Half is stuck inside me: visible, barely protruding. Close enough to touch, to fiddle with, but you can\u2019t quite get at it. Stick your finger the right place and it\u2019s not hard to find; just there, almost\u2026 Tug a bit, and a bit more, and the only thing it reveals is frustration.<\/p>\n
The other part is gone forever.<\/p>\n
Conjure up love in all its glory; imagine and reminisce of the day that you found it — the day it shone down on you and all you could do was smile with it. Smile at it. Smile for it. But the key to my love has been casted away, weather-beaten and battered; tattered by tears at the rivers of Babylon.<\/p>\n
That other part of the key to my heart is gone forever.<\/p>\n
I flung it far, but saw it foaming at the mouth of the shore. Sea and fire. Sea salt and fire.<\/p>\n
They slept.<\/p>\n
One hand down her pyjama pants, poking and tugging at her navel, the other in her mouth. Right thumb in her mouth, index finger rubbing against her nose. Back turned to her lover, Alinda traced the drag of a steady snore.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll be out for the night,\u201d she thought with a smile.<\/p>\n
It was the first time Alinda felt close to the pos\u00adsibility of a full night\u2019s sleep since she and Sean moved in together three weeks ago. She double-checked to make sure her man was truly asleep before gently pulling out the second drawer of the nightstand, where a once-yellow blanket hid in waiting. Its thread\u00adbare cotton was dark and dingy at the edges from years of wear and tears. Alinda filled her lungs with its famili\u00adarity, breathing in humid nights and rainstorms in that place she always should call home. Placing the blanket under her head, she settled back to sleep, right thumb in her mouth. Finally at peace. She covered her face with the duvet \u2014 just in case. He could not see her. No one could see her. Not again.<\/p>\n
Peace filled the room, and they slept.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
Alinda closed the door gently. Leaning against the door, she slid off her black pumps and rolled down nude knee highs. Keys clattered and settled in the glass bowl perched on a small shelf in the coat closet. She shed her black pencil skirt, yellow silk blouse and blue matching underwear, making a trail towards the bathroom. Not bothering to turn on the light, Alinda closed the door and positioned her\u00adself carefully on the toilet seat, relieving three hours of discontents. The loud swish of the flushing water intensified the dull stab of a headache.<\/p>\n
She flicked on the switch before washing her hands. Staring intently at a fresh dark blue pedicure, Alinda resolved this time would be the last time. Just like the time before the last…and the time before that.<\/p>\n
But this time would be different.<\/p>\n
Grabbing a lighter from the bathroom cabinet, she dug out the faint blanket, now lodged between the bed and the wall. Telltale traces of small green and blue teddy bears asymmetrically danced across the old cloth.<\/p>\n
Back in the bathroom, a quick flicker of the lighter heightened Alinda\u2019s resolve, as her head pounded with re-memory: she was in the middle of a mandatory Monday meeting for the marketing department when her phone lit up with the fact that he had caught her in the act: one hand hidden by thick sheets, right thumb securely in her mouth, index finger rubbing against her nose. The worn blanket caressed her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou is a woman, or a lil girl?\u201d he accused in the picture\u2019s caption. Alinda calmly, yet hastily, excused herself from the meeting. Her heart thumped to the beat of her black pumps hitting the tiles of the large office. A quick walk-run to the last bathroom stall barely made sure she shed solitary tears. Fingers trembled as she tried to call her man.<\/p>\n
No answer.<\/p>\n
Flushing the toilet, Alinda tried her best to exit the bathroom like nothing had happened. She skipped the rest of the meeting and returned to her cubi\u00adcle. She booked a pedicure appointment right after work, at a nail salon a few blocks from the office.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
