< Situations and Revelations of Passing Notice in Guyana >
Locket #8
When I come home for August vacation it is to see my closest friends in
Canal District. And to visit our English teacher, Miss Hempell.
I stopped by Miss Hempell because she taught us everything a girl
needed to know about managing her life. We liked listening to her talk
about love, about things that could happen in our lives. We were her
girls, the Hempell girls.
After we graduated she discouraged contact. She urged us to "move
away". She spoke to us about why she moved away in her days. There
was this married man. He left the country. She pursued him to England.
She lived there for several years, then she returned to our school.
Single, disengaged. Didn't tell us what really happened out there. She
said she regretted not one day, not one night.
She has the kind of body people used to describe as "buxom". It's old now,
but not frail. It has stayed loyal to her, protecting what she knows. In her
day she managed somehow to be "active", knowing that just one slip,
leading to pregnancy, could have got her fired, in disgrace the rest of
her life.
She warned us: be wary of the transitions from "girl" to "young adult" to
"adulthood". Nobody ever talked to us that way, about "transitions". She
talked about these stages, and about ways to cross over the trench, slow-
moving rivers; and chart a course into the world.
My parents had invested too much in my goodness for me to slip and fail
in school. One day I felt so down, people at home and in school were
finding fault with me; and Miss Hempell called me aside and said, "There
is nothing, absolutely nothing, the matter with you, girl. Look around,
our habits and hardships, the loyal cows and royal catchers grazing."
I will never forget that day. Those words.
Miss Hempell's girls were known by others ̶ I mean by girls not so
ambitious, and uncouth, ignorant boys ̶ as the slut, the virgin and the
bitch. Most girls stopped using our last names. They labeled us like that
out of pure envy. They spread stories Miss Hempell was a 'bad influence',
and that we stayed back with her to smoke marijuana.
We felt sorry for them. Sorry for those home bodies that would soon
enter arrangements of bruising or beating; or random child-bearing;
with no rest, skirts draped over knees, no place to go. We heard the
stories of suicide attempts.
The young men in the district spent most of their time with alcohol and
gold trimmings. Shoulders too weak for responsibility. The way they
drove cars, the stupid grins, stupid stabs at conversation, we couldn't
possibly take them seriously.
I am not ashamed to say I'm still a virgin. I have chosen to be "inactive".
The slut on the other hand (call her S.) was active, though not as much
as people think. She acts "friendly" with everyone, so people assume.
In our final year she announced she had already done it. With a pilot
and someone else. And without getting undressed. Sounds ridiculous,
right? And a little depraved. Though when she talked about it, it was
like something she was growing proficient at. She's vowed not to let her
life be kept like a pup in a pen.
The bitch (call her B.) was the pretty girl among us. Five foot five,
bright and dreamy. Always patting her short afro. She too was "inactive".
She was determined to move away. To a country where carpets and
lawns mattered, and fine restaurants. Nothing wrong with wanting all
that. Roads paved with opportunity weren't coming to the cane fields
of Canal District. After graduating she became a flight attendant.
Moving down the aisle, asking passengers to buckle up before takeoff,
was her first big step away.
I started business studies at a college abroad. Good Hindu girl, willing
to please her parents. S. got a job in a lawyer's office, not at a place
with glass panels and surly faces. You should see her, dressed up, at
a desk playing the 'personal secretary' part, answering client questions
on the phone.
When I came home we met almost every day, updating "developments"
so to speak. I told them about how my mother had found another
person of interest I might consider going with. I reminded her, I had to
focus on my studies? all the money invested in my goodness?
I was managing my transitions. We Hempell girls were managing our
transitions. Far or near, the Hempell girls would stay connected.
~ ~
On my second vacation trip home I got such a shock. B. had left the
airline job. She'd become involved with a Govt. Minister of an island.
She had moved away and was living with the Minister on the island.
The man was twice her age.
So what did that make B. ̶ his girlfriend? his assistant? his soon to be
wife? I could never have imagined this happening. Had B. stopped
even for a moment to consider?
S. seemed not in the least disturbed. She had only recently heard about
this development, after the deed was done. And she had lost contact
with B. She didn't think there was much we could do at this stage. Also
she didn't think it was a good idea to visit B.'s parents. They had always
considered us a 'bad influence'.
By chance we saw B's sister emerging from a supermarket. We stopped
her and enquired. She seemed reluctant at first, but her voice warmed
up to the task of delivering wonderful news about her sister.
She had visited her sister. They went shopping together. Her sister bought
the earrings she was wearing. They were chauffeured and accompanied
everywhere by "Security". B. sometimes attended "functions" with the
Minister. The Minister was often out of the country. Busy schedules. B.
was alone in this big house. No, she wasn't "working".
It know how it might sound. Young girl, enjoying moments of island
indulgence. Something is wrong with the picture. Attending "functions"?
gatherings of old men at some high wall residence? local officials sipping
and friendsing with diplomats? I just couldn't see it.
I mean, what conversation could B. possibly have with these men? How
could she let herself be swept away like that? The man was twice her
age!
Her sister went on and on, so excited, you'd think she was delivering
news of school exam passes. S. looked at her phone and said, Oh my
goodness, I have to go! It meant she had lost interest.
"I am worried about her," I said, as we walked away.
So have you taken the plunge yet? S. asked, completely out of nowhere.
It was a running joke between us. Find the right plunger, finally take
the plunge. But for the first time, in her quick change of subject, I
heard an edge in the sarcasm that made me wince. It was not the
sarcasm the Hempell girls reserved for others.
S. is the only one who hasn't moved away. I refuse to believe she
doesn't know what really happened to B. I think she knows, but for
some reason she wouldn't say.
I am starting to think S. is now desperate to find her path out. I can
hear those tiny search wheels deep inside her furiously turning. Slow
first, then bursts of turning. Couldn't help noticing she has tattoos
now, peaking out her lower back window?
I went home that day to household chores and complaints that irritated
me; a recent home invasion, long waiting lines, this and that. I didn't
go outside much.
My mother asked, "What's wrong with you now? Why you spending so
much time in bed?" I wanted the vacation to end quickly. I wanted to
get away, to leave behind our odorous city, the loyal cows and catchers
grazing.
I lay on my back, staring at the walls, thinking: things are speeding up
around me; things are threatening to pick us off one by one. All the
'good news' about B. ̶ hangers on the floor! security escort! sipping
white wine! ̶ means she has separated from us.
Where would this move take her? She could wake up one morning, and
realize her situation didn't feel right; and start shaking the bars.
Then I thought: maybe it's time I change course. I'm not sure I want to
continue business studies. Maybe B. knows what she's doing. And S.
doesn't know what taking the real plunge means. Or maybe she does
and she thinks she can control everything "active" coming her way.
I'm waiting for my moment of clarity. Miss Hempell told us we should
expect "moments of clarity". Maybe tomorrow, the next day, when I
wake up, I will see and know, with absolutely certainty, what to do.
V. Laidoo
Canal District, Guyana
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 