New Beginnings

by Brenda Barrett

  Geneva felt uneasy now. She pushed away the youth then realized how strong he was. He tore her flimsy blouse, which was barely covering her top and laughed. “Just the right size.” His tongue peeked out of his mouth as he stared at her breasts.

  He started to pull her toward the alleyway of a government building. It was too early for anyone to be at work so no one would see them. Tears came to her eyes. She didn’t want to be raped. It had never entered her mind that Froggie’s name wouldn't stop this ugly and foul man from coming onto her. She struggled vigorously, scratching and kicking and screaming at the top of her lungs.

  “Help me, somebody, please help me!”

  The youth laughed. The town was deserted. He could barely make out the faint stirrings of life near the market, which was down the road from the alleyway. But a security guard was sleeping at his post close to where they were. He jerked awake long enough to see the drama before him. Then he closed his eyes again. It was just a prostitute and her customer in the morning.

  “Help me!” Geneva screamed before the youth clamped his hand over her mouth and pushed up her jeans skirt.

  “Shut up, gal,” he said menacingly in her ear as he groped at the front of his jeans.

  Geneva’s heart raced and thoughts crashed through her head. She always heard of rape but never understood the feelings of helplessness or utter despair.

  “Who's there?” a raspy voice asked at the entrance to the alley.

  Geneva spun her head around to look and almost wept in relief when she saw that it was Davian, one of Froggie’s friends who often came to the bar.

  “Gen?” he asked, disbelief in his voice. He looked at the youth, who was now holding her a bit less tight, and took out a knife from his pocket. “Let her go.”

  The youth released Geneva and looked fearfully at the knife.

  “He is from Fourteenth Street,” Geneva gasped, tears choking her as she sank on the ground resting her head on the filthy concrete of the building. She never saw when the youth ran, or heard the call that Davian made to Froggie. She just sat and stared unable to believe what almost took place. She needed a bath. She closed her eyes, and the opulent room, which she had just left behind, came to the forefront of her mind.

  ****

  Froggie was boiling with anger. If someone had poured cold water over him, it would have ascended in a cloud of steam before a single drop hit the ground. He sat on the roadside on his bike and watched as his friend Mikey packed up his sound system. The day was just dawning, and many of the patrons who had come to the dance were now just heading home, their sweat-slicked bodies and heavy eyelids testifying to their all night vigil. He kicked a soft drink bottle from under his foot and stared at the same spot until his eyes were fixated on it. He couldn't get out of his mind, that first look at Geneva, as she walked down the lane, her blouse in shreds.

  He had been happy that she had come back to him. The sweetest feeling of love had rushed over him as he realized that she had loved him enough to turn her back on loads of money. What man could say that given the choice between him and riches, his woman had chosen him? Her tear-ravaged face had told another tale.

  Normally, he would plan carefully what course of action to take against Fourteenth Street, but love and anger now clouded his judgment.

  “Who was the guy?” he asked Davian.

  “His name is Lewis,” Davian replied, leaning against a wall. The graffiti on it bore Froggie’s picture shaking hands with the Member of Parliament, but as far as the citizens of Black Lane were concerned, Froggie was their political representative.

  “Who is he related to?” Froggie hissed.

  “Sparky.” Davian said excitedly. "Actually he's a cousin of his." He could smell that war was in the air. It didn’t take much for either side to retaliate, but this was major. Everyone knew that Geneva was Froggie’s most prized possession, and a Fourteenth Street man had tried to rape her.

  “Find him,” Froggie said abruptly. “Bring him come and kill him.”

  Davian frowned. As much as Froggie was a don, he had never ordered a killing before; he was always proposing that crime was never a good solution. It was because of Froggie, not the police or government, why Black Lane and Fourteenth Street had a temporary truce at the moment.

  Geneva had been standing at the doorway of the cramped house. She had bathed and changed her clothes and the events of the early morning were beginning to wear off.

