Deisel, A Jamaican Love Story – Part 8

Episode 8


“Deisel.  Answer me, girl. Come on, stop the running.”


I stopped and I turned around.  It was only Marcy.

“What you doing down here, Deisel?”


She looked me over while she breathed the morning mist.  “Nothing? How you mean, nothing? You pink dress sexy deh though, girl.”

I folded my arms.  Those bags below her eyes would tell how much she had cheated sleep.  And I thought my pink dress was short but that red dress that wretch was wearing…  She couldn’t have sat anywhere in it without someone seeing all the way up to her belly-button. “So, where you coming from, Marcy, so early in the morning?”  Anything to keep her out of my business.

She gave me this lopsided grin.  “Up the road.”

“Up the road, like?”   I listened to the hum of the engine while it idled as her driver awaited.

“My principal took me for a drink to this lovely place in St. Elizabeth.  We had sprat fish and then we ended up at Devon House in Kingston where we licked Devon Stout ice cream and then we did lick more things….after.”
“Alright, Marcy, alright.  Too much information.”

She slapped the cheek of her bum.  “You asked, so, I tolled you.”  For a teacher, she really pronounced her words poorly or maybe she was simply jeering me.  “My Cindarella moment expires; the clock strikes 6,” she giggled, looking over at the driver of the dark-brown SUV bimmer.  “I’ve got to return him to his owner.”

“You mean, he has someone else?”

She looked me over as if I was some sort of crazy woman. “Of course, a man as fine as Marlon would have his uptown-wife waiting up, wondering where he had been all night.  The man hot; him car hot; me worser hot and him know how to…”

“Alright, alright, Marcy. I get it.”

“You get it last night?” Eh, em. “You got it last night?”

“Get what?”

She rolled her tired red eyes, almost frightening me.  “You didn’t give your pretty boyfriend a proper send-off?  No ice-it-up?”

I folded my shivery arms.


I moved toward the pond, not saying a thing.

“Deisel?”  She took her heels off while following me.

“Nothing happened.”

“What?”   She sounded even more disappointed than me, to fennae.  “But why, Deisel?  You won’t be seeing him for a year.”

“His aunt.”

“His who?”   She turned toward the SUV. “Marlon, you can go.  Hope your wife don’t lock you out,” that brat giggled.  “I’ve got to go talk to my bestie.”

The vehicle slowly rolled away but not before Marlon gave her a honk.

“I give that fat dark-brown bimma a piece a revving last night,” she jeered, clapping her hands, while her bum jiggled. “Anyways, my friend, what happened?”

I started crying because I must have been an idiot.  I felt like one.

“Alright, don’t cry,” she hugged.  “You know I’m here for you.”

I knew Marcy was bad-company but the way I felt, I knew I really needed a shoulder to lean on because Elan was gone.

“Alright, talk to me,” she hushed.

“We had planned on making a baby last night before he left for the airport.  I was even hoping that after what we would have done, he would have changed his mind about leaving and…”

“Let me wipe your nose.” She pulled this paper napkin, which revealed the name of the hotel where she and the principal had spent the night, from her purse.  “And?”

“His aunt told me he had to leave urgently to go to Kingston because there was a major change in flight plans.   I never got to kiss him goodbye,” I broke down. “I never got to kiss my man goodbye.”   Sob.

“What-a-Wicked-John Crow!!!” Marcy slammed.

Now, I was laughing and I was crying at the same time.

“You called his phone?”

“Yes. I heard it ringing. He had apparently left it behind.”

She kissed her teeth.  “So, she really hides your man from you and made him leave without even saying goodbye?  Dem deh type of people will suffer in the end.  Life just not fair, Deisel.”

“I know, right?”  I blew my nose.

“That’s the reason why that board-face woman doesn’t have a man, Deisel. That’s why.  She’s envious, covetous, she’s full of grudge, full of bad-mind and full of too much fiber.  Which man could live with that, eeeh?”

“I guess life goes on, eh? I guess Elan will call.”

“Life goes on, mi back foot?  Come, Deisel,” she pulled. “We are going to her yard to give it to her.  I’m going to curse the frock off  Elan’s dried-up auntie.   She makes Jezibel looks innocent.”

“No,” I resisted.

“What you mean, No?”

“Please, Marcy, just for me.  If you’re my friend then please don’t put me through this embarrassment.”

She continued huffing and puffing.  Her cheeks were now swollen.  I could have only imagined what would have happened if Elan was her boyfriend and his aunt had done this to her.

“Marcy…  Please?”

She broke this small branch.

“Marcy, please. Mi a beg you.”

She closed her eyes.  Maybe she had counted to ten.

“Alright, but I don’t like that woman. Can’t promise I won’t fix her in the future though.”

“Thanks very much, Marcy.”

“Look, Deisel, you have to start the rebuilding process.  And love yourself, girl. Look at you.  Lovely pair of hips. Nice eyes and hair.”


“We’re going to this dinner in Ocho Rios on Saturday, Marlon and I.  Would you like to come along?”

“I’ll take a rain-check on that one.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Look, take this, go to Maxi and get yourself something nice to wear.  Tree don’t grow in your face.”

“I can’t take your money, Marcy.  You’ve worked hard for it.”

“Why you think married men exist?”

“Are you saying that?”

“Don’t have any more time to waste, Deisel.  I’ve got to season my chicken back.”

“HA, HA.  At least, I’m laughing out loud.  From a bimmer to chicken back, Marcy?”

“I’m still a country girl, Deisel.”


The End Of Episode Eight.


Come back next week to see what happens.

This fictional series contains the names of characters, places, events and a storyline that exists only in the author’s imagination.  Any resemblance to actual events, persons alive or not is a coincidence. 

This publication is intended for readers who are twenty-one years of age or older and was created only for entertainment.

All Rights Reserved. Reproduction, duplication or copying of any part of this publication in any form or by whatever means is strictly prohibited unless consent is given by the author.

Individuals pictured are models and are used for illustrative purposes.



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