by Nia Arthurs
“Thanks.” He nodded at me, “It’s something I’m good at so I use it as a tribute to Him.”
I tilted my head, “Why don’t you people say it? You’re all talking about God without talking about Him.”
Archie shrugged. “It’s not intentional.”
“It’s weird.”
Archie nodded at me, “I get it.”
I pivoted toward him, “What do you mean?”
“I always figured that I was a good enough person, you know? I believed in God; thought I was doing everything right.”
“What happened to make you realize you were doing something wrong?”
He peered at me and once again I was captured by his silver eyes. “I heard the Truth.”
The heat in my chest as he gazed at me made me distinctly uncomfortable. I picked up the Pride and Prejudice book, aimlessly thumbing through it as I changed the subject,
“Where’s Nicole? I thought she’d be with you.”
Archie didn’t bat an eye at the new topic or press the previous one, “She’s at her parent’s place.”
“Nice.”
A beat of silence passed between us. With my hair covering the side of my face, I observed the pattern of his tattooed arms which were proudly on display under the white button down shirt that he wore.
“You want to ask?”
I caught his eye. “Ask you what?”
“Whatever you want. I’m an open book.” He closed his eyes as if giving my eyes permission to trail his inked skin. I did so liberally, tracing the symbols and designs thirstily.
“I don’t have any questions.” I replied.
One eye popped open and he glanced at me, “Yeah right.”
“Can I tell you something really personal?” I scooted to the edge of my seat.
“Shoot.”
“I was engaged.”
He groaned and sat up properly, his silver eyes searing me with their intensity, “Was?”
I sighed, “He wasn’t faithful.”
“I’m really sorry, Susan.”
I shook my head, “I learned something important from that experience.”
He leaned forward.
“The sorts of questions that matter aren’t answered with words.”
Archie whistled low and held a fist over his heart, “Don’t get deep on me now.”
I giggled and rocked back in the chair as the beauty of this country once more took my breath away. The coming dusk had the sun shooting brilliant rays at our eyes. The smell of damp grass and hibiscus flowers permeated the air. The Reyes backyard was peppered with lime trees and coconut palms. I felt like I was on vacation even though I had my first class tomorrow.
“He’s a dirtbag.” I returned my attention to Archie with a confused expression. “Your ex-fiancé,” Archie clarified, “you’re a beautiful, intelligent woman and he passed on a good thing.”
“Thank you.” I whispered.
He nodded once and then got up and went back inside. As dusk turned into night, and the cicadas responded in a nocturnal chorus, I pondered Archie’s kind words and smiled. Great things were waiting for me in Belize. I could feel it deep down in my bones.
Catching the bus in Belize is quite an experience. My first class was at nine o’clock in the morning and I was waiting at the bus stop near the apartment at eight forty-five. I could have called one of the guys or their wives to come pick me up, but there was something about doing things on my own that I quite enjoyed. Only problem was, I was completely clueless when it came to navigation in Belize. I knew I needed to get to Princess Margaret Drive and I knew that I was far away from it. Feeling a bit overwhelmed and wishing that Google Maps worked in this part of the Americas, I sought out a friendly face to ask directions. I finally settled upon a young woman sitting by herself underneath the shade of the bus stop. I waded through the few people standing outside the iron bench and sat beside her.
“Hello,” I greeted the young lady. She looked no older than sixteen, but I’d learned that Belizean people often appeared younger than they actually were. The dark-skinned girl had her hair in long braids. Her wide set eyes were kind above a large nose. She smiled when she heard my accent.
“Hi.” She replied.
“Can you help me?” I asked, hoping that my inflection did not mess up her understanding of my words. “I need to get to this school.” I pulled out my phone and showed her a picture of the building.
“Yes,” she said, her head bobbing up and down enthusiastically. The musical lilt of her Caribbean accent delighted me. “I am getting off near there. I will help you.”
“Thanks.” I grinned, pocketed my phone, and stuck out my hand, “I’m Susan.”
