Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Mama. Can I PLEASE leave?" I whined as the sun beamed down incessantly like it did every other day and hour in Barbados when it wasn't raining.
"No. You need to be here working with me so I know you're not making trouble like you normally are." She placed a couple handfuls of already weighed ackees into some woman's hand woven basket. It was already piled high with other market goods.
I hated working at the produce stand, especially since I was constantly monitored by my mother who thought that I couldn't take care of myself and needed a babysitter when I wasn't working at the factory part time.
"There's no reason for it to be this hot so early in the day." I readjusted my sitting position on the wooden crate and leaned back, trying to find shade beneath the awning of my father's woodwork and repair shop which was in the center of the market.
"Maybe if you'd stop moving around and flapping ya gums, you wouldn't be blowing around so much hot air." I folded my arms in annoyance, but shut my mouth anyways since I knew better than to argue with her while she was at work.
After a few minutes of total silence between us while my mother entertained her customers, my older brother Rorrey came out of the shop.
"Papa said he left his screwdriver set on the kitchen table and he needs it for some chair he's fixing." Mama rolled her eyes at the news as she exchanged a grapefruit for some money.
"I'll go get it!" I shot up from my uncomfortable seat, eager to leave and go do something with my life.
"Not so fast, pickney. We both know if I let ya go, ya won't be back until the sun sets and you'll be out causing trouble. You stay here and run my stand. I'LL go get the screwdrivers." With that, she left me with nothing but a whole bunch of colorful fruits and vegetables and the old rusty cash register.
I glanced to my side to see Rorrey was still standing there, staring off into space. He looked over at me and quickly shook his head. The second I opened my mouth, he shook his head even faster.
"Hell no." He insisted while I clasped my hands together with a pleading look.
"Pleeeeeaase?" I poked my lower lip out in an attempt to make myself look cuter.
"No. I told papa that I would go get the screwdriver set so I can take a break. So while mama is gone, I'll be smoking a blunt. See you in like twenty." I discreetly stuck my middle finger up at him as he walked down the street in the same direction as mama.
I knew that whenever he went to smoke weed, he left the market and took a shortcut through the woods to climb one of the tall oak trees lining the main road so he could get a view of the light blue pick up truck as it went down the dirt road and he could see it on its way back.
The view from the tree gave him a drastic head start on mama so he could come back to the shop and take the screwdriver, pleasing both my mother, because he was so kind about asking, and more importantly my father who was thankful this Rasta took the initiative to go get the tools for him although that was a blatant lie.
