. Late that evening, though, Sheila called me to the phone, and I knew it was Jeremy. 
“Hello?” I tried to keep my voice even. If it weren’t for the dissipating negative energy between Sheila and Jeremy, I wouldn’t have even taken the call. I couldn’t let Sheila know we were possibly having problems, though. 
“Marsha?” Jeremy sounded nothing like the way he had earlier. Earlier, he was cold and hostile, but now he was back to his warm, charismatic self.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I mumbled, while Sheila deliberately stayed within earshot. 
“I just really care about you,” he said.
“I understand that.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Sheila is nearby?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Can I pick you up tomorrow from work? I promise it will be different. It won’t be like today.”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to go anywhere for dinner?”
“I don’t know, Jeremy,” I said, watching Sheila out of the corner of my eye, “we can figure it out when you get there.”
“Okay. I’m really sorry for blowing up at you. I get nervous about losing you. You’re beautiful and smart—”
“Yeah, no big deal,” I said, just wanting to bury the whole ordeal.
“Okay then,” Jeremy said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I whispered as I hung up the phone. I nonchalantly walked past Sheila, who pretended to be doing something in the kitchen cabinets. I let out a sigh of relief once I was in the privacy of my own room. At least he apologized, I thought to myself. Hopefully, he would never act like that again. I didn’t want to lose him either, but more importantly, our relationship had to remain perfectly intact, because I did not give in to love just for it to turn out a mess.

*****


Marsha breathed deeply as she covered the ground, barefoot, from her back porch, across the yard to the four mango trees. She dropped her book, catalogs, and magazines at the trunk of her favorite tree, taking time to enjoy every part of her ritual. She laid out a throw blanket, and then sprawled herself across it, propping up a bag of peanuts and a bottle of Malta within her reach. She smiled slightly to herself. It was time to lose herself in the affairs of New York and London.
Antigua was quaint and quiet for an island. All of the drama was in politics, and the liveliness existed through the sailing, holiday, and carnival seasons. Marsha was aware of the political issues, but not enough to feel deeply about them. Though she appreciated coming from a people who found any reason to get together and celebrate, she never felt as free as everyone else to jump and dance the way they did. She was content with watching from the sidelines. If she’d seen one carnival road march, she’d seen them all.
New York, London, and Toronto had fashion, scandal, political upheaval, and celebrity gossip on any given day, and Marsha loved to immerse herself in those worlds. She longed to know what snow was like and how the sun could shine on ice. She wanted to know exactly what it felt like to sit in front of a fireplace, or to look up and see buildings that reached the clouds. Whenever Ava and Marshall watched The Little Mermaid, Marsha quietly empathized with Ariel’s craving to be a part of another world.
After hours of reading, daydreaming, and dozing off, Marsha finally decided to go inside. Dinner would be ready soon, and though they were allowed freedom on the weekends, the Lindo kids still had to sit down to have dinner at the table with the family on a Saturday night. If there were friends around, they were invited to eat at the table as well. Lucinda and Beverly sometimes played soca music in the living room after everyone had eaten, allowing a party to start itself up. But most Saturday nights, they sat on the veranda until the sun completely gave way to the moon.
Marsha was almost startled to see her father home and relaxing in the living room. The only time he was there was on Sundays between church and dinner. Once, when she was about seven, Marsha asked him why he was never home. His response was, “I’m an important man with important engagements.” Marsha had no idea what that meant, but after a while, she realized what “important engagements” must have kept her father out of the house for so many hours.
“Where have you been?” he asked, just as startled as she was.
“Outside,” Marsha stammered.
“Outside, whey?”
“By the mango trees.”
“Oh… still daydreaming about havin a life, instead of livin a life, huh?”
Marsha’s nose wrinkled. “I do have a life,” she defended herself.
“If that is what you want to call it,” her father rubbed his hands together with his eyes on the television.
Marsha said nothing and headed to her room, where she found Jacinta preening in front of the mirror.
“What yuh tink?” Jacinta asked as she ran her hands down the sides of the fit-n-flair spaghetti-strapped dress.