“Ashanti,” she took my palm and shook it. “Nice to meet you. Is this your first time in Belize?”
“No, it’s not.” I explained, “I was here once before for a wedding. Do you live around here?”
She pointed to a pink cement house a few yards down the road, “I live there.”
“Cool. I live in apartment 201 in the complex near there. Feel free to come visit sometime.”
I hoped that was not too forward. Ashanti seemed like a nice person and though I loved my Belizean crew, I’d need some friends that were not married or in a relationship to hang out with.
“That sounds fun.” She grinned, but I couldn’t tell if she was only saying that to get me off her back. A large green bus rumbled down the street, emitting a pile of smoke as it came to an abrupt halt. I coughed and fanned away the dirt streaming from the smoke and rising from the street. In the States that kind of smoke emission would be illegal. I took note of the bus company in my notebook. There must be something that I could do to prevent that kind of damage to the ozone layer.
My musings distracted me so that most of the people previously waiting by the bus stop were already on board. Ashanti prodded me in my back and urged me on. As soon as I stepped on to the city bus, I turned around and started to walk out.
“Where are you going?” Ashanti blocked my way.
I glanced around at all the faces stuffed in the seats and lined down the aisle like an unopened can of sausages. Ashanti and I were squished against the automatic doors of the vehicle like forgotten mannequins. She couldn’t seriously wish to ride on this bus.
“This bus is full.” I said obviously.
“We can fit.” She told the bus driver confidently. He nodded and then started up the huge vehicle. The engine turned over with a bang and I winced as I imagined all the smoke wafting up into the atmosphere from that one action. The brown-skinned man behind me had his arm up and smelled distinctly like corn and onion. He held one hand above my head gripping the iron bars used for the storage of luggage and the other palmed a wax paper filled with what looked like soft tortillas and vegetables. I covered my nose from the smell. The bus driver slowed the bus down at another bus stop.
“Ashanti,” I whispered urgently, “he cannot be picking up more people.”
“This is a dalla bus.” She explained, “They must fill it up to make a profit.”
I glanced around at the faces that seemed to find being stuffed back to back in a bus a commonplace affair. “No one else can fit in here.”
Ashanti rolled her eyes and tucked herself into my side on the top step of the bus. “We fit.” She remarked in a dead pan voice.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” a Hispanic woman in a long pink skirt and paisley white blouse with her hair in a ponytail gripped the hands of her two young children and squeezed her way to the door.
“We have to come off so she can pass.” Ashanti informed me.
I groaned inwardly and followed my Caribbean guide down to the tarmac. The hot sun beat on our heads as we waited for all the passengers who made their way out. Even though the bus had exchanged passengers, there were still no seats available. On the bright side, I was no longer tucked up under the Onion Man’s breath. I had a thing with strangers and my personal space and it seemed that Belize was intent on cu
ring me of that. After ten minutes of standing, I finally rested my poor butt unto a seat.
“That’s your stop!” Ashanti, who had found a spot two seats ahead of me, shouted. The entire bus turned to look at me and the bus driver pulled over.
“Thanks!” I yelled right back at her, since that seemed to be the way of it and made my way down the aisle. I plucked a Belizean dollar coin into the bus driver’s hand and hopped off of the carriage. As the bus moved off, it blasted one last bulk of smoke as a farewell. I really needed to petition that practice.
The University of the West Indies campus was one of the smaller colleges that I’d visited. The college that I had attended before could fit about fifteen UWI’s within it. Still, I enjoyed exploring. The UWI campus buildings were fairly new and large, and the grounds bore common Belizean treasures like coconut trees and fresh green grass. I walked past the gate, wondering if I’d have to flash my ID. The security guard looked at me with lazy disinterest when I paused before his booth and I realized that my efforts were unnecessary.
