Page 224 of Not My Type
“Mi s’pose to link Thomas cas yuh fi a drive it,” he tells me.
“Mi can drive it,” I try.
He shakes his head. “Yuh need more practice,” he counters, and unlocks his Benz door. I stand in the same position and he raises his brows. “Mi nah mek yuh drive it til’ mi feel comfortable seh yuh nah guh see a man pon the road and run over him and lick inna a wall,” I laugh out.
“A the way how yuh seh that fi me,” I continue to laugh.
“No sah.” He tries to hold the laugh. “Nuh you have school, come nuh.”
“Mi wah yuh drive my car,” I say and he looks at me for a second or two. Mi a bother him enuh, the look pon him face is a dead giveaway.
“Ah,” he simply says before he gets out and I smile walking over to the car. I dig through my bag for my car key and unlock the door. A smile plays on his lips as he gets in.
“A wah?” I smile, closing the door. He shakes his head.
“Nutt’n,” he rasps.
I tug on my seatbelt and realize that he isn’t wearing his. Matter of a fact him never put it on, only when him see police on the road but alwayssss a remind me! He reverses out, honks the horn at the security before he drives out.
“Why yuh do that?” my eyes on him. Mi sure him nuh know wah you a talk bout enuh Miss.
He glances at me, then back at the road. “Why yah be vague?” My point exactly, my subconscious says. Mi wah thump har yuh see, mek it did possible.
“Yuh eva a preach fi mi put on seatbelt but you never in a yours,” I say. he pulls it across without looking.
“Better?” his voice sarcastic.
I rest my elbow on the arm rest, cupping my chin with a smile as I look at him. His eyes remain locked on the road until they meet mine. He chuckles softly and I mutter, “Much better,” while I await his response. About five seconds roll by.
“Well, mi wear seatbelt sometimes,” he admits, and I shake my head, raising my hand.
“Yuh barely use it but you would a cut off mi neck if mi nuh have on mine,” I say and his facial expression shifts to something different. Hurt?
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly. Cyaa’ tek Nickoi and him sometime-ish ways dem enuh.
“Mi just... have a bad experience with that,” I look at him curiously waiting for him to continue but he doesn’t.
“Nickoi... ” I press.
“Mi nuh wah talk bout it,” he replies, and I let out a sigh.
“Mi always talk to you and if we in a relationship nuh’n nuh fi hard fi yuh tell me because I want to know you too... I want to learn more about you everyday.”
“Ah..” Mi hate it whenever him say that!
Usually I’d start giving him attitude, instead, I turn the music on and start singing to shenseea’s lighter. He turns it down.
“Did have a friend in high school weh mi use to mess round with, she was older than me... I was in 11 Grade and she was in college. She did have a man but mi and har thing did different. She and him did a have a fight and me did knock out in a mi bed. She call me how much time cause she did wah mi carry her home, but as mi seh, mi did a sleep cas me and Rick come in from a club frass out then in the morning mi hear say she meet in an accident,” he pauses, and I gaze at him, utterly stunned. Jesus I dread where this story is going.
“Yeah... so next mawning, mi hear say the boyfriend did a speed cas him in a anger so him smash the break and she fly out of the windscreen, she never a wear no seatbelt and mi still feel like a my fault cas if mi did just get up mi wouldn’t mek that happen to har,” he confesses.
His demeanor shifts back to a semblance of normalcy, yet the weight of the memory lingers. “That’s why mi wah yuh in a the seatbelt all the time, a just a likkle memory weh haunt me sometimes,” he admits.
Jesus a how much trauma him one go through suh as a child– I mean, he was a teenager but damn. Mi go through things but it nuh reach that level.
“Damn.. and doh blame yourself Nickoi,” I say, processing the horrific news. “I’m so sorry about that.” He nods.
“That in a the past.” He says like it’s nothing. Bwoy..