“Whey yuh get it?” Marsha asked.
“Why does that matter? Muh ask you how it look.”
“Yuh ask me what I tink.”
“Ah the same ting, Marsha, jus answer me nuh!”
Marsha shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”
Jacinta sucked her teeth. “Mi guh ask Paige.”
“So she can just steal it and ruin it?”
“She only do that to your tings.”
Marsha sighed.
Suddenly, Beverly was in the doorway. “Pretty dress,” she said, smiling at Jacinta.
“Tank you, Tanty. Marsha wouldn’t tell me if the dress look good or not.  She’s so jealous.”
“Marsha not jealous of you. She nuh have no reason to be.” Beverly finally turned her attention to Marsha. “Marsha smaddy pon di phone fa you.”
“Who?” both Marsha and Jacinta exclaimed.
Beverly stepped back, chuckling. “Um… she name Desireé, she say she ya school friend.”
Marsha rolled her eyes. “What did she want?”
“Mi nuh know and mi nuh ask. Go and see fa yaself.”
Marsha brushed past a snickering Jacinta and went to the kitchen phone that hung on the wall with its long, coily, winding cord. “Hello?”
“Hi, Marsha?” Desireé’s voice chimed through the phone.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you doing tonight? Are you going out or anything?”
“No. Why? Is everyting okay?” Finally, Marsha thought to herself. This girl is finally going to reveal why she’s been buzzing around. She’d heard about her GPA and who her father was; it was time to beg for help in one class or another.
“Everything is fine, chica,” Desireé laughed. “I just wanted to know if you wanted to go to the movies with me tonight. My mom is going to drop me, but she’s not going to stay and watch the movie.”
“Okay,” Marsha said, not caring to answer the question either way. She figured acting clueless would get this chatterbox off her parents’ phone.
“Since I must spell it out, I’m asking if you wanna get out of the house and hang out with me?”
Marsha wasn’t in the habit of lying, and she couldn’t think of a reason why she couldn’t go. She didn’t dislike Desireé, and she was sure her parents would consent. They didn’t have a reason to say no, either, as long as she went after dinner. “I have to ask my parents.”
“No problem. You wanna call me back?”
“Sure. Wait, how yuh get muh number in the first place?”
Desireé tittered. “Student directory.”
“Oh…”
“But write my number down in case you don’t have yours nearby.”
In the middle of dinner, Marsha decided to ask if she could go out with her friend. Almost everyone dropped their forks. “That’s who called some time ago?” her father asked.
Marsha nodded.
“Since when Marsha get friends?” Jacinta goaded.
“Since she start secondary. Right?” Beverly nodded in Marsha’s direction, smiling.
“She jus a school fren. She’s from DR, and she don’t know too many people.” Marsha explained briefly.
“And you care?” Paige dug further.
“She’s not always as evil as she pretends to be,” said Josue.
Marsha started to second-guess asking to go anywhere with anybody. She should’ve known she would be the talk of the night in her house, for simply doing what other teenagers did all the time. The thing was, she was not a simple teenager. She was not interested in trivial things. She was a deep thinker who spent her time in solitude, feeling too good to partake in the world around her. She cleared her throat, on the verge of changing her mind, when her father clarified, “So she’s a school friend?”
Marsha nodded.
“Who’s driving to town?”
“Her mother.”
“Would her mother come in and say hello?” asked Lucinda.
Marsha wasn’t sure, but she nodded her head.
“Okay,” said Dr. Lindo. “Call her back when yuh done eat so you can go out and have a social life.”
Jacinta and Paige giggled some more.
“What is so funny?” Beverly asked.
Paige shrugged her shoulders. She was only following behind Jacinta and feeding her own craving to have something to dig at Marsha about.
“Jus cuz Marsha is smart and quiet don’t mean she shouldn’t have friends to go out with. At least she mek a friend who’s not into foolishness like other people I know.” Beverly stared a burning hole into Jacinta, who was always tagging along with friends who were up to no good.
“Call back yuh friend, Marsha,” said Dr. Lindo, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Go out and be fourteen.”