Page 43 of Not My Type
“Pretty girl,” my neighbor’s teenage son flirts. I won’t give him the time of day. Instead, I put my purse down and begin to grapple with the grill. I start thinking about how I’d die if I should ever be chased home.
Dog would a nyam’ your supper.
It finally opens and I enter the house, and realize that the front door is closed meaning, my grandma isn’t here. I fish through the purse — lipgloss, old receipts, Advil and a spare key. Everything but money. Mmcht. Not having anything to do with the purse, I toss it onto the sofa, just to free my hands. My mind then shifts to Mama and her whereabouts.
Which part the lady gone?
I pull out my phone and dial her number. It rings out, no answer. Nosa. A wah dis? I dial again and it goes to voicemail. I sit down, a little nervous. Then she answers on the third ring.
“Sister Olive, help me press deh phone yah. Mi granddaughter a call me,” is the first thing I hear her say.
Den Mama nuh realize say she answer already? The thought makes me laugh. She asked for iPhone and all now she nuh understand it.
“Mama, I’m hearing you,” I smile.
“How mi nah see yuh Zara?” she questions.
“That’s because it’s voice call,” I retort and hear her calling out to someone.
“Switch this to video call fi me deh,” she tells the person then my screen lights up with her face.
“Mi just get home,” I feel like saying.
“A the hair mi wah see, mek mi see it,” I turn the camera to my hair and she starts getting excited.
“Clova do the cornrows so neat,” she giggles. “Wow you is a pretty black girl enuh.” I laugh.
“Thank you, my beautiful grandmother.”
Mama is so sweet.
“Lawd Michelle a go love it, you stay deh,” she smiles and I walk into the kitchen. I lean the phone on the counter.
“Where are you though Mama?” I question.
“A social me deh down a sister Andrea,” she tells me.
Her church is walking distance from our house. I check the pots on the stove and realize that she already made soup. Oh, forgot seh a Saturday. It’s a tradition for her to make soup on Saturdays. I’m not a fan of soup though. Girl, go order pizza.
“Mi know you nuh love soup, but you fi drink some and burn out the gas from out of you system,” she tells me. It’s something she says to me every Saturday.
“Yea,” I simply say. “What time are you coming home?” I change the topic.
“Nuh worry missis, my church brother them will carry me home safely,” she tells me.
“Okay good, I’ll call.” I tell her.
“Wah you a go eat though cas mi know you probably nuh wah the soup,” She knows me too well.
“I’m going to order pizza,” I answer.
“Okay... mi feel fi piece a chicken enuh, and mi have some chicken season up in the fridge.”
“Okay Mama, I’ll fry it for you and buy a cheese pizza for myself.”
“Alright mi darling. Grandma loves you.”
“I love you too,” I smile sweetly. “Hurry up and come home mon.”
