BEFORE I DIE, I PRAY TO BE BORN | ✓

▬▬ 43

WEDNESDAY
11.06.1997
ISAIAH

               I sweat under the vinyl canopy of Red Box Roast though the sun set hours ago. The shipping container kitchen is too small to hold the heat produced by several ovens and gas hobs and it sweeps over the tables set up in front of it. It's almost surprising the plastic chairs don't melt.

The rocksteady on the radio and Damerae's singing spill into the street too, along with Lorraine's complaints that he sounds about as good as a cat stuck in a dustbin. Damerae only sings louder. He and Lorraine run the kitchen together and, despite being in their fifties, as siblings, they're always bickering.

Regardless, I come here almost every day. Which is why several of my books are greased with fingerprints, though they're hardly noticeable among the annotations.

I'm almost through the whole A-level book list, coming up with lesson plans for each so I can decide which ones to assign, come September. If we have to read these books, I want to make the best of them, to use them to open conversations. The backwards ideas that the majority of praised literature is built on don't go away by ignoring them.

Mrs Carter bought me copies on the school's budget. In addition to odd part-time jobs wherever extra hands are needed, I've been volunteering at the school for the past seven months to get to know the pupils and other teachers, most of whom I'm already familiar with — Halsett does only have a few thousand habitants. Mrs Carter wants to pay me but I insist against it, so she found this loophole instead. I might have been a little too excited to have my own books that I can annotate directly into.

Lorraine appears at my side to pick up my empty dishes. 'Yuh want more?'

'No, thank you.'

Pursing her lips, she inspects me. 'But yuh so mawga and krawni. Yuh not eating enough.'

I smile. The first ten times we had this conversation, I forced the smiles to camouflage my exasperation but after months of this routine, I've discovered there's nothing but love in it.

'I'm full-full, auntie.'

Lorraine hums sceptically but returns to the kitchen. I read the rest of my page but when I stand to leave, she appears by my side with a takeaway container.

'You can't keep giving me free food.'

'I'll stop when yuh don't look like a stray dog.'

With an exaggerated sigh, I accept the box. As much as I play into reluctance, I'd never turn down her cooking. She'll be offended if I insist to pay for it. 'Thank you, auntie.'

I stack my book on top of it to carry them in the same hand as I walk to the car park, digging out my keys with the other. The evening sneaks up on me when I'm out of the kitchen's range and goosebumps rise to my arms. I'm sure it's warmer than it feels; it is June, but my body is stiff and aching nonetheless.

I still pause before I open the car door, leaning against it with my chest to gaze at the sky. Stars wink back at me. They're so bright here. My soul belongs in the country.

When I get in, I don't start the engine and instead roll a spliff. I light it, inhale, and keep the smoke in my lungs as I pull out my cell phone on impulse. I'm so grateful I no longer have to resist the impulse.

Dorian answers after the first ring with a shrill hello.

'Wah gwaan, cuz? You busy? I can ring you later—'

'No!' With a sigh, his voice melts, though residual alarm croons in it like shards in a drain. 'I was panic-spiralling about tomorrow so please don't leave or I'll start again.'