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What makes the perfect little girl become the perfect little Bitch?


Saddened, angry I thought to myself, why, why, why, why? Everyone else gets to go. Why not me? (My friends were discussing yet another party and I as usual was not allowed to go). At the back of the Food and Nutrition lab was the preferred spot if one was planning on taking a hiatus from a class or two. My friends and I were back here again for of course we had been kicked out of Ms Anderson’s Principles of Accounting class once again. Back here at the lab, we exchanged stories about our sexual encounters: the ones we actively participated in, and in my case, the ones we actively made up, yet, described in exquisite detail as if they were perfectly true. I was 14 years old with a 38-24-36 body, way too much for a sheltered, ambivert of a child. Definitely too much for the male vultures who constantly surrounded our perimeter as young girls.

Today, the topic was married men. That there topic was way out of my league but, as my very eloquent friend Sabreena the daughter of Lebanese immigrants stated “a penis is a penis whether it be married or not.” We had embarked on this particular discourse because for three days now, we, the entire school body had been placed on administrative detention. The entire school of 2000 girls had to exist each lunch period in silence, kneeling. Today, I didn’t have much to add to the conversation, except that married men were just way out of my league. I was no prude don’t get me wrong, but a married man was just German sounding to my English-hearing ears. It was alleged that two girls from our prestigious high school had viciously fought over a married man in the middle of Clarendon Roads, a large bus stop, taxi bay area in our busy metropolis of Kingston. The skirmish turned battle had been witnessed by a High School Senior who had to beat a hasty retreat when she attempted to break the fight up. One girl had smashed the adulterer’s windshield, while the other busily keyed the BMW’s exterior paint. To add insult to injury, the married man’s cronies went as far as threatening the school prefect who reported the incident to our school.

“Boy, I don’t know, I don’t see myself getting beat and all those things by a married man” said Stephanie. Stephanie was white-Jamaican and many times out of touch with reality as the rest of us experienced it; however, today she was on point. The school didn’t figure out who the two fighters were yet and so, until then we were going to remain kneeling. I simply did not want to ‘wait in vain’ like Bob Marley. I was dying to see who these bold bitches were that had the nerve to not ONLY fuck this woman’s husband, but, decided to publicly war about it. Wow! And my mother thought I was bad!

Fast forward to the summer of 1983, my 16th birthday had finally come and oh what a joy! I thought. I had been successful at my ‘O’ level’ exams and looking forward to life as a grown up. After all, I had graduated high school and brought home ‘the piece of paper’ as my Granny put it, that piece of paper was code for education. I was officially official. My get out of jail pass had been signed. My thoughts were interrupted as I was hearing the Captain’s voice overhead. I jolted out of my thoughts. As part of my celebrations for being successful at my exams, my mom decided we would visit the U.S and travel state to state as she put it. We alighted from our flight and were picked up by my parents’ friend Zinc. Zinc was a dread locked Rastafarian friend of my parents and an uncle to me.

As we approached Zinc’s house in Long Island, New York. I stared at the linear, manicured lawns, vinyl sided homes adjacent to red brick havens. I liked Long Island, it reminded me of Ensom City, a place where I had been nurtured until age twelve. Zinc backed into a parking space and from my peripheral vision I saw a tall, fine ass human being who was intensely staring at me. WTF is he staring at? In that moment I agree, he must have been thinking the same thing for I kept staring back. He continued to make me uncomfortable, his stare pierced my loins. I had never had that feeling before and mused “Jesus, what is this?” Our hands barely slid over each other as he took my suitcase and bags and no lie, static electricity grazed my hand. Thank God my skin tone was dark, for I knew I was blushing and he felt it too. He continued though as if nothing and I continued to follow thru. I did not know it yet, but in that moment my entire life had changed, my entire being had been overtaken, but my brain wasn’t even aware as yet.

We had spent 3 weeks at Zinc’s house, 2 weeks touring 8 other states, by the time I got back to Jamaica I had enrolled in Engineering School and was on my way to being a rich, professional woman or so I thought. Back home I dated a neighborhood friend of mine but I would secretly tell my best friend Rose how much I dreamt about Zinc’s son. All my dreams ended with me and him holding hands smiling, I knew I missed him. On my way home from school one day seated on a packed bus I overheard two women talking one woman mentioned to her friend how much she missed her husband who was away in the US. Her friend was coercing her to find a man friend, a paramour even to keep her company till her love returned. The married woman scoffed and explained she didn’t think she could ever cheat. I felt the same way, love was sacred no cheating for me.....TO BE CONTINUED.

Were you the perfect little girl who is now the perfect little B....?

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