tek to dis dirt, for dem is specialized plants, but we will see,” he explained. “In de library dem have books dat explain dat dem have over fifteen thousand species—is a fascinating flower, but delicate.” I gently touched them and promised myself I would look them up.
After my birthday Petal and I celebrated in the treehouse, rubbing on top of each other and eating grasshoppers. I didn’t know it would be our last time together, or I might have stayed longer, but Punsie was yelling for me at my front gate. I had promised to play ball with her.
Uncle Mikey celebrated his birthday a week after we returned from our annual visit to Mammy’s. His was a more elaborate event that took place in the Red Hills, at Paul and Helen’s house, which was absolutely stunning—I had never seenanything like it. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and had a breathtaking view of the sea and downtown Kingston. There were so many rooms it was like a maze.
Mama wore a dress that Paul and Uncle Mikey had designed and sewn for her. It was made of white satin, with strips of gold thread through the fabric. She wore a pair of looped gold earrings from my mother, and her long black hair framed her face in curls. Her dress was the talk of the party, and she looked every inch like a black Sophia Loren. All of Uncle Mikey’s friends who came to his Sunday parties were there, as well as others I didn’t recognize. Everybody was beautifully dressed. There were more men than women, but that seemed only natural, given that it was Uncle Mikey’s party.
Mama was very happy. I saw a rare softness in her face, and her lips rested in a smile. She and Helen chatted, generously helping themselves to the rum punch.
A man named Frank sat behind a grand piano in the centre of the room. He looked to be over thirty, was tall like Uncle Mikey, but had receding hair and a stylishly trimmed beard. He wore a red, open-necked shirt and black velvet pants. We all fanned around the piano and sang “Happy Birthday to You” till I was sure our voices reached past the Red Hills and down to the sea. When the singing stopped, Mama kissed Uncle Mikey on the lips. Then she made her speech.
“Son,” she said, “Happy birthday, and ah hope all yuh dreams come true.” Her voice broke, then she caught herself and went on. “Ah love yuh more dan words can ever say, so ah will just stop dere.” I caught a tenderness in her eyes that she hadn’t offered Uncle Freddie when he left theisland. The crowd clapped long and heartily, as though at a political rally.
Uncle Mikey’s friends also made speeches, then we ate cake, and I had my first taste of champagne. I stuffed myself with more cake and then explored the maze of rooms. Later the lights were dimmed and the stereo played Johnny Mathis, then Otis Redding, Toots and the Maytals. When Millie Small’s “My Boy Lollipop” played, the party went wild. She was the first Jamaican to have an international hit song; it reached the top five in both the United Kingdom and North America. The sweating bodies gave off a wonderful heady smell. I danced with my grandmother, showing her how to do the ska and the rocksteady. Helen was next to us dancing with June and then Angela, Frank’s sister.
The DJ played a Sam Cooke song, “Cupid,” and again the crowd cheered. Frank went over to Uncle Mikey, took his hand and pulled him into a slow dance. I felt Mama close beside me, watching. I had never seen two men dancing so close. At our Sunday parties nobody ever touched like that, except when they held hands for a wide spin.
“Can I see yuh again?” Frank asked Uncle Mikey.
“It all depends,” my uncle said in a flirtatious voice. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling. Frank squeezed him tighter and stole a kiss.
“Naughty, naughty,” Uncle Mikey chided, and settled more snugly into Frank’s arms. At the end of the song they left the room. I didn’t follow. I was watching Helen and Angela dance.
After my birthday Petal and I celebrated in the treehouse, rubbing on top of each other and eating grasshoppers. I didn’t know it would be our last time together, or I might have stayed longer, but Punsie was yelling for me at my front gate. I had promised to play ball with her.
Uncle Mikey celebrated his birthday a week after we returned from our annual visit to Mammy’s. His was a more elaborate event that took place in the Red Hills, at Paul and Helen’s house, which was absolutely stunning—I had never seenanything like it. It was lit up like a Christmas tree and had a breathtaking view of the sea and downtown Kingston. There were so many rooms it was like a maze.
Mama wore a dress that Paul and Uncle Mikey had designed and sewn for her. It was made of white satin, with strips of gold thread through the fabric. She wore a pair of looped gold earrings from my mother, and her long black hair framed her face in curls. Her dress was the talk of the party, and she looked every inch like a black Sophia Loren. All of Uncle Mikey’s friends who came to his Sunday parties were there, as well as others I didn’t recognize. Everybody was beautifully dressed. There were more men than women, but that seemed only natural, given that it was Uncle Mikey’s party.
Mama was very happy. I saw a rare softness in her face, and her lips rested in a smile. She and Helen chatted, generously helping themselves to the rum punch.
A man named Frank sat behind a grand piano in the centre of the room. He looked to be over thirty, was tall like Uncle Mikey, but had receding hair and a stylishly trimmed beard. He wore a red, open-necked shirt and black velvet pants. We all fanned around the piano and sang “Happy Birthday to You” till I was sure our voices reached past the Red Hills and down to the sea. When the singing stopped, Mama kissed Uncle Mikey on the lips. Then she made her speech.
“Son,” she said, “Happy birthday, and ah hope all yuh dreams come true.” Her voice broke, then she caught herself and went on. “Ah love yuh more dan words can ever say, so ah will just stop dere.” I caught a tenderness in her eyes that she hadn’t offered Uncle Freddie when he left theisland. The crowd clapped long and heartily, as though at a political rally.
Uncle Mikey’s friends also made speeches, then we ate cake, and I had my first taste of champagne. I stuffed myself with more cake and then explored the maze of rooms. Later the lights were dimmed and the stereo played Johnny Mathis, then Otis Redding, Toots and the Maytals. When Millie Small’s “My Boy Lollipop” played, the party went wild. She was the first Jamaican to have an international hit song; it reached the top five in both the United Kingdom and North America. The sweating bodies gave off a wonderful heady smell. I danced with my grandmother, showing her how to do the ska and the rocksteady. Helen was next to us dancing with June and then Angela, Frank’s sister.
The DJ played a Sam Cooke song, “Cupid,” and again the crowd cheered. Frank went over to Uncle Mikey, took his hand and pulled him into a slow dance. I felt Mama close beside me, watching. I had never seen two men dancing so close. At our Sunday parties nobody ever touched like that, except when they held hands for a wide spin.
“Can I see yuh again?” Frank asked Uncle Mikey.
“It all depends,” my uncle said in a flirtatious voice. I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he was smiling. Frank squeezed him tighter and stole a kiss.
“Naughty, naughty,” Uncle Mikey chided, and settled more snugly into Frank’s arms. At the end of the song they left the room. I didn’t follow. I was watching Helen and Angela dance.
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