Poetry, Prose, & Peonies

An excerpt of this story was published in Slate Vol. V with UTM Scribes 2020 (University of Toronto Mississauga). All proceeds from Slate Vol. V are being donated to COVID-19 research. Also check out some of the awesome work by other UTM students! I hope you enjoy💕

Gabby Alysia

xo

I gaze out the window 40,000 feet in the air. The black sky kisses the invisible Caribbean Sea below. I shift uncomfortably in the tiny WestJet plane seats. I glance at Mom sleeping next to me. Her ashen skin glows pink beneath a yellow-gray sheen.

Septicemia – a fancy word for blood poisoning – almost killed her. Mom’s hysterectomy had gone frighteningly wrong. Her bowels were lacerated and left open. Fecal matter had been seeping into her body, filling it with toxins designed to kill. Mom lay in a hospital bed while confused flurries of doctors and nurses attempted to sustain her. 

Hourly injections kept her roused, but the heavy dose of morphine made her eyes glassy and dazed. I couldn’t believe Dad refused to take her to the hospital. She had been bed-ridden for two months. Mom stood outside the car projectile vomiting and crying in pain and he still refused. I called the ambulance anyway. 

Dad only flew back to Canada because the landlord threw us out. Grandma said that the stress of eviction made Mom sick. Dad took my brother for a vacation to Trinidad over March break so Mom could have time to heal. I wasn’t invited, but —staring into dark international waters from this plane window —I know that Dad never wanted Bubby to return. 

I grab my favorite pen and leather-bound journal from my backpack below my seat. I unwind the long string holding the pages together and photos and notes stuck in the back fall into my lap. I stuff them away, trying not to look at the photos of the friends I left behind.

April 28/2013 

 Hey diary. I can’t believe I’m flying to Trinidad. It’s been a whirlwind of crazy. First, we sold the house, moved into a motel for a month, lived in the Brampton apartment for six months and now it’s on to the next. Again. 

 I have a super uneasy feeling about this move. When Granny told me that she didn’t want me to go, I thought she was just going to miss me. But the rest of mom’s family didn’t want us to go either. Aunty Darleen took me for coffee and begged me to stay. She’s totally acting like I have a choice in the matter. 

 As if Dad would ever let me stay in Canada by myself. As if I WANTED to drop out of grade 10, indefinitely. As if I wanted to leave all my friends and my whole life behind. I tried to tell Aunty Darleen that, but she wouldn’t listen. Aunty Debbie is even worse. She cried and cried when Bubby left. I mean, she was right. Dad didn’t send him back. But fuck man, Mom’s sisters are so dramatic. I tried to explain that I’m only 15 and that Dad is being crazy. But no one understands. No one understands that Dad literally went behind mom’s back and put all the stuff from our old apartment on a ship. Mom was so out of it on morphine, she didn’t remember signing the release forms for her car. 

 I’m so mad at Dad. He lied to me and told me she said it was okay for us to ship everything. Mom was on so many drugs from her surgery. I couldn’t ask her anything until two weeks after dad went back. She was finally out of the recovery wing after her second surgery when I asked her about it and she was shocked. He lied to everyone. But it’s not like I can tell him I’m mad at him. He’s still my dad so I’m gonna have to suck it up. 

 It was so scary. I can’t believe that mom almost died. Anyway, diary, I can’t write anymore. 

I close the journal and put it back in my bag. I grab my iPod Nano that my dad’s cousin gave me when I was 8. He’s in jail now for money laundering. 

I plug in my headphones and click shuffle. Dad only allowed Christian music on my iPod. When I turned 11, I downloaded ‘secular’ songs onto limewire. 

“Demons” by Imagine Dragons plays in the background. I stare out the window again and think about what it’ll be like when we land. 

Mom said it’ll be extremely hot. It’s been nine years since I last experienced Trinidadian heat. I close my eyes. The white sandy shores and deep green-blue waters of Maracas Bay flash through my mind. I can still smell the saltwater, sunscreen, and Shark and Bake cooking in the huts sprinkled along the shore.

Mom gently shakes me awake. “Good mornin’ sleepyhead. Yuh have ah nice nap?” 

I rub my eyes and press my face against the window. I sit in awe of the lavish orange, pink, and blue skies of the sunrise. Palm trees line the perimeter of the airport runways. 

Sweat beads on my forehead as I step into the narrow metal hallway of the airport. We navigate through sweaty, tired bodies towards the customs desk. I tuck my Canadian passport back in my bag and keep the blue Trini passport in my hands. 

After baggage claim, we wander out into the airport. The tiny building resembles the size of Erin Mills Towncentre before the huge renovations last summer. 

