Part I
Ants
I remember things like they happened an instant ago, as if I can still casually look over my shoulder and see them winding down behind me, flick a switch and watch them rewind and replay before me.
I remember the smell of cologne, (mostly because colognes make me want to hurl up five day old doubles) I remember clothes people wear, I remember the tone of a voice. Some of the things I remember, people wish I would forget.
But the thought of piling stacks and stacks of crazy stories in my mind, to one day topple over onto clean paper, assures that I never forget, a single moment, a single smile, a single word, a single memory, no matter how distant, no matter how many holes I must fill in with patched up exaggerations.
The tale of the pee dong girl
She came rushing into class 7 30 am on a Monday morning.. “Nadine!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You would not believe wha happen Friday evening girlllllll! "
This was Sharlene my best friend, and though she is the calmest, more fluid person I now, at age 14 she was anything but. As the story un-folds, her arms fly everywhere, her expressions switching from disgust, to shock, to hysterical laughter and quickly back to disgust again.
High Street, San Fernando has always been South Trinidad’s central hub of nonsensical adventures and forbidden desires (whores nah..whore..sss). With the hustle and bustle of Indian vendors, peddling plastic basins and jewelry, the city has all the appeal of a little India. At night it becomes a dark, smoky hole of prostitutes and drug addicts. The closer you get to the wharf, the more the intoxicating smell of hemp and illicit sexual encounters, encircle you.
South school kids track through High Street like soldier ants. In their blue and white, green and white uniforms, they follow each other along, anticipating adolescent excitements and sudden thrills.
Madame Sharlene and her outside friend who we shall call Ms P were among the High Street ants. Every afternoon, she took ah yellow band maxi from Siparia to Sando to go to lessons. On this particular day, the girls decided to make a short detour into RIK, Upper High Street. Once inside, they started scanning books along aisles, avoiding the, I willl buss yuh tail, stares from the cashier.
So Sharlene now, became most engrossed in reading something or the other, most likely ah Pakistani Cricket Magazine, when she turns to Ms P to show her something. Her eyes fall on P's legs and the long long long trail of pee behind her.
Ms P, totally unconcerned with the fact that she is causing a scene, continues reading her book, casually takes her hanky out of her pockets and sopps up de pee. Now Sharlene, is by no means a person who likes scandal. She turns away and continues reading her magazine.
After an entire weekend of not blinking, mouth agape staring into coconut trees from her bedroom window, she comes to school in Monday and says, “ Nadinnnnnnnnnnnnne!”
Now 14 years after de pee dong incident, I say one day, “ aye girl, yuh remember de time Ms P pee dong in RIK?”
She calming turns to me and says, “ Nadine, why de ass you always making up stories. You is ah blasted story teller or wuh.”
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