The Dreamtracer’s Gift Chapter VI
He backed away and disappeared as he appeared. Something fell from his tie.
“You can’t come in here,” I cried out to the tall, headless man standing at the entrance of one of the two bedrooms I shared with my parents, in a huge two-story tenement. He sported shiny black shoes that glistened as the sun’s rays peeking through one of the windows, bounces off the toes of his shoes and hit the inner walls of my small bedroom, casting shadows on the walls that seems to dance as he swayed his left foot a bit.
His black pants were neatly pressed and the seams stood out stiff like the pleats on my uniform when Mama uses starch she made from cassava on it.
His shirt was as white as Mama’s white she would soak it in bleach water in a plastic bag out in the sun for days after soaping it up with blue bomber cake soap. His tie was as black as our skin. He carried a black briefcase with gold letters on one side. He halted at the door motionless and then bends as if to pick up something. I jumped off the bed and pushed him away.
He backed away and disappeared as he appeared. Something fell from his tie. I picked it up and hastened to the back of the yard where Mama and Grandma were arguing over a pan of clothes mama was washing!
“Grandma, look what I found,” I said excitedly, displaying a tiny white carving in my hand. She stopped talking to mama, grabbed it away from me, and then started to speak words I couldn’t understand. Mama dropped the clothes she was washing into the pan, wiped her wet soapy hands in her skirt, and covered Grandma’s mouth, quickly pulling her inside and glancing around furiously.
I followed anxiously like a stray pup after a juicy bone, as the atmosphere was altered quickly. Grandma kept going on and on as mama gently placed her on my bed.
“Not now, not today,” Mama kept repeating, her hands on her head going around in circles in my small room devoid of space.
Composure returned shortly, and Grandma excitedly declared to me, “You have received your gift, from Nanny,” hugging me.
“No!” Mama cried, yanking me away from her, “I don’t want her to be a part of it.”
“She is a maroon, she was born in it,” Grandma cried, pulling me towards her.
“And I am going to take her out of it,” Mama declared, hauling me away.
Grandma sighed, releasing me, and related in almost a whisper, frustration creased her usually cheerful countenance. “Tomorrow the Windward maroons celebrate the signing of the treaty with the British, along with the land grant and the commemoration of our heroes and heroine. This,” she said embracing the tiny white carving in her hand as excitement covered her face in happiness. “Was sent to us on the eve of our celebration for a reason. You have denied yourself of your wonderful Maroon heritage, don’t deny my only grandchild of hers. She has a right to know where she came from.”
“She already knows Ma, she came from my belly,” Mama confirmed, pushing me gently away.
This was one of their many fights about me and my gift, which I am still waiting for. I journeyed on an expedition all over our house and still didn’t find it. I eased away sitting on my bed on the other side of the room!
More about me: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09YBM8R47?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860
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Frank Ontario | empathy, logic, love.