When you bring somebody home for spring break, you realize it’s a treat to see your home unfold in someone else’s eyes for the first time. I mean like a patty that was lunch for you every day at Andrews, is somebody else’s “gourmet Jamaican food.”
I come from Red Hills. Today I tell Mar I taking her to Porty. Nah tek no highway. I put on a little maxie shirt, and a black mesh sumn over my bikini. She wore the same thing, I guess. But in Bob Marley colors. — I guess she is trying to dress the part, where I am the part.
Left Kingston already arguing about air conditioning, took Junction because it’s shorter if you don’t count the stops. I used to have this road memorized down to the potholes... but I’ve been at college too long, and those things change every two blc weeks. She calls it beautiful, out loud, more than once, which is how you can tell. It is beautiful tho.
At the shack by the road, one of them orders the way she has since she was a kid getting patty for lunch behind the school gates. The other bites in like she’s found something rare. To her, this isn’t lunch. This is gourmet.
By the river they stop pretending this is a road trip and admit it’s a pilgrimage. Two women, a pro box. One of them is a tourist here. And by the bye, by the coast, round di corner, it’s getting harder to say which is which.