  “No,” she said loud enough for Froggie and Davian to hear. “No killing.”

  Froggie looked at her fiercely and then nodded to Davian.

  “Okay, don’t kill him. Burn down his house and beat him.”

  Davian nodded. “When?”

  “Now.” Froggie started walking towards Geneva. She looked fragile, her eyes wide and tear-washed.

  He hugged her close. Was she crazy to give up the money for him? Was he worthy of this kind of love? He wanted to be. The solution to their problem would be for Geneva to stay for the year and then they would move away from Kingston and start afresh together somewhere else. But in the space of a few short weeks she changed beyond his recognition. Even now, he could still see her laughing with the Greenwood boy at the restaurant. She had looked happy and sophisticated and unlike the woman he was now holding in his arms who clutched him uncertainly.

  “Go to sleep, Geneva,” he said and kissed her on her forehead.

  She didn't argue. She went into the house. He stared after her and knew that he had to do something. He had to let her go. This would be the most unselfish act he would ever do in his life. If she stayed with him, her life would not be the same. That is, if she would have this kind of life for much longer. She would always wonder about the other life, now that she had gotten a taste of it. He didn’t want her to grow to resent him, so he had to give her up. If they were meant to be, they would find their way back to each other.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Geneva stared at the ceiling. She was supposed to be sleeping, but the hot air that the small fan was blowing at her made her restless. She hadn't worked out anything with Froggie. He had been so mad when she told him what had nearly happened to her that they had had no time to talk.

  The room seemed smaller than it was before she left. The scent of damp clothes and beer permeated the air. Dust had gathered on the dresser, and the mirror was splattered with Froggie’s after-shave. In the corner, dirty clothes were dumped in an overflowing basket. She would have to wash them. She sighed at the thought. Eventually, Froggie would have sent them to his mother, Miss Nancy, who would also clean the small two-bedroom house, but now she was here, so it was her responsibility.

  As if reading her thoughts, Miss Nancy came through the beaded curtains that divided the bedroom from the small hall that was crammed with cheap furniture.

  “I cant believe this!” Miss Nancy exclaimed, pausing in the doorway, her round figure clad in an all white ensemble of pants, blouse and head wrap. Her big belly hung over her tight jeans as she stood akimbo.

  She got pregnant with Froggie when she was supposed to be in grade six at primary school. She was thirteen at the time. She practically grew up with her son but was determined that he would not drop out of school like she had. With no skills nor experience, she lied about her age and address and got a job as a helper with an uptown couple. She stayed with them for years until they left Jamaica. By then she had put Froggie through school and scrimped and saved until he got an associate’s degree at a community college.

  After that, she saved enough money to help him set up a bar and nightclub. She spent most of her days and nights there and played the role of hostess. She always wore the latest styles and outlandish wigs and was not necessarily a suitable role model for anyone, much less her strong-willed son.

  Geneva grunted and peered at her. “Miss Nancy.”

  “Gal,” Nancy said as she advanced in the room and sat at the edge of the double bed gingerly. “You are supposed to be living the high life uptown. What ar
e you doing here?”

  “I missed Froggie too much,” Geneva said, wrinkling her nose. Nancy smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap perfume.

  Nancy licked her generous lips and rubbed her eyes. “I haven’t slept since last night. I was selling drinks at Mike’s dance.” She looked at Geneva. Her blood-shot eyes seemed tired.

  “You are stupid and messed up. I like you, and I know that you are a good girl, but you have no idea what life is about. You could make things better for us down here, you know, with all that money. I was planning to save the money you started sending to buy a house in the country and probably open a little shop. Jasmine set up her shop at Half-Way-Tree and is doing well in the short time you helped her. You could do something about our situation.” She sighed. “I might be selfish when I say this, but you being here is not benefiting any of us. I have one son, and God knows I work hard to get him out of this place. This is no dream life, Geneva. The ghetto isn't pretty; you know this and yet you are here.