I chose dark blue for the sea. Overseas and under the sea. Eyes open, breath held, looking for schools of silvery fish darting across the Caribbean blue-green. Nana lived in Fitts Village and the sea was her neighbour. Look left, then right, then left again and walk \u2018cross the road, but don\u2019t talk to nobody. But make sure to holler for Ms. Geraldine and put your towel at she back door. Sand powdered pale feet pounding towards a glistening shore. One…two…three…dive in. Water not too cold, just fine. Forever blue.<\/p>\n
I chose blue for Barbados, where I spent all my summers until nana passed on at 85. I was 18 and unsure what to make of it. Nana had been my best friend and the first person to accept my becoming. At first I con\u00adcealed my lack of maturity, my childishness, as mummy had called it.<\/p>\n
\u201cYoung women keep don\u2019t have these kinda habits!\u201d Mummy screamed at me from the other side of the brown leather couch at adolescent therapy. Preserved bitter aloes from the Caribbean shop had been peppered with prayers, promises, threats and lots of shame.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t do it on purpose,\u201d I bit back. \u201cYou don\u2019t think I want to stop?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked out the window of the psychiatrist\u2019s office at a dull Toronto day. Vibrantly colourless. The ultimate melting pot, where spicy flavours sizzled to their demise. I always used to get lost \u2018cause I never knew the names of places, \u2018cause they were not mine to learn.<\/p>\n
In nana\u2019 house, my bedroom was small and airy. Light bore its way through cracks in the unpainted wooden structure. White curtains billowed overhead, bringing in the scent of salt, rotting trees and fish guts from the market not too far away.<\/p>\n
I was reading a book with the door closed when she see me — right thumb in my mouth, left thumb keeping the page still. It was a book about first crushes and friendship and menstrual belts. Nana opened the door to ask me what I wanted to eat for lunch, but I didn\u2019t hear. I pull it out quick. She say don\u2019t worry, and I can stop when I ready, and nobody ain\u2019t rushing me. I never bother to tell she mummy had tie up my thumb with tape and rub scotch bonnet on it, and that my brother tease me and tell his cute friend Thomas that I had a baby habit. I liked Thomas bad, but now he thought I was a lil girl. But I was 15 and my breasts were full and my hips were round and down there had feelings I could touch. Sometimes I would sit in the dark and play with them. Eyes closed, breath held, rubbing up against pil\u00adlow edges. Quick gyrations on eager fingers; gasping and grasping for air. I would imagine Thomas holding me close, telling me jokes as I sat on his lap. He would turn my face to his and tell me how he thought I was beautiful as he ran his hand through my stubborn mid-length coils. He\u2019d grab a handful, in my dreams. Pull me a little closer. Lean in. One last look before the kiss.<\/p>\n
Tongues united.<\/p>\n
Other times I would think about Kelly-Ann. She liked to be called Kells. Her parents were from Dominica and she had big hips like me, but a bigger atti\u00adtude. A steady stomp announced her arrival from miles away. All the boys were scared of her and all the girls wanted to be her. I wanted to know what it would be like to touch her naked. In my dreams, her skin felt like buttermilk and her voice was just as soft. Panties balled up on the floor. She\u2019d let me hold her hand and call her Kelly-Ann, or Kelly. Her curvy frame wiggled its way between my skinny legs. She found a hairless opening and explored it with her lips, with her fin\u00adgers. I never wanted her to stop.<\/p>\n
After Kelly-Ann or Thomas dissipated, I would suck on my satisfaction. It was a little salty and smelled like the fish guts cut out by the vendors in the market. Like home. Most of the time I preferred thinking about Kelly-Ann more than Thomas, but I had to pick my battles. I tell nana about my feelings for Kells. She wasn\u2019t happy but she say she could learn to understand.<\/p>\n
\u201cWoman ain\u2019t make for woman, Allie. De Bible say dat. But I am you\u2019 grandmother and I love you and what\u00adever you want shall be you\u2019 own.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then she hug me. Charcoal black, heavy-set 4 ft 5\u201d enveloping me as I sat in her best armchair. Nana\u2019s breasts were in my ears. I hug she back and I knew then: anything I wanted should be mine.
