Noel. He would only laugh if he found out I had a crush on an old white Hollywood musical star.
Granny still had flock wallpaper in her lounge and neat little white doilies upon the arm-rests of her furniture. The multicoloured carpet mirrored the flower shit from the walls and the television was seriously small; I suddenly remembered that Granny didnât have cable or Sky TV so it was a good job I had a couple of books and a hip hop magazine with me. The mantelpiece was crammed with photos of Paps, Auntie Denise and Uncle Royston and the mahogany coffee table, the only thing of class in the room, was reserved for framed photographs of Granny and her long dead husband Cilbert. Granny always said I looked like Granpa Cilbert and I didnât argue âcos he looked very cool in his single-breasted suits, skinny ties and angled hats. He looked really hench and must have been a proper player. Maybe I came from a long line of shottas? Granny was quite a looker herself and she seemed full of energy and attitude in the photos she had taken when she was young. She was always talking about that she used to dance a lot back in the day and I could believe it looking at her photos.
That evening, as I flicked through Grannyâs photo album, I asked her, âWhat advice would you give to a hench-looking young brother today, Gran?â
She smiled as if reliving some sweet memory and then she replied, âEnjoy every day if you can. Life is precious and it must belived. Because when you get to my age all you have left is pleasant memories. So get busy living and store those memories up. Tomorrow isnât promised to anyone.â She then looked at the framed photo of her husband Cilbert on her wedding day. She smiled at him as if she was greeting him after a long absence. âYes, Dennis. Live hard, play hard and most of all, love hard.â
âI will try, Gran.â
She then turned to me and stroked my left cheek with the back of her fingers. They were unusually broad for a woman, like fat, creased sausages. She must have got them from that tough, hard knock childhood in the Jamaican bush. âWhen me go me will miss you, Dennis.â
âWhat are you talking about, Gran? There is nuff life in you.â
âNo, no,â she laughed. âMe donât mean passing away. Lord have mercy! Me mean going home.â
âHome to Jamaica?â
âYes, Dennis. Where you think home is? Greenland? Me thought me would never say it out aloud but me miss my cantankerous, argumentive, know-it-all sister. And the hot sun on my cheeks. And a nice ripe mango!â
âI could never understand you and Great Auntie Jenny. You two were always arguingâ¦â
âNor do I understand!â Granny laughed. âBut me miss her same way⦠I have been fortunate, Dennis. I have seen me children and me grandchildren grow. Itâll be soon time to let go. Time to let your mother care for your father without me interfering. Itâs another reason why you must try to enjoy every day the Most High gives you. No-one knows what tomorrow brings. Your father never knew that from running one day the next he would be a cripple.â
I went to my bed that night thinking on Grannyâs words. I guess she meant follow my heartâs desire. And my heartâs desire wasnât to be known as some fake wanksta or a spoilt little rich kid. Live hard, Granny said⦠Iâm gonna have to if Iâm gonna change my image.
The following Sunday morning, along with my sister Davinia, Uncle Royston, Auntie Denise and her twins, Natalie and Natasha, I escorted Granny to church. Mum had pussied out saying she hadtoo much work at home to do and Paps was never a regular church goer; Paps once told me why should he praise God when all he got from Him was twisted legs? No-one save Granny and Davinia looked too keen about the service and I guess that once Granny is feeling the Jamaican sun on her cheeks, the
Granny still had flock wallpaper in her lounge and neat little white doilies upon the arm-rests of her furniture. The multicoloured carpet mirrored the flower shit from the walls and the television was seriously small; I suddenly remembered that Granny didnât have cable or Sky TV so it was a good job I had a couple of books and a hip hop magazine with me. The mantelpiece was crammed with photos of Paps, Auntie Denise and Uncle Royston and the mahogany coffee table, the only thing of class in the room, was reserved for framed photographs of Granny and her long dead husband Cilbert. Granny always said I looked like Granpa Cilbert and I didnât argue âcos he looked very cool in his single-breasted suits, skinny ties and angled hats. He looked really hench and must have been a proper player. Maybe I came from a long line of shottas? Granny was quite a looker herself and she seemed full of energy and attitude in the photos she had taken when she was young. She was always talking about that she used to dance a lot back in the day and I could believe it looking at her photos.
That evening, as I flicked through Grannyâs photo album, I asked her, âWhat advice would you give to a hench-looking young brother today, Gran?â
She smiled as if reliving some sweet memory and then she replied, âEnjoy every day if you can. Life is precious and it must belived. Because when you get to my age all you have left is pleasant memories. So get busy living and store those memories up. Tomorrow isnât promised to anyone.â She then looked at the framed photo of her husband Cilbert on her wedding day. She smiled at him as if she was greeting him after a long absence. âYes, Dennis. Live hard, play hard and most of all, love hard.â
âI will try, Gran.â
She then turned to me and stroked my left cheek with the back of her fingers. They were unusually broad for a woman, like fat, creased sausages. She must have got them from that tough, hard knock childhood in the Jamaican bush. âWhen me go me will miss you, Dennis.â
âWhat are you talking about, Gran? There is nuff life in you.â
âNo, no,â she laughed. âMe donât mean passing away. Lord have mercy! Me mean going home.â
âHome to Jamaica?â
âYes, Dennis. Where you think home is? Greenland? Me thought me would never say it out aloud but me miss my cantankerous, argumentive, know-it-all sister. And the hot sun on my cheeks. And a nice ripe mango!â
âI could never understand you and Great Auntie Jenny. You two were always arguingâ¦â
âNor do I understand!â Granny laughed. âBut me miss her same way⦠I have been fortunate, Dennis. I have seen me children and me grandchildren grow. Itâll be soon time to let go. Time to let your mother care for your father without me interfering. Itâs another reason why you must try to enjoy every day the Most High gives you. No-one knows what tomorrow brings. Your father never knew that from running one day the next he would be a cripple.â
I went to my bed that night thinking on Grannyâs words. I guess she meant follow my heartâs desire. And my heartâs desire wasnât to be known as some fake wanksta or a spoilt little rich kid. Live hard, Granny said⦠Iâm gonna have to if Iâm gonna change my image.
The following Sunday morning, along with my sister Davinia, Uncle Royston, Auntie Denise and her twins, Natalie and Natasha, I escorted Granny to church. Mum had pussied out saying she hadtoo much work at home to do and Paps was never a regular church goer; Paps once told me why should he praise God when all he got from Him was twisted legs? No-one save Granny and Davinia looked too keen about the service and I guess that once Granny is feeling the Jamaican sun on her cheeks, the
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