  "I worked for rich people all my life, so I know the lifestyle. You saw it and you gave it up for Froggie. If I was your mother, I would give you some licks. Then again, your mother was just as bad.”

  She stormed out of the room then she came back and grabbed the overflowing clothes basket and mumbled, “You even enter Miss Jamaica competition and then give all of that up for a man. You have no ambition!”

  Geneva stared at her as she huffed and puffed while she dragged the basket out of the room. She felt uncomfortable in her skin. She wanted to yell at Nancy that it wasn't where you are that would make you happy but who you are with.

  “What do you mean my mother was just as bad?” Geneva asked, her senses alert to any mention of her mother.

  “She was never a downtown girl, Geneva,” Miss Nancy said, panting as she hauled the overfull basket across the floor. “She knew too many people, sometimes called them by name when she was drunk at the bar, and she would talk about places she used to go.”

  “No,” Geneva said and shook her head. “Rachel Green was a drunk. You can’t listen to drunks.”

  “Rachel Green wasn't even her name,” Miss Nancy said, putting the basket down and stuffing some of the clothes into a pillow case. “One drunken night at the bar she said she changed her name.”

  “I don’t want to hear anymore,” Geneva said tiredly. “My mother used to tell me that she saw little green men dancing on the roof. How you can believe a woman like that?”

  Long after Miss Nancy left the room, Geneva’s mind wandered. She didn’t know what to believe about her mother. The woman had been a drunk, and it felt strange to think about her in any other way. The tension and strain of her near brush with rape, her uncertainty with Froggie, and her lost inheritance, weighed heavily on her mind. She closed her eyes to shut out her turbid thoughts and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Geneva woke up to the sound of gunshots. She could hear people running along the streets and women and children screaming.

  “Froggie,” she whispered, frightened, and jumped up. The gunshots weren't surprising; she was used to it. It was the nearness of the shots to the house that had her scared.

  Froggie ran into the room and opened a shoebox in the corner. She knew that was where he kept his gun. He pulled it out and pushed it into his waist.

  “No, Froggie,” Geneva squealed. “You promised you wouldn’t kill anybody.”

  Froggie looked at her and grimaced. “Gen, I want you to go under the bed and stay there.”

  “What’s happening?” Geneva asked, scared.

  “We burned down the house of the idiot who dared to touch you, and Sparky came over with his men to hunt me down. Somebody tipped off the police and they are outside too, and they are shooting at everything in sight.”

  “Froggie please don’t go outside,” Geneva pleaded, trembling. “Please, Froggie. I don’t want them to shoot you. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Listen to me, Geneva,” Froggie said urgently. “When all this is finished, I want you to go back uptown and stay there. I want you to forget me.”

  “No,” Geneva gasped, “I love you. How could you ask me to do that? It’s my fault, isn’t it, that there is war this morning.” Tears filled her eyes. “If I hadn’t come back that guy wouldn’t have…”

  Froggie came over to her and kissed her hard on her lips. “This had to happen sometime. If it wasn’t you, that boy would have tried something with someone else. I love you, Gen. Promise me that you will leave here and forget this place.”

  Geneva rubbed the tears from her eyes. “And you promise me that you will move away from here as you said.”

  Froggie started to leave the room.

  “Promise me, Froggie,” Geneva hiccupped. “I will only forget this place when you are safely out of it.”

  Froggie turned back to her. “Geneva, we are different now. I was going to say this when you woke up…” he sighed. “It was good of you to come back, but our time has run its course. I will never be enough for you, not after you've seen all that your moneyed world has to offer you.”

  “Promise me,” Geneva gazed at him, drinking him in. He didn’t seem larger than life anymore. He was just a man, an unfortunate man trapped in a leadership role for a band of disillusioned poor people. She realized that she couldn’t live this life anymore. She would have to set him free or, better yet, set herself free.