My first class was in the Roskowski building. I checked my watch and, satisfied that I had enough time to find the course location on my own, wandered through the campus. There must be something in the Belizean water because many of these college students looked like teenagers to me. The chatter of adolescents floated on the breeze and I suddenly began to wonder if packing up and moving to a new place for a year was the right idea. I was out of my element and a little insecure. Before I could become overwhelmed, I spotted the sign for the Roskowski building and wandered inside. The classrooms were the traditional rooms with a white board at the front and about thirty individual student desks spread out. I found my assigned classroom and was glad that I could slip in undetected. I hated sitting at the front and I hated being called upon in class. I’d accomplished the first one, and hopefully I didn’t have to deal with the second.
It was hard to blend into a classroom this small. And all the students seemed to know each other. I felt out of place and very very lonely. Casting about for something to do, I opened my text book and read a few pages.
“Hey!” At first, I thought the call was meant for one of her chums and continuously stared at the pages in my book.
“Hey you!” The class quieted a bit and I glanced up to see what had caused the hush. A young Indian girl with the most beautiful black falling like a waterfall to her lower back stared directly at me. The stud in her nose twinkled in the sunlight streaming from the windows.
“Me?” I pushed a thumb uncertainly to my chest.
She nodded and pointed a thin hand with more than a dozen bangles on it in my direction. “Yes you. I know you.”
I searched her black eyes for any signs of aggression or mental disability since I had never seen this girl before in my life. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. I don’t know who you are.”
“Where do you know her from, Persia?” An overweight Latina girl with fair, creamy skin and dimples that peeped out whenever she spoke egged the other girl on.
“I don’t know.” Persia said, “But it will come to me.”
When I did not say anything else, the class lost interest and returned to their previous conversations. Had I just been Belizean-bullied? What a strange occurrence. After a few minutes, the professor walked in and I breathed a sigh of relief.
At last, some order to this chaos.
“Good morning,” the professor listed as Deborah Peters set her briefcase on the teacher’s table and shook out her hair. Mrs. Peter’s had beautiful curls that she pinned up on the sides in a professional style. She wore a green long sleeve blouse and gray slacks. The wide black frames on her nose were the only indicant that she was a teacher. The young students who were previously frolicking about and communing with each other snapped to attention. I folded my hands on my lap and looked on in silence.
“Some of you have already had me in the European Union Law course.” She paced the class, her sharp brown eyes cutting through us like lasers, “For those of you who have only heard of me, let me assure you that the rumors are true.” She stopped in the middle of the row at the front of the room and clasped her arms behind her back, “I don’t tolerate tardiness. I don’t accept late homework. And I don’t take any crap. If I feel that something is crap, it does not belong in my class.”
I couldn’t tell if she was referring to our work or us as students. Either way, I sat up stock-still and tried not to breathe too hard.
“I don’t like people,” Mrs. Peters explained.
Hm, then why did you become a lawyer and a teacher?
“And I don’t like wasting time.” She continued, “So turn to the first chapter in your book and let’s begin.”
Hesitantly, a girl at the front of the class raised her hand. “Mrs. Peters, sir- I mean, ma’am.” The class collectively held their breath as they watched the exchange. “I don’t have the text book.”
Mrs. Peters whirled around and fixed her eyes on the timid girl in the front seat. My sympathies to the chick but I was not getting involved in this.
“Name.”
“Jeresha Pinkerton,”
“Jeresha, you were aware that you needed the text two months prior to the beginning of this class.”
“Yes but-”
“Excuses will not be tolerated in this course. Class, what are some choices Jeresha could have made to insure she proffered the literature for this course?”
My peers participated with more exuberance than I’d expected.
“Buy the book!” a young man offered.
“And if money was an issue?” Mrs. Peters chided.
“She could scan it from someone else and print it out.” One girl proposed.
“She could find it for free online.”
“Borrow one from a senior that already took the course.”
Mrs. Peters raised her palm and halted the flood of suggestions, “I don’t take excuses, Ms. Pinkerton. You can leave and return when you’ve found a solution instead of simply proposing a problem in my class.”