\n
\n***<\/p>\n
Alinda awoke in a daze with the lighter still in one hand and gripping the blanket in the other. She had no idea how she had ended up in bed, or how long she had been there. Searching under the pillow for her phone, she adjusted her eyes to make out the time: 2:40 a.m. A dry right thumb happily revealed she had been good.<\/p>\n
Alinda rooted around the room for a loose leaf and pen, all intentions to write a to-do list. Going to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, she settled at the dining room table to work. First, of course, she had to get her man back. Then she had to break the habit. Once those two things worked themselves out, everything would be okay. Alinda drained the glass and poured an\u00adother. She googled adult thumb suckers and scrolled past the fetish sites until she stumbled across some\u00adthing she thought might work.<\/p>\n
Getting Sean back would be a bit of a task, but it was one that Alinda knew had to be done. Sean was a good fit for her: tall, sweet taffy-brown, a little re\u00adserved at times but very ambitious. His father was from Germany and his mother from Barbados. Like Alinda, he had spent considerable amounts of his childhood in the tiny Caribbean island.<\/p>\n
Sean was in love with the sea, too. He had painstakingly worked on shedding the North American accent he grew up with in order to adapt his mother\u2019s sing-song tongue. Sean was very proud of his Bajan accent and made sure to bring it out whenever he attended Caribbean association meetings or danced in the glowing heat of Caribana.<\/p>\n
That was the reason they met. Alinda had been asked to do freelance marketing and PR work for the organising committee, and Sean was assisting with the Barbados float. An aspir\u00ading event coordinator at the time, he was anx\u00adiously liaising with booking agents to get some of the hottest soca acts out of the island to perform. It was a huge responsibility, and Sean was determined to do well.<\/p>\n
Watching him work from afar, tangling his fingers through curly, messy, ill-formed dreadlocks when going through a difficult negotiation or figuring out a budget, made Alinda smile. Sometimes he would take a break from his work by dancing to uptempo soca, and she longed to join in. On a particularly hot and stressful Saturday afternoon, he grabbed her in a slow wine as she was trying to go to the bathroom. It was an old, sweet Gabby: I am guilty of loving you.<\/p>\n
They met up for drinks at a hole-in-the-wall after finishing up at the office. Nightcap at his apartment. They fucked that night too — slow and sweaty. He held her hips as she rode him into the daylight, applying slight pressure to his throat.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis was unexpected but very appreciated,\u201d Alinda said as she rolled over onto her side with a smile. She had learned how to sleep with her right hand between her legs when spending the night over at someone\u2019s house, and always slept with her back turned just in case she could not be good.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t have to stop here, yuh know,\u201d he whis\u00adpered in her ear.<\/p>\n
He kissed her on the forehead and rolled out of sticky white sheets to make breakfast.<\/p>\n
That was three years ago.<\/p>\n
Even though his things were gone, Sean eventually responded to Alinda\u2019s calls. He was just a little taken aback by the sight, he\u2019d said, and needed some time to think. How could he have a child with a 28-year-old baby?<\/p>\n
No answers.<\/p>\n
After several requests to meet face to face, Sean agreed to meet Alinda for dinner after work downtown a few days later. Over steaming heaps of ox\u00adtail, rice and kidney beans, Sean and Alinda tried to talk without saying the words.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a bad habit I had from the time I was a child. My mom tried to help me kick it when she found out I was still doing it at 14. For the most part I am over it, but sometimes I do it in my sleep and I don\u2019t realise,\u201d she recited.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh. Okay… So can you cut yourself off com\u00adpletely?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot without you.\u201d She reached out her left hand to touch his, stroking his hand to draw attention to her fresh pedicure. He turned her hand and lifted it towards his lips, kissing her palm. Alinda smiled.<\/p>\n
Everything she wanted should be hers.<\/p>\n
