Easier Said Than Done (11 page)

“No,” I said and once again she dissolved in laughter. When she finished, she took a deep breath, took my hand and I felt as if nothing could separate us. Little did I know.

The months of June and July passed quickly. My seventh birthday came and went and Joanne was the star in the play of my life. With her around, nothing seemed quite as boring, quite as slow or quite as uneventful.

August marched in and it was time to head up to the country for Mammy's Independence Day Picnic. We would be there for three days and I couldn't imagine a minute without Joanne. So I started in on Mama Grace early with arguments worthy of a high-priced lawyer.

“She's never been to Swift River, Mama Grace. And her brother lives in Hope Bay with her aunt so she'd get to see him. She hasn't seen him in a really, really, really long time. Isn't that sad?” I twiddled her apron strings around my fingers, eyes pleading just as much as my words. “ And Mama Grace, I can show her Uncle Battle's goats. She's never milked a cow. It would be so much fun and then this way, you won't have to worry about me because Joanne will be there to keep me company, so you and Papa can play dominoes and I won't interrupt. You won't even have to walk me out to pee-pee. Joanne can go with me. And she knows how to swim so we can help each other in the river.” It all came out on one whoosh of a breath as Mama Grace chopped the onions to go in the ackees and codfish we were having for breakfast.

“Hand me that little bowl behind you, Kingston.” I did so then moved closer, wrapping my arms around her waist. “And finish wiping the table so that Pa-pa can eat before he goes to the store.”

“Mama Grace?”

“I heard you, Kingston. I'm not deaf, ya' know.” She was smiling, amused at my pain. She took my chin in her hand, her warm brown eyes meeting mine. “If Joanne's granny says she can go, then she can go. Pa-pa and I have already discussed it. We anticipated your request weeks ago.” Her smile was crooked this time, as if she had just pulled a fast one on me. “I'll write a note for you to carry to her grandmother.” I was out the door before she even finished the sentence, and almost to the gate when I heard her voice, sterner this time. “Kingston!” I put on the brakes. “ You must finish cleaning while I write the note.” She chuckled as she walked back into the house drying her hands on a towel.

When Pa-pa and Mama Grace finally announced that it was time for us to leave early Friday morning, Joanne and I had been waiting on the porch for almost two hours. We just sat there and listened to Mama Grace tidying up, Pa-pa feeding the dogs, the clattering of the breakfast dishes and a final walk through as they locked up the house—doing all sorts of unnecessary stuff as far as we were concerned.

As soon as we heard the key turn in the ignition, we ran to the gates to open them so Papa wouldn't have to waste a moment getting out of the car to open them himself. He had borrowed the car from his cousin for one-hundred-fifty Jamaican dollars. Joanne was impressed.

Mama Grace was already in the front seat, adjusting the radio to pick up the morning news. Joanne and I flopped in the back seat next to a big box full of food—cooked and
uncooked. Neither one of us had eaten breakfast, but the enticing aromas didn't stir a thing in our empty bellies. We were filled to capacity with excitement.

It didn't take us long to leave the city and soon we began our trek up the winding streets that would take us to the country. The drive from Kingston to Swift River normally took about two and a half hours; it took Pa-pa four hours. Never a man to hurry anyway, he was meandering at twenty miles below the speed limit. The steady rhythm of the car soon put us to sleep an hour into our road trip. When we woke, the car had just turned off the main road and was headed up the long winding hill that would take us to Swift River.

Mammy's house sat right in the middle of six family houses clustered together at the top of the hill. The large frame house loomed against the backdrop of the Blue Mountains. Beds of flowers were planted on either side of the long gravel driveway that led to Mammy's house, then splintered off into separate driveways like branches of a tree. Various fruit trees—oranges, tangerines, grapefruit, coconut, avocados, papayas, ackee, and mango—were sprinkled about the property.