What looks like a bootleg Relay shop sits in the corner of the round atrium. A black man sits on his stool reading The Trinidad Independent News. Three black women browse through the shop, chattering loudly. Across the room sits a Royal Castle chicken joint. A dozen dark-skinned people scatter across the tables. A child screams and drops her chicken leg on the ground. Her mother smacks her butt and motions to the chicken. 

“Mom, where are the white people?” I whisper in her ear. 

Mom bursts into laughter. She holds her gut and laughs, red faced. My cheeks flush.

“Darlin, dey ain’t no whitie pokies here. Yuh gon’ be hard-pressed to find someting dat’s as white as you outside Port of Spain.” Her laughter draws the attention of passengers nearby. 

“Good mornin, good mornin madame. Yuh flight went good?” A man asks. His bright red vest reads “Piarco Staff” in bold black above his chest.  

“Mornin’ George, meh flight was good nah. I slept fine, God bless.” 

“God bless, God bless, take care madame.” 

We walk toward the glass door exit. 

“Mom, how did you know his name is George?” 

“His name ain’t George,” she says as she chuckles. “Is a Trini ting. Any man yuh don’t know is name George. De doubles man? George. De roti man? George. De damn airport people?”

“George, got it.” I look through the glass sliding doors and see Dad and Bubby standing outside. Bubby’s thick curls tickle his eyelashes.

“Go ‘head baby, go say hi.” Mom motions forward. 

I run to the automatic door and pause for the lag before it opens. A wall of humidity smacks my body.  

“Bubby!” I scream. I run up and slam into Bubby. We squeeze each other and I kiss the top of his head.

“Oh gosh darlin’, look at dem nah. Ooo goo’ I done wish my children an dem hug up like dat,” a lady says next to us. I plaster a smile on my face and roll my eyes as I turn away.

Mom hobbles, leaning on the suitcase carrier. Dad pecks her cheek and takes the cart.

“Hi Jose,” Mom says. She looks at the ground. 

“Hello Dee, how was the flight?” Dad asks. He wheels the carrier towards the parking lot. 

“It was fine. I slept a bit.”  

“Good,” Dad’s voice trails off and his eyes scour around the parking lot. Dad chuckles, “yuh feel nice finally bein’ back in negro-land? Yuh fit right in.” 

What the fuck? What Christian person says that? I peek at Mom. Her face dropped. She glances around at dark-skinned faces and shakes her head. 

“So, what are we doing today?” I ask, breaking the silence. 

“Well darlin’, I was plannin’ a beach trip. But we have to see yuh Aunty BJ and Uncle Carlos. They’re so excited to see y’all.” 

The last time I saw Uncle Carlos and Aunty BJ I was nine. They flew to Toronto to spend Christmas with our family. Talk about drama. Aunty BJ caused so much stress that Mom stopped going over to Navarro family affairs. Aunty BJ is a total bitch. Mom says she doesn’t like children which is why she never spoke to us kids. 

“How far is the house?” I ask. I stick my head out the open window and breathe in the hot, stale air. The plants strewn across the roadside have thick and waxy leaves like the fake plants in the mall. 

“It’s two minutes away,” Bubby says.

Dad looks unnatural driving on the right side of the car.  The right lane of the road chokes with masses of oncoming traffic. A tiny green car idles next to us waiting for the light. Rust bleaches the paint off the bottom of the door and the undercarriage skims the road. I find myself searching for Fords, Hondas, or even Kias. All the normal cars are substituted with Nissans, Susukis, and something called Isuzu. 

The light turns green and six cars honk their horns at once. Dad takes the roundabout fast. My body slams against the car door. Small lime green brick walls hold a dusty sign with “Millennium Lakes on the Greens” written in black cursive. Dad slows the car to a stop outside a small guard booth.

A brawny, six-foot, black man steps out of the little booth. A massive machine gun swings around his equally large torso. A long pink scar slashes across his cheek, missing his eye by a pin. I freeze in my seat.

“Boss man, how yuh goin’?” Dad shakes the guard’s hand.

He speaks so quickly I can’t understand what he’s saying. His tongue pokes its pink head through large gaps in his teeth. “Dis yuh daughta and wife an’ ting?” 

“Yes man, I takin dem up to de house. We goin’ out tonight so we’ll talk later.” Dad nods his head. 

We continue down a winding road. On one side, a large empty field sprawls, full of unkempt grass. On the other side, a dozen palm trees scatter along a small river. The water ripples and reptilian eyes poke out of the water. 

“Dad, what is that?” I ask. 

“Dat is a cayman. Don’t go near de water because dey will eat yuh.” 

Dad drives through the white gates and pulls up at a large red building. I jump out of the car and head to the walkway. A pearl of sweat slips down my neck. A large pool shaped like a panzerotti lay between lounge chairs. Grey clouds thicken the air.

We walk through the door and into a large apartment. Dad rolls the suitcases down a narrow hallway into a room. I follow him, the room holds a queen bed, dresser, and a chair. 