With tears in her eyes, the young lady left. I winced on her behalf. That was harsh.
“Now,” Mrs. Peters observed the rest of us as though she’d asked Jeresha to fetch her some tea, “let’s begin.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mia’s Designs was not hard to find. The bus driver knew exactly where it was and personally called for me when it was time for me to get off the bus. I had a feeling that the young driver was attracted to me, but he was courteous and sweet so I did not rebuff his subtle attention. I walked toward the store and could not take my eyes off of the amazing display window. It was truly a work of art. The small square was tastefully decorated with jungle themed grass, vines and even a small tree. Four mannequins without heads posed in adorably chic tribal wear with a modern twist. It was a phenomenal idea and I wanted to buy the red flowered skirt right away.
“Hey boss!” I called as I walked through the store, “do I get an employee discount?”
“Susan!” Mia stood from where she was kneeling behind the counter and greeted me, “You’re here early. I thought we set things up for three.”
“I’m finished at two fifteen, so I thought I’d come straight over.”
“Cool.” Mia rounded the counter and hugged me. She was taller by a few inches and I had to tiptoe to return the embrace. I stepped back and gave her a head to toe survey. Mia was by far the most strikingly beautiful woman I had ever met. Her dark skin was so smooth and gorgeous. Her long, straight hair (which Mia had playfully informed me was purchased at the Cosmetic Corner) framed her face in gentle waves that touched her back. She wore an elegant blue romper with tan leather sandals and an ankle bracelet.
“Do I always have to dress so fancy for work?” I teased her, gazing down at my own Graphic T-shirt and white shorts.
“Girl, you make anything look good. No wonder you and Melody are friends.”
I absorbed her compliment with a smile and pushed up the
sleeves of my T-shirt, “Thank you. Hey, where’s Estefan?”
Estefan was Mia’s security guard who had been working at Mia’s Designs for nearly three years.
“Oh, he went back to Mexico to be with his family. I still miss him sometimes.”
“I thought he didn’t talk much.”
“Doesn’t mean I didn’t like that he was here. I miss the guy.”
“I’m sorry that he’s gone.” I remarked, “But why haven’t you replaced him.”
“Ach, now you sound like Peyton. I’ll find another one when I’m ready.”
“Okay…” I quipped uncertainly, “I guess that’s enough chatting for the moment. Now put me to work, Boss lady.”
Mia had no reservations about doing that very thing and I was immediately given the chore of dusting down the shelves. Monday, according to my boss, was cleaning day. At first, I felt a little resentful. Not of Mia’s generous opportunity, but at my own fall from the ladder of success. I gave up a cushy job in L.A. to be a store clerk in Belize. The rank hurt my ambition, but I held myself back from trekking down a road of cynicism. I was lucky to be here and I would not forget it.
My boss went to the back to sort through inventory and left me in charge of the cleaning and the front counter. She left the music speakers on blast and as the hours passed, the infectious soca and dancehall rhythms invaded my bones. I was alone in the shop and couldn’t resist myself. I danced out from behind the counter, shook my bum when I fetched the ladder in the storage closet, and sashayed my shoulders as I climbed the ladder to clean the ceiling fan. This particular chorus was driving me nuts and I started singing along with the artist at full blast.
“Shake your tambourine! Shake, shake, shake your tambourine!” I yelled as I sprayed the white ceiling fans with Pledge and then wiped them down.
“Mind you hurt yourself!” Mia teased from the back room. Her joking only spurred me on and I did a special little shake of the hips in her honor.
Out of nowhere, a distinctly male voice interjected, “I’d listen to Mia if I were you.” Stunned and a bit mortified that a customer had wondered into the store and got a private Zumba lesson, I let go of my hold on the ladder and lost my balance. I flapped my arms up and down hoping to restore my equilibrium and return my hand’s grasp to the step ladder. I reached for it as I tilted backwards, but I was too far away to cement my hold. The ladder tipped to the left and I tumbled down, closing my eyes in expectation of a solid fall.