Alinda rubbed her eyes and looked over at Sean who was stirring from his sleep. Not yet awake but still not sleeping, she suckled on the sounds of cabs whizzing by on the street below her, interjected by the din of conversation and people making their lives. She tried to fas\u2019 up in her neighbours\u2019 argument over their children, even though she could never exactly make out what they were saying. A man\u2019s gait creaks in protestation on the floorboards in her fifth-floor walk-up. A woman\u2019s heels pierce as she paces above \u2013 perhaps out of worry, per\u00adhaps out of anticipation.<\/p>\n
But nothing was as calming as the crash and roll of the ocean hitting the shore.<\/p>\n
The faint smell of coffee brews in the street \u2013 Alinda drank it in greedily. Curry spices the hallway and wafts into her bedroom. Light dances through the half-empty, watered-down tumbler of spiced rum sitting on her nightstand.<\/p>\n
Last night after dinner, Sean and Alinda held hands and talked close and quick through busy Toronto streets. Made jokes and kissed. He gave her a ride home and came upstairs, \u201conly for a little while.\u201d Alinda dusted off the Mount Gay Extra Old in the cabinet, got some ice and two glasses. Tipsy kisses as two lovers stumbled in the dark.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can be the woman you need…\u201d she assured as she unbuckled her man\u2019s pants and unzipped his dark skinny jeans once they reached the bed.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are, and I know you are. It\u2019s just…\u201d<\/p>\n
Alinda dropped to her knees.<\/p>\n
Stilted, staggered breathing was the best Sean could muster. Alinda took him deep. He pushed her head further down the shaft of his dick, waiting for the slight recoil from her gag reflex. She looked up at him. He smiled. They fucked as lovers the same way they did as strangers.<\/p>\n
\u201cMornin\u2019 bighead,\u201d Alinda nudged playfully as her man became more alert.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs who you calling big head?\u201d Sean retorted with the deep tones of his morning voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou see anybody else here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you want I could show you a real big head again…\u201d<\/p>\n
The swirling scent of stale rum lingering on their tongues made Alinda giddy as they kissed. Still, something about rum always made it taste better at home, in Barbados.<\/p>\n
I remember the first time I drink rum. It was with Kerry. He used to be on the beach playing cricket with some other fellas from Fitts Village. He used to look at me when I was swimming. I was 16 and my body was starting to come out of its thin cocoon. I could never really understand how I was supposed to look. When I was in Canada, all of de men did like skinny girls, but in Barbados skinny girls don\u2019t get no love: thick girls was the thing. One time the cricket ball near lick me down when I was coming out de water and Kerry run to me to say sorry, and ask me if I coming back tomorrow. I tell he I wasn\u2019t sure… and I make sure to look all around to make sure that Miss Geraldine ain\u2019t see me talking to a fella.<\/p>\n
I went back early the next day. I choose the new swimsuit, the one with the polka dots, cause I see in a magazine that it does enhance natural pear-shaped assets. Kerry was there by he\u2019self, shirtless. His darkness highlighted the traces of ab muscles. He had a yellow gym bag. We walk a little further down the beach to find the shade of the big manchineel tree so Miss Geraldine couldn\u2019t see we through she back door. We talk \u2018bout school and family and he beg me to say something \u201cCanadian\u201d so I tell he \u2018bout poutine. He ask me \u2018bout snow. I told him I prefer the sand. He tried to kiss me, but I push he off. All the magazines say you not supposed to give in to boys too quick. Supposed to make them wait. That way they will want you forever. Or until you give them what they want.<\/p>\n
The next time I went to see he at the beach, he bring rum and two clear plastic cups. No ice. He say he t\u2019ief it out he aunt shop. We went back by the tree and he pour some for me and some for him. I liked the smell, but it burn all the way down. I asked for more.<\/p>\n
Then I let him kiss me. His lips were soft and tasted like sea salt, and he tongue was slick with rum. Kerry\u2019s hands explored my body. This dance was better with a partner. He ran his hand up my beach shorts, inching closer and closer to my vagina. I could feel him trying to find an opening. He put one, then two fingers inside me, and I gyrated slowly to show my approval, my satisfaction. Kerry slowly pushed he boney self on top of me, pulling down he beach shorts. I push him off, grabbed my t\u2019ings and ran all the way back to nana\u2019 house.<\/p>\n
