The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

The rain is a delight. It races down from Heaven above like shimmering crystals. Its glare blinds my eyes as the flourishing, green pastures cascade over one another in a...

Out of frustration, Lynnette scribbled over her writings before attempting to retry her hand at her craft, only, her hand all of the sudden saw fit to remain stationary.

She looked up and around at her environment, from the withering branches on an old bamboo tree that she was seated underneath, to the oversaturating rain that was causing her already deep depression to worsen by the day. By that point, writing something as simple and plain as the word "The" was about as prolific as jumping into a lake.

She watched lethargically as various people went in and out of The Kabal restaurant; a nice little dive located just a hundred yards from the shoreline.

Clothed in an orange and black, tie-dyed mini-skirt, matching blouse and headscarf, Lynnette listened to the thumping of music that was coming from the reggae-themed establishment. By then, however, the brand of music had all but worn thin on her. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy or like reggae, but so much of it back to back was starting to cause her to lose her own natural rhythm.

"Lynn!" A young, black woman from the backdoor of The Kabal called out waving.

Rolling her eyes, Lynnette took her notepad and pen, stuffed them into the backside of her skirt and proceeded to climb down from off the wooden fence she was sitting upon.

With only a newspaper covering her head, the young lady ran back across the sand and towards the restaurant until she approached the backdoor.

"You almost late, little girl," the woman scolded Lynnette as she held the door open for her.

Cleaning off the wetness, Lynnette dropped her newspaper onto the floor before saying, "Clea, I still had three minutes left on my break."

Making her way back over to a simmering stove where three other black men were steadily cooking, Clea responded, "It no matter, child, we just got de afternoon rush in. You should be used to dis by now."

The kitchen possessed the aromatic smells of both seafood and fruit. There was a tiny, steamed up cracked mirror that was perched upon the wall next to the backdoor. Lynnette checked her facial features and straitened her scarf before rushing by Clea on her way out into the dining area.

Bob Marley's, 'Three Little Birds' was playing on the stereo system as people either sat and waited to be served or were exiting the building. Lynnette whipped out her notepad and pen and approached the first table she laid eyes on where a white couple was already seated.

From one table to another the woman took orders, chatted with and at times laughed with patrons. Plates were brought in and out, tips were taken, and at most times, flirtatious actions from men were politely ignored until six p.m. crawled around. The restaurant remained open until 2 a.m., but Lynnette and a few others' shifts were complete for the day. She, along with Clea and the three cooks all began their nightly trek to their various homes. With umbrellas being their only shield against the rain, Lynnette and Clea carried on towards a nearby shantytown where cars, trucks and mopeds were careening through the streets, carelessly splashing water to and fro without a second thought to who they could have been offending.

"Did ya ever manage to get de pads dat ya needed, girl?" Clea asked.

Blushing, Lynnette whispered, "You don't ask that out in the open public, girl."

"And why not," Clea shrugged. "We all women need dem!"

"I know, but—

"Hail up!" A young, black man with a multi-colored beanie cap approached Lynnette to her side.

Startled, Lynnette inadvertently bumped against Clea. "Oh, where did you come from, Jose?" She laughed.

"I be around, here and dere." He smiled from ear to ear.

Clea playfully nudged Lynnette's shoulder in the attempt to get her to walk closer to Jose. Lynnette only grabbed the woman by the hand and squeezed as tight as she could.

"Weh yud deh pan?" Jose asked.

Appearing confused, Lynnette turned up her nose, "I didn't quite understand."

"I asked, what are you up to?"

can't you just say that then,"

language,

releasing Clea's hand. "How are things down at the

well indeed." Jose

Lynnette said. "I gotta see how much money I

look at de time!" Clea glanced at her watch. "I gotta get home to me kids and feed dem!" She whimsically parted ways with the two. "I see you

down an alley and out of sight. That in turn left both her and Jose all alone. It wasn't

learning a few

up. "And what words dose

know that

Jose clapped

thank you."

how long ya plan on staying

"You always ask me

I have to know,

"Why is that?"

Lynnette and stared her straight in her eyes. The woman stared right

to de end of de mountains, where de waterfalls lie. And den after dat, I

"To tell you the God's honest truth, I think I've only seen one 007 movie in my life. I never really

no one down here cares for him either." Jose snickered back.

shoes grew increasingly wet by the second. She could sense the man's good intentions, and yet, it was

"I'll think about it. As long as it's not raining when we end up going. It

skipped a beat before kissing Lynnette's hand.

you told Cusha that you

the rain, Jose yelled, "I must go and tell

ran up the

hanging deftly in the warm, rainy air

Almost immediately she was bombarded by the aromas of jerk chicken boiling in a pot that was dangling over an open fire. On a mat that was lying next to the pot were cut up avocadoes and what looked like pigs

the tiny shack was overbearing, as usual, but at least Lynnette was out of the soaking rain. Getting dry quickly never seemed to be too much of a chore. Lynnette placed her umbrella down next to the door before sneaking over to the stewing pot to grab

skirt came in through

had to pause for a second or two

today." She

her to drop them on the floor. "Why ya be

rushing over to aid Cusha. "What are all these for?" She

be a big party for dear old Master Goodun. A big birthday

eyes, Lynnette griped, "I hate it when you call that man master. He may be your employer, but he's not your

man pays me well, girl. Well enough not to

I need two jobs to begin with, lady." Lynnette

"Dere be more dan

table for two and watched as Cusha sat Indian-style down on the floor and

and lie down. There was something always startling to her about Cusha's laborious detail that seemed to

Cusha asked without taking her eyes away from her

rain is really getting me down

girl, dis rain is nuting compared to what we had to

always bring that up,