Page 37 of Not My Type
I really be minding my own business. Can you imagine, Clova has been my hairstylist for as long as I can remember and I’m just knowing that she drives a Honda Civic — also married? Maybe a private wedding.
We get inside and I waste no time to put on my seatbelt. She does the same, power the car on and pull off shortly after. A minute or two runs by and I shake my head.
Why Spanish town one affi busy so?
“You see all this a mi husband buy it enuh,” she giggles switching the lane. My eyes darts to her.
“It’s nice,” I compliment, admiring the car. So comfy.
“Mi seh the man just in love and a spend him pound dem pah mi so,” she says causing us to laugh.
She turns on Lady Saw’s I’ve Got Your Man faintly, moving her hips while maneuvring through Spain. When we get to Eltham Park, I’m in awe. Knowing Clova, I expected nothing below par. But this — this, exceeded my expectations.
“This is so nice,” I compliment.
“Thanks baby wait til’ you see the inside nuh,” she gets out and lead the way. I follow behind, just in time to hear an unfamiliar voice coming from the living room.
“ The bwoy nice, him nice so til!” the voice blurts out. Ok? Another voice responds with a laugh.
“Nuh trueeee?!”
“Mi pray fi only one thing and a fi God bless me with him,” I hear and I spot the two teenagers.
They have a lot in common — the only difference is, that the slim one has curly short hair and dark skin whilst the clear-skinned friend is stout with loosened hair. Dem look bad. Stop judging, the queen in my head chastises. A just the truth!
I work with teenagers, and I can tell the bad ones from the ones who are just following bad influence. And by the looks of it, these ones are sores, especially the stout one.
“Hi ladies,” I greet, quickly transitioning to my teacher mode.
“Hey,” they wave getting back to whoever they’re asking God to bless them with.
“Shanae a mi niece... the brown one,” oh, the sore is Clova’s niece. She laughs just in time and I spot a small tongue ring — it startles me. Wah the hell mi just see?
“How old is she?” I ask, turning to Clova.
“Seventeen,” she answers. Oh? Nosa.
“The next one a Kim, her best friend,” she adds. Ok... Moving on, them too big fi me. We get to the kitchen. I scan the room in admiration as Clova prepares to cook.
“This nice, nah lie I would never stop cooking,” I beam, happily. Everything is grandeur. Clova laughs at my excitement and organizes her ingredients.
“So weh you say now, you meet a guy?” she starts, eager to dive into that subject.
“Yeah,” I start smiling.
“Watch blushing, Aye! Me like this,” she squeals. She’s such a ball of excitement.
“Yeah, so I met someone but...”
15. GIRL TALK
Zara
I pause, thinking of the best way to word my thoughts — it’s so much and I don’t want to say the wrong things. Heaving a sigh, I turn my eyes to the window for a second, just to breathe and allow my thoughts to flow...
“Take your time baby,” I hear Clova say.
About two seconds pass and my eyes are back on her. She’s adding a strip of escallion to her pot. That’s when I speak.
