“Where is Sarah with my truck?”
“What are you talking about? She was right behind me when we bringing my car back”
“Umm, no. She pulled up and pulled off one time”
“Hmm, let me call her”
“Sarah where are you? The Jamaican needs to get to work?”
“Bitch, I just saw that motherfucker Dinzel in that woman’s car and I currently following him!!!!”
“But when are you bringing the Jamaican’s car back?”
“I’ll call you back!!!!”
Well shit, now I am standing in this fool’s front hall wondering what to tell him about his truck. The truck that I drove home this morning because Sarah and I got so drunk we vomited all over his apartment and then helped ourselves to his bed. I will never drink apple vodka again in my life! I can still taste the artificially flavoured apple bile from the pit of my stomach. To be fair, the night was pretty fun but seriously going through your boyfriend’s stuff while drunk is pretty low on the totem pole of exciting. At least he and I are on good terms and not screaming at each other or ignoring the other’s calls.
But this dude has to get to work and he is as invested in his job as he is in cheating on me. I want to maintain the peace so I call Sarah again. And again. And again. After about ten attempts, she answers.
“Girl, you will not believe what just happened”
“But when are you bringing the truck back?”
“This motherfucker was driving the chic’s car who was calling me”
“WHATTTTT??! But when are you bring the truck back? He needs to go work”
“We started fighting”
Now I am scared. If she tells me she crashed his truck into her baby daddy’s outside woman’s house, I might as well lay down and bury myself in my apple-infused vomit because the Jamaican is going to force me to pay back the full value of his car. I am also slightly distracted because he has on the sweater that made my friend Kylie refer to him as Neapolitan ice cream – it’s striped and is adding my horrible hangover.
“Reds, where is Sarah? WTF is she doing? She was just in front of the house.”
“Something was wrong with her daughter. It was an emergency, she’ll be here just now”
(for those of you unfamiliar with West Indian culture, just now is a term used when your granny asks you when the food will be done and you know you haven’t cut the vegetables for the stew, let alone bring anything to a boil)
Meanwhile at Sarah’s daughter’s father’s outside woman’s house, all hell as broken lose. While I have a temper, Sarah’s temper makes my alter ego Hulkstress look like a lost puppy. She has jumped out of the truck, cussed him the fuck out, cussed the woman and the poor truck sitting there waiting to be returned to the man.
I am on the verge of collapse because I don’t take stress too well and especially not the Jamaican related stress.
Sarah is still warring with Dinzel and the Jamaican finally gives up and takes my car and goes to work. Sarah finally shows up riled up from her battle with her BD. I take the truck and run my errands and go home waiting to be summoned. He collects the truck finally and we break up again – reason? His sister saw me driving his truck after he told her he wanted nothing more to do with me.
The Jamaican features heavily on this blog. He and I have a very unhealthy on and off from the time I was 17 until about 34. That is a long time for dysfunction to prevail in one’s life. This is not a relationship to aspire to.
My friend asked me to write a narrative piece. This was the result and is second in the short story series, The Jamaican.
If you are in an abusive or unhealthy relationship, please talk to your friends and family in an effort to get out.
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