Narrated by Slippers
After all the rooftop drama, you’d think we finally reach peace, right?
Wrong.
Because after Lady Dee climb church ladder like a soaked superhero and collect Socks and Shoes like overdue library books — dem had nerve to start talk.
While she drying off and squeezing out her clothes, she hold up dem two featherhead and ask:
“Why?! WHY unnu fly gone?!”
Socks clear him throat like him about to drop truth bombs:
“Mi just needed space. Slippers too nosey and Bubbles a stare like him writing a fish memoir.”
Shoes nod serious:
“And mi joined di choir. Sister Muzz Buzz seh wi harmonies sweet like ripe naseberry.”
Lady Dee blink twice. Water still dripping from her chin.
She mumble:
“Mi cyaan believe mi climb church roof fi two fame-hungry featherhead.”
Pastor Demus raise him hands to the heavens:
“The birds return — wid story and sin!”
Even Bubbles float silent — but him face seh:
“Mi tried to warn unnu.”
Trevor chew slow — like dis getting good.
Mi just give one long sigh.
Lady Dee descend di ladder like a war veteran, wet and weary, and seh:
“Next time unnu vanish — at least leave a sticky note pon di fridge!”
Later That Day…
Mi did really believe we done.
Mi seh to miself:
“Slippers… Sunday coming. Time fi cool off. Time fi curry goat.”
Boy. Was. I. Wrong.
It was supposed to be peaceful.
Lady Dee inna di kitchen humming Beres, pot bubbling sweet, breeze slipping through the window like one holy whisper.
Pon the stove:
- Rice and peas, simmering down in coconut milk, fresh thyme, scallion, pimento, and one whole scotch bonnet floating like it supervising.
- Curry goat, seasoned from Friday — garlic, ginger, onion, green seasoning, curry just right — bubbling with Irish inna di gravy.
- Fried plantain, golden and soft, cooling on a paper towel like royalty.
- Just to top it off — two whole fry fish, escovitch-style, with pickled pepper and onion staring you down from the plate.
- A big ripe pear, cut neat and placed like a centrepiece.
- Plus a lil side a festival… because why not?
Lady Dee fix her plate with reverence.
She straighten di fork like she setting communion table.
She take a deep breath and whisper:
“Mi earn this.”
She bow her head, eyes closed, and begin her prayer:
“God is good, God is grea—”
CRASH!
Mi appear at her foot like mi summoned by scent, tail knocking like revival tambourine.
Trevor deh under di table creeping like him tracing bloodline.
Socks and Shoes SWOOP through the kitchen window like commando parrots.
One land pon the pear.
The other? Dive straight inna di curry goat — sauce FLING!
And a piece of scotch bonnet bounce pon the fish tray like warning bell.
Lady Dee scream like she see lizard.
Rice and peas splash out like baptism.
Curry drip down the cupboard.
Fish tray tilt.
Plantain flip.
Bubbles float to the side of the tank, freeze mid-swim, and blink two times FAST —
He stare at the two fry fish and blow one long bubble like:
“DI WOMAN KILL OFF MI BREDDREN?!”
Trevor rip down the napkin roll like him winning prize.
Mi nyam one piece of plantain and look confused like,
“Mi thought this was fi everybody?”
Socks chirp like him saying grace.
Shoes wipe him beak pan the curtain.
Mi done.
Lady Dee just stand up stiff.
One slipper missing.
Curry pon her sleeve.
Pear slice pon the floor.
She wipe her face with the only dry napkin left and seh:
“Mi cyaan manage.
Mi going to pack mi grip —
we going country a morning.”
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