This was originally posted on August 6, 2015 at 6:26 PM on blogger.com
***That title… ah, I could write an epic novel with that as my subject. She just says so much!
This particular story begins somewhere between the train station and my home.
(here’s the needless backstory part):
My mom or sister always meets me at or walks me to our train station. It’s a little annoying, sometimes, on all three of our part but the walk involves a weird turn here and there and a six or eight lane boulevard. (Cannot wait to start dorming… THREE WEEKS!).
So, this day was not unlike any other, really. My mom was talking, I was halfheartedly responding. We’d seen a few people she knew who, of course, had to say hello and catch up.
We deviated slightly, however, when we passed by a nurse whose claim to fame was sticking me with needles… I HATE things piercing my skin. So why would I WANT to remember you, ma’am? But I said none of this.
She and my mom said some words. She said something to me or about me (wasn’t really listening) and I said hello.
“She said hello.” Mother said, I guess the nurse hadn’t heard me.. It was her tone of voice… Jokingly indulgent. I am not a child saying her first words.
“You probably don’t remember me.” Nurse said wisely as she hugged me. She had a slight speech impediment in addition to an accent. She wore dark clothing and was just slightly shorter than me.
“Not at all,” I replied wittily.
She and my mom exchanged some more words while I fiddled with my phone. Goodbyes were said, at last, and we were on our way.
Next stop was the corner store. As we’re exiting I hear.
“Something’s wrong with her heyes?” Dude was obviously Jamaican. If his accent didn’t give it away, the liberal sprinkle of h before the vowel would have.
“What?” Mother, guess she hadn’t heard him.
“She can’t see from her heyes?”
I said “No.” I just wanted to go. Mom said “Yeah, she can see a little.”
“Oh, well God gone help you see one day.”
“I don’t want anything to change. God does everything for a reason, right?”
“Yeah well he still gone help you.”
I think my mom said thank you.
“Next time somebody say that to you, just say thank you.”
“I usually do.”
“You make the old man feel bad. In the Bible, it says that…” Something about Judgment Day and how God will help the blind see &c.
“I know what it says,” I didn’t feel like listening anymore. “But if I were sensitive, he could have made me feel bad, too. With everybody telling me that God is going to fix my eyes and stuff, it makes it seem like there’s something wrong with me.” Few seconds of silence. “Besides, people are always contradicting themselves. One minute God does everything for a reason, and the next they’re all trying to change it… ‘fix’ it.”
“Yeah.” Was all she said in response.
About half an hour later, my mom’s on the phone, recapping the story with the old man to one of her friends.
“Yeah, she real saucy.” She concludes.
It’s sometimes hard to tell when it’s just Caribbean English, or a Briticism.
Do I feel bad for supposedly making the old man feel bad?
Do I feel bad for not feeling bad?
Initially. Then I got home, ate some food and decided to write about it.
Judging from the responses, her friend seemed shocked that I would say such things. But all of a sudden my mom was on my side. She flips like that, so it’s none too surprising.
But as I wrong?
And, let’s say a bunch of people say yes. Do I care?
Yeah, I’m saucy 😏