ROLAND WATSON-GRANT
Shut up, Leroy.
Just shut up. When the radio and the TV say these things, they not talkin’ to you and me. They talkin’ to real people. We’s not fisherfolk to come in off the sea. We don’t live in no low-lying areas. We don’t live anywhere, Leroy. You and me, we live in the same head and that’s it. You move in years now and don’t even pay rent, and all doctor try and try, all I medicate and meditate, you still inside my head skull chattin’ and chattin’, tellin’ me to walk street and pick up cigarette butt and plastic bottle.
You is a wicked Leroy. You is a wicked. Now that the place dark up and the radio in the plaza say Melissa comin’, now you goin’ tell me let’s go back home? Home where? Home which part? You mean the landlady half-side-a-house that you tell me to buy kerosene oil and burn down and that’s the reason we out here? Bellevue? What about Bellevue? Don’t tell me shit ‘bout Bellevue! Bellevue is different story, Leroy. Next thing you goin’ tell me we need to check into an All-Inclusive hotel on the north coast, eh? Just tell the front desk that the new landlady Melissa is comin’ to Jamaica, so she fling we out on the street and we need to check into the penthouse with our big plastic bag of corouches. Right?
No. We live under the sky, Leroy.
Get it into your head. It is goin’ to be me, you and Melissa out here. So, when radio and TV say stock up on emergency supplies and batten down roof and window— they just mockin’ people like me and you. Mockin’ you and me like how Facebook can tell people to mark themselves safe. Fuck Facebook. Some people can never mark themselves safe. If you want people see you, go ‘pon social media. If you want to become invisible— go mad.
You and me, we is ghost to most people. Anyway, come Leroy. You’s a jackass but you’s the only company I have in the whole wide world. Look. See how the sunset red? From I was a child, red sun is a sign. She comin’ Leroy. Hurry up. Maybe the Coronation Market lady will pity you and me and give we some fish tea or roast yam tomorrow mawnin’ before breeze start blow.
Place quiet, Leroy.
Look like every breeze get call to a big meeting outta sea. What? Of course, storm still a come. You’s a young bud. You don’t know a damn t’ing ‘bout hurricane. So, shut up and listen. We goin’ drink the fish tea, belch, tell the market lady manners, and then try find somewhere sleep.
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Mawnin’ light but sky drop low, Leroy.
People stayin’ inside. Bird quiet. Never see Kingston City silent so since COVID. Remember COVID? That was a quiet storm that sweep across the whole world. “Six feet apart” they said, as if anybody woulda ever come close to you and me. I believe is during that time you take up permanent residence inside my brain and decide not to leave.
See the rain start, now. Look in the bag, Leroy. We goin’ put on every piece of clothes we have—the free t-shirt from the phone company and the church convention pullover and we can wrap up in the blue tarpaulin. What you sayin’ Leroy? Best place to sleep out the hurricane is Industrial Terrace? No, Leroy. You might be right that the shipping container they turn into a cook shop have concrete foundation and would be solid metal between we and the breeze, but not even stray dog want to be anywhere near Industrial Terrace in a hurricane. And no, forget the homeless shelter, Leroy. Homeless shelter pack like jack mackerel right now. Me and you woulda be like Mary and Joseph seekin’ room in the inn.
Just shut up and listen for a second. This is what we goin’ to do. I hear the Coronation Market lady sayin’ right now Melissa look like she goin’ hit Kingston and St Catherine, so we should come back this mawnin’ for some chicken foot soup and boil egg before the market truck leave for the country parts. So, I’m thinkin’…if this lady is so kind, maybe we can go to the country with her on the market truck? What you think, Leroy? Just get out of the city. Forget Kingston and homeless shelter and shipping container and Industrial Terrace. St Elizabeth is garden parish, y’know, Leroy? Farmin’ and fishing and fruits droppin’ offa tree.
If we reach St Elizabeth early, we can dig yam, pick pear, roas’ breadfruit, go Treasure Beach and beg some fisherman few snapper or even lobster. Food enough for two. Think big, me bredrin. ‘Bout Bellevue. We goin’ wash off and look clean enough to go ‘pon de market truck, Leroy. Just keep your mouth shut. Let me alone do the talkin’. We can sleep out the storm in the truck or in somebody haberdashery. Maybe we can stay in the country and never come back. Maybe we can borrow the market lady phone and go ‘pon Facebook. Maybe we can even mark weself safe, Leroy.
