Memories of a Jamaican Girl

A typical Jamaican childhood where i grew up in the country pretty much.

With the rain steadily beating against the shingles lining the roof of the house, she put on her favourite bedtime undies, the ones with the little brown bears smiling with a red heart pasted on their chest, and snuggled deep within the sheets strewn carelessly over the width of the bed. This was her favourite kind of weather. Nothing compared to the ease and comfort that the rhythmic rapping of raindrops provided for a tired mind at the end of a very busy day. The chilly weather was perfect kind to lay huddled up in bed, especially with a warm mug of chocolate tea at arms length with some crackers. Many a day was spent indoors reading to the sound of the rain playing soothing background music as Toni Morrison, Jean Rhys and Tennessee Williams told stories of love, loss and redemption. She closes her eyes as she takes a nostalgic whiff of the chocolate tea swirling around in the polka-dotted mug that her mother gave her the day she graduated from high School. This mug bore many memories for her: pleasant memories of a carefree childhood and unpleasant memories of a teenage orphan.

 

She remembers a time when she would walk the two miles from school on a rainy day, much to the dismay of her mother. Along with the other students from her primary school, she would take her shoes off, stick them in a plastic bag along with her books and place them at the very bottom of her school bag. This way she didn’t have to worry about her mother having a fit when she turned up at her doorsteps with her hard-earned money drenched in water. She remembers how she would stop at the culverts near the side of the road and watch gleefully as the boys raced their paper boats from the top of Salem Hill all the way to the very bottom and then race each other back to the top again for another contest. She smiles as she remembers racing with the other children to see who would be the first one to reach a large puddle and then they would all jump into the murky water, which usually reached all the way up to their ankles. Some of the grown-ups passing by would turn their noses up at them and warn them about their getting ground-itches between their toes, causing their toes to rot to the bone, eventually falling off. She giggles childishly to herself as she remembers the look on her father’s face as she would walk on to the veranda, soaked from head to toe, and passed him into the living room. She would hear him mumble, “Dis liikle girl live 10 minutes from school and she jus’ a waltz in look like drown puss.” Her mother would always, almost as sure as sunrise, rush her to the bathroom, get her out of the wet clothes and rub her from head to toe with rubbing alcohol or bay rum. When she finished taking a bath her mother would give her a firm scolding about the dangers of walking in the rain and catching a fresh cold or worse, pneumonia. However, after the scheduled scolding she would be led into the kitchen to a warm cup of chocolate tea and a saucer laden with water crackers buttered to the edges. She could not remember ever finishing the crackers and tea as the rain beating on the zinc roof of the two bedroom house would provide a gentle lullaby and she would wake the next morning to her mother sweetly crooning ‘amazing grace’. 

            She remembers those days well and sometimes she wishes that she could go back to those days, but those days were no more. Things were different now. Now she was a successful agent for a huge firm in the corporate area and could not afford the luxury of cold from walking in the rain. She couldn’t afford to miss a day from work because time is money and her time was worth a lot of money. It was her time that got her a three story house in one of the most upscale neighbourhoods in the country. It was also her time that got her the Porche sitting in her garage downstairs.

 

            She looked around her huge bedroom and closed her eyes to listen to the rain falling outside. It had been falling relentlessly for the past two hours and showed no signs of letting up. She pulled the sheets up to her neck as she felt a slight draught coming in through the half open window to the side of the bed. She thought about her life and all that she had accomplished and she could not help but think that she was one of the few successful women hailing from rural St. Ann. Yet as she lay there huddled up under the covers, she could not help but wish the old days back. She looked over to the side table and saw the memorabilia that she received from her sister’s wedding two days ago. She imagined how her sister must be huddled up in bed now, snuggled deep into the arms of the one she loved and pledged her life to. She imagined the gentle kisses and warm embraces and couldn’t help but feel a hint of jealousy.

Author's Note

Just a short story i wrote based on what i knew. enjoyed it hope u do too.

Reviews

[Sasha]

I liked this story a lot. I've always been curious what life is like in Jamaica and this helps me see it a little. I also like that though this woman is so wealthy, she remembers and misses simple things like walking in the rain after school. It's interesting.

[SRMarx]

This was a nice read. Beautifully told!

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

a curious and profound story, well done, good read.

[Take It To The Moon, Ta..]

Wow...I really like this. Makes me wish rain was falling right now :)