“Let’s go say hello to yuh aunty and uncle,” Dad says. He leads us into a large apartment down the hall into a massive room. I’m met with white furniture, white sheets, white floors, and white decor. On the dresser a grey cat swishes its tail. The king-size bed sprawls across a corner of the room. An open door reveals a large walk-in closet. Clothes and shoes litter the white carpets. A stray condom wrapper peeks out from underneath a sock.

A large, gray safe looms, slightly ajar, in the corner of the room next to the white couch that lines the bay window. 

Uncle Carlos spots us from the patio outside and stands to come in. His hair as grey as his mothers. He’s much fatter than I remember. I glance at Dad. They have the same white-ish skin and the same mousy-brown eyes that I inherited, but that’s where the resemblance between them ends. 

“Hello Gabby, how was yuh flight?” Uncle Carlos’ deep voice booms across the room.

“Hi Uncle Carlos, it was good! I can’t believe I’m here!” I give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “where’s Aunty BJ?” 

“I’m right here darling,” a half Trini, half British accent comes from behind me. Aunty BJ stands in an XL black t-shirt that reads Seventh-Day Adventist Retreat 2005. Her baggy shit-brown khaki shorts look like they’re from Bass Pro fishing shop. A green tinge glints off stupid, dad sunglasses on her head. Her olive skin tone clashes with her bottle-blonde hair. 

“Hi Aunty BJ.” I hug her. 

“How are you?” she asks. She pulls back and scans my body. 

“Good,” I say. 

“Let’s go outside, hmm?”

Aunty BJ smiles and motions for the door. All four of us pile out of the white room and into the narrow hallway. Bubby heads to the pool with Brian – Aunty BJ’s illegally adopted son. Mom, pale and shaking, went to lie down. 

“So Gabby, what have you been up to girl?” Aunty BJ widens her blue eyes and a slick smile spreads across her face. 

“Nothing really. I miss school a lot, but I’ve been helping Mom,” I say.

Uncle Carlos clicks the TV remote and a soccer match blares from the screen. Dad gathers next to him and they lean into the game. 

“How about us girls go and chat on the patio?” Aunty BJ asks, gesturing towards the door. 

“Alright,” I say, “do you want to make tea or something?” 

“Ah, but of course! Didn’t your Dad tell you, I’m British darling. We live and breathe tea.” Isn’t she Portuguese?“Why don’t you go sit outside and I’ll join you?” 

I walk out the door and leave it slightly open for Aunty BJ. I sit on one of the French bistro chairs and drink in the view. The soccer announcer floods out all the natural sounds. From the patio, an expansive green golf-course stretches out for as far as my eyes can follow. Small ponds and a river, host miniature trees, skinny birds, and reptilian eyes. The somber sky seems to sing. The death of one life. The birth of another. 

I recognize the sheer curtains from Aunty BJ and Uncle Carlos’ room. The silver safe, clearly visible from my spot. The TV turns off and whispered voices trail through the slit in the door. 

“You should do it now,” Aunty BJ’s voice grabs my attention. 

I fix my eyes on the reptilian eyes in the river and focus my ears. 

“I got the documents. I just have to put them in the safe,” Dad says in a low voice. Documents? 

“Go now, before she wakes up,” Aunty BJ mumbles. 

Silence. 

The door swings open and Aunty BJ walks out holding a silver tray with a teapot and two teacups. She places the tray on the table and sits.

I pick up my teacup and blow thin whispers of steam off the top. I peer behind Aunty BJ’s head. Dad walks behind the sheer curtains. Immediately, I recognize Mom’s document folder. She gathered all the passports and citizenship documents into one place for safe keeping. Dad placed the folder in the safe, locked it, and glanced behind him before leaving. 

Oh my god. I blow at my tea. What just happened? I’m sure he’s putting it there for safety. But… Aunty BJ said while “she” was sleeping… Mom? Why would dad want to put it in the safe without Mom knowing?

“So darling, how do you like Trinidad?” Aunty BJ’s question tears me from my mind. 

“It’s hot,” I say, forcing a smile.

“Trust me when I tell you darling, it’s going to be amazing. Your Dad was telling me that you like the beach,” she pauses for a sip, “we’ll take you tomorrow.” 

“That’s awesome!” I muster as much enthusiasm as I can. My mind streams.

Aunty BJ lowers her voice. “I want you to know, between us girls, you can tell me anything. I know we haven’t gotten the chance to be familiar with one another, but darling! We can be the best of friends if you want.” 

“Thanks Aunty.” My smile feels tight, “I’d really like that.” 

“You look absolutely exhausted, ducky.” She caresses my cheek and gazes into my eyes. 

“I am,” I say. “Leaving home was hard.” 

“Well, it’s always hard to leave a place behind. But this is your home now.” 

Home. I gaze out at the greenery and my eyes relax. This will never be my home.