  “I promise,” Froggie said after a long, pregnant pause. He turned away from her.

  Geneva laid sobbing in the bed as he ran outside. She could hear the shots ringing in the streets. The occasional firing from an abandoned building near her road had her scared and she did not dare to even look through the window in case she got shot. She huddled under the bed on the dirty red floor and waited for hours. Her muscles ached in protest when she turned; the floor seemed to be digging into her tender flesh.

  She didn’t know how long she huddled under the bed, scared for Froggie’s safety, but hunger drove her out. She found a mildewed bun in the cupboard and took it under the bed with her. Froggie still had not returned. She sipped a lukewarm soda she found in a crate near the bed and waited for any sign of life from the community.

  The shadows of evening came and all she heard were the occasional shots, which sounded as if they were coming from above the community.

  Who was shooting at them? She wondered constantly. The Fourteenth Street men would have gone home long ago. She closed her eyes and pretended that she was uptown shopping with Melody. Her strong resolve to come back downtown seemed so childish to her now. It was time to adapt to her new life. It wouldn’t be hard to forget her origins if she tried, but to forget Froggie would be something else.

  “Geneva.” It was Nancy’s voice.

  “Yes,” Geneva said and crawled from under the bed, sneezing. She was covered in dust.

  “Keep it down,” Miss Nancy whispered, looking distressed. “The police shot Froggie.”

  “No,” Geneva said, shocked. For a minute she could hardly breathe. It was as if the world stopped spinning and Miss Nancy faded before her eyes.

  Nancy pushed Geneva down on the bed before she collapsed on the floor and said, “Look here, the police has been shooting all day at anything that can walk. They got Froggie, threw him into their vehicle and took off. I have no idea if my one son is dead or alive.”

  Miss Nancy sniffed then said resolutely, “They have a curfew now. Nobody can enter or leave the community until in the morning. This is what I want you to do. Tomorrow morning, I want you to go back to your people in the hills.” She looked at Geneva sternly.

  “But what about Froggie?” Geneva whispered. Pain lanced her chest as she thought about him lying dead somewhere.

  “I will keep you up to date,” Nancy said, sitting beside Geneva. She started to cry. Her stoic resistance had crumpled. The two women cried together in the dim, cramped room, both knowing that things would never be the same.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Gen
eva hobbled up the driveway of the house where she would be spending the rest of the year with her sister. It was hard to believe that the first time she saw the house was two months ago. A lot had happened to her since then. She had still not gotten any news about Froggie, but Nancy had made sure that she left the community.

  She knocked on the front door and tried not to think about the reaction of the family in the house. The housekeeper answered the door, her face wreathed in smiles. “Miss Geneva,” she said happily. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “I was only away for a day,” Geneva said, smiling back at Marcia. A day and it seemed like a lifetime. “Where is Pamela?”

  “In the breakfast room,” Marcia whispered. “Probably you should change first before you see her.”

  Geneva looked down at her skimpy costume. It came from her old wardrobe. She nodded and went up the stairs. It felt as if she had never left when she removed the wig and changed into a ‘socially respectable’ outfit.

  She went to Melody’s room and found her sitting up in bed and reading.

  “I told Mother you would be back today,” she said to Geneva.

  “How could you know that?” Geneva asked, taken aback that her sister didn’t seem surprised to see her.

  “I saw the news,” Melody said and cleared her throat. “It said that Winston ‘Froggie’ Reid was gunned down and that there was a battle going on in the area.”

  Geneva swallowed. “Yeah.” She desperately hoped Froggie was alive.

  “I am sorry, Gen,” Melody said seriously. “I tried to call you, but I couldn’t get you. I was so concerned that you were hurt.”

  Geneva’s heart warmed. How could she have contemplated turning her back on Melody and renouncing her good fortune? Her melodramatic flight yesterday morning seemed so inconsequential now. “My phone was under the bed. No signal.”