Goats, chickens, and dogs ran wild in the front lawn. They were the lucky ones. The smell of blood permeated the air from the freshly slaughtered animals. Various forms of meat—pork, chicken, goat, beef—were already grilling on the pit, puffs of fragrant smoke wafting into the air with each turn. Some of Mammy's helpers were busy setting up tables and chairs for the more than three hundred relatives expected to traipse through this area over the course of the
weekend. Most of the women were stationed in the outside kitchen connected to the far side of the kitchen, chopping, peeling, grating, picking, plucking, slicing, and dicing.

Various cars were already parked with families unloading suitcases at the respective houses. The kids had changed from their traveling clothes and were suited up in their country clothes ready to see who could get dirtiest the quickest. They were organizing games of dodge ball, tag, and cricket. Joanne just stood there with her mouth hanging open.

“Come on.” I grabbed her hand. Pa-pa had already set the bags beside the car so we scooped ours up and raced toward the big house.

Mammy was standing in the middle of her huge outdoor kitchen orchestrating lunch. For a woman who had never worked a day outside her home, she had the organization and delegation skills of a CEO of any major corporation. Family members were in assembly-line formation, churning out sardine sandwiches, slices of bun and cheese, and shanty cola served in paper cups. Mammy's white hair snaked down her back in one long coil. She hadn't cut it in more than sixty years and it hung well past her backside. Her skin was soft and unwrinkled, making it impossible to believe she was more than ninety years old. She was assigning sleeping spaces and cooking chores when I pulled Joanne up to meet her.

“There's my Bumble Bee.” Though her voice was soft, I never had to strain to hear her.

The low, gravelly sound commanded full attention. She smiled, not caring that she hadn't put in her false teeth.

She took my face in her hands and presented each cheek for a kiss. I obliged with enthusiasm.

“Hi, Mammy. This is my friend, Joanne. She lives down the street from Mama Grace with her grandparents because her mommy and daddy are dead.” Joanne was standing behind me, peeking around my waist.

Mammy opened her arms wide and I wrapped both my arms around her soft middle, her left arm pulling me close. Her right arm waited. “Come, Child,” Mammy said. “You're one of us now.” Joanne snuggled in close to me and was tucked safely in Mammy's arms. Before we suffocated in Mammy's ample bosom, she sent us on our way with a warning to stay out of trouble.

“Why does she call you Bumble Bee?” Joanne asked.

“She says when I was younger and we spent the summer up here, out of all the kids, I was the one who constantly buzzed around her like a bee so she started calling me Bumble Bee.”

Joanne nodded, then said, “Bumble Bee.”

I grabbed her arm. “There are some things only family members can get away with and calling me Bumble Bee is one of them. Plus, Mammy can do it because she's my elder.”

“What's an elder?”

“Someone you have to respect no matter how crazy they are and you can't hit them, either, because they're older than you.”

“Oh.”

We traipsed across the verandah to the other side of the house and ducked in and out of rooms until we found the corner bedroom that had been designated as ours. Six twin beds lined up in a row in a space designed to only hold half as much.

“So whatcha wanna do?” This came from my cousin, Sheila. Joanne and I flopped across the bed adjacent from her.

It didn't take us long to figure it out.

Workers had been laboring over the past week to install a bathroom equipped with a shower on the inside of the house. It was located right outside of our room. We took turns running in and out of the spray, not caring that our clothes were wet.

After dinner, we played in the yard for a while then tried to convince the adults to let us go swimming in the river. It was our fifth attempt in two hours, but the adults refused to be worn down. They stood firm on their original position. We had to wait until the picnic tomorrow.

It was way past our bedtime and we were all fighting sleep. The slapping of dominoes and the shuffling of cards could be heard as the men entertained themselves while the women cleaned and prepared for the next day. The sweet smell of white rum and bread pudding teased us while we snuggled like sardines in the bed. A car stereo had been turned on to provide music for the teenagers. There was an occasional dog bark and crunch of tires on the gravel road that signaled even more relatives arriving. To this orchestra of sounds, we eventually drifted off to sleep.

We rose early the next morning, hastily tossing water in all the right places before heading outside to join the others. Breakfast was being made by the women while the men lined up animals to be slaughtered for the picnic.

Joanne and I had already demolished a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs and fried dumplings slathered with butter and guava jelly when we heard Pa-pa honking the car horn.