Next time I see Kerry with his friends I went up to him to say sorry, but he cuss me and call me a lil girl who can\u2019t take dick. He tell me to fuck off.<\/p>\n
Don\u2019t trust everything you read.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
They slept.<\/p>\n
It was the one time my brother came with me to Barbados. He didn\u2019t like the sea. But he girlfriend was done wit\u2019 he and he decide to look for a lil summer fling. He used to confuse nana wit\u2019 all kinda ting he wanted to eat and nana used to make it for him: roast breadfruit and saltfish, fishcakes, cou cou and sardine, creamed potato and snapper. She say he is a growing boy and he should eat nuff to grow strong, even though he was already 21. She say Canadian food don\u2019 give strong back and is soon time for he to make baby.<\/p>\n
Food on the fire and they slept.<\/p>\n
I was at the beach…Fitts Village beach. Danielle was on the beach with me. We were 18. She light skin was burning from the sun. She was from Austria and she father was a Rasta man that she mother meet on the beach. I never ask too much about that. Her curls ran down her spine, tickling her ass. It was a small ass, but I liked it. When we walking on the beach and hold hands nobody don\u2019t say anything \u2018cause we look normal. Like best friends. We was sitting on the beach at sun\u00adset and I tell she \u2018bout my bad habit and she tell she wanna see how I does look when I doing it. So I show she. Then she take my thumb outta my mouth and put it down she pink bikini bottom. I tell she we can\u2019t do that out here cause somebody gine catch we and tell my grandmother. She hold my hand and carry me to a lil shower stall in somebody beach house. She tell me that I pretty and she like my brownness. And then I kiss she and it felt like the breeze. Easy. Calming. She pull down my white shorts and rub she fingers between my legs like I used to do when I used to think about Kelly-Ann. Eyes closed, breathe deep. I start to hold she breasts and kiss them. Two round mounds in my mouth. If only I could suck on these nipples like this, all the time, just like this….<\/p>\n
But then I hear screams. The sky was changing but I thought it was the setting sun. I hear Miss Geraldine son Donald hollering out for Greta! Greta! Greta is nana. I stop. I had to let go. I tell Danielle I coming back. I ran up the beach and cross the road. And the house on fire. Nana house on fire. Dem hollering for Greta and she ain\u2019t answering. Dem hollering for Thomas and he ain\u2019t answering. So I holler too. I wan\u2019 run in the house, I wan\u2019 find nana, Andre is a man, he could fend for he\u2019self. I try to run in the house and the firemen stop me. I scream and tell them let me go, is my nana in there and I gotta go and help she.<\/p>\n
I had to let go.<\/p>\n
One of the neighbours had drag out my bed. The blanket was still on it. Nana had tell me it was a wishing blanket for babies, and all the babies in her house become prosperous people because of that blanket. I believe she \u2018cause nana was always right.<\/p>\n
I never look at nana again. I wanted nana to be beautiful in my re-memory. White roses and orchids at her feet. Body ripe with verbena. A bountiful harvest surrounding her. Blue and white robes adorning her charcoal heaviness. Neck and hands bejewelled with love. Every\u00adthing she wants should be hers.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The Key to my Heart has been Broken<\/strong>
\n Half is stuck inside me: visible, barely protruding. Close enough to touch, to fiddle with, but you can\u2019t quite get at it. Stick your finger the right place and it\u2019s not hard to find; just there, almost\u2026 Tug a bit, and a bit more, and the only thing it reveals is frustration.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1990,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[13],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-322","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/322","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=322"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/322\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1886,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/322\/revisions\/1886"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1990"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=322"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=322"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue21\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=322"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}