“Kingston! Joanne!” We stuffed one last spoonful of eggs in our already full mouths, grabbed another dumpling, and raced toward the car amidst gentle chastising from mothers who were overly concerned about our digestion. I broke my dumpling in half, stuffed part of it into Pa-pa's mouth and devoured the rest, all while jumping into the front seat beside him. Joanne settled in the back seat.

Pa-pa yanked on my ponytail and winked. “We going to pick up Damon?” she asked, her eyes dancing with excitement.

“Yes, Joanne,” Pa-pa replied patiently, used to dealing with anxious little girls. He smiled at her in the rear view mirror. Her joy was infectious. We were all smiles and laughter as Pa-pa backed the car out of the yard and began the trek down the hill, heading for Hope Bay. By the time we reached the bottom of the hill, Joanne had expounded upon every single redeeming quality that belonged to her older brother, Damon.

Because he had gotten in so much trouble, Damon had been sent by his grandfather two years earlier to live in Hope Bay with an aunt. He was only eight at the time. When I asked Joanne what kind of trouble got an eight-year-old sent to the country, she just shrugged. She didn't want to talk about it. She and Damon were close and she guarded her memories of him.

Mama Grace said that Damon had been "acting out." She whispered that it was because his parents weren't around.

Joanne gave Pa-pa directions and soon we were turning into the gravel driveway that led to her aunt's beachfront home. It was bright blue with white trim and blended right in with sky. A gutted boat leaned on three huge rocks just a few feet from the side of the house, its rusty bow pointing east. Joanne explained that her uncle had been working on refurbishing the boat. Children's voices drifted from the house with a noticeably mature one giving directions to be polite and remain on best behavior.

“Damon,” Joanne gushed on an awe-inspired breath and before Pa-pa could shift the car into park, she had thrust the door open and hit the ground running. Pa-pa and I followed a lot slower—him not wanting to intrude upon the family reunion, me, because I was jealous.

All summer long, I had Joanne to myself and now I was going to have to share her with someone else who I was sure she adored more than me.

But as soon as Damon, stepped from the house, all arms and legs with a grin so brilliant it took my breath away, all that jealousy faded and was replaced by something so spectacular I had to wrap my arms around myself to contain it. Damon walked back to the car, arm and arm with Joanne. He shook Pa-pa's hand, then enveloped me in a bear hug and kissed me soundly on the cheek. My heartbeat went into over drive and I knew.

At seven years old, I was hopelessly in love with my best friend's brother.

Chapter 11

The oversized knocker on the door to Damon's house sent echoes all through it as I bounced from one foot to the other. I wondered if Damon would look the same way, if the rhythm of my heart would beat the same way when he looked at me, would the butterflies that were now camped in my stomach flutter around the same way they did when he first kissed me.

Someone peeked through the peephole then the door swung wide. “Yes, Ma'am,” she said.

“Hi. I'm here to see Damon Whitfield.”

“Yes, Ma'am.” She pronounced each syllable slowly as if extra concentration was needed for pronunciation. “Come in, please. The doctor's in the back. What time is your appointment?”The stout and sturdy woman opened the door wide and ushered me inside with a gesture of her hand.

The house smelled of furniture polish and pimento. The corridors were long and wide surrounded by walls that were paneled in heavy oak. On the right wall sat a small wooden stand with side extensions that flapped down and a small crystal bowl placed on top was filled with small, multicolored mints. A sign-in sheet attached to a red plastic clipboard hung next to it.

“I don't have an appointment. My name's Kingston. Kingston Phillips. I'm Mrs. Montague's granddaughter. I wanted to speak with the doctor.”

“The one from the States? Oh, my. You're such a pretty girl. We were very sorry to hear about your grandmother. She was so loved in the community.” Excitement caused her speech to become stilted and she fluttered her hands, looking slightly embarrassed at her familiarity.

“Thank you,” I said and folded my hands together. “What's your name?”

“Tiny, Ma'am.”

“Thanks, Tiny.”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Tiny?”

“Yes, Ma'am?”

“Please call me Kingston.”