(DISCLAIMER: This story is an original work done by me, its author. It was originally written as a gift for a very dear friend of mine, and has since been submitted here for the sake of its artistic value. Do not claim this story as your own work, or reproduce it as yours. The people and events depicted in this story are all fictitious; any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental.)
(FURTHER NOTES: The events depicted in this story take place in the country of Jamaica. Therefore, some of the dialogue written here will be depicted in the Jamaican patois, which is a blend of English and other languages that is unique to the island. This story is especially recommended for those of you who have visited Jamaica before and were impressed with its people and its beauty, or for those of you who have never been to Jamaica but would like to visit there someday.)
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"Good, that's the last of it all!" Kadija Hopeton said triumphantly as she stacked the last box into an empty space in her new closet. "Honestly, I didn't think making this move would be such a hassle..."
She closed the closet door and studied her new bedroom. The walls were painted a deep yellow—not the color she would've chosen, personally, but she could deal with it now and change it at a later date. The floor had white marble tiles set out in an intricate pattern. There was a chest-of-drawers in one corner of the room, equipped with a mirror, and the obligatory bed was there as well. "Looking good, looking good," she chuckled.
She went outside to the living room and appraised the place. All the furniture and appliances she'd brought were in their proper places: the dining table and its accompanying chairs at center-stage, the television at one corner, the couch in between the TV and the dining set, and a few feet away there was the kitchen, with the fridge, blender, and other necessary things set up and ready for use. A small smile crossed the 30-year-old's face as she surveyed it all. "Okay...everything's good to go!" she grinned.
Suddenly something caught the corner of Kadija's eye. "Hmm?"
Looking toward the couch, she beheld in front of it, on the floor, a small cardboard box. "What's this now? There was one more box to empty out?" she wondered as she crossed over to the couch and picked the box up. "What's in here...?"
Opening the box, she looked inside...then reached in and picked out a small framed photograph. As she looked at it for a long moment, her face contorted into a look of utter sadness. The picture depicted her being hugged by a smiling, baby-faced man with a mustache.
"Nathan..." she whispered.
Like a tidal wave, the rush of memories came back over her: that horrible night last July...that phone call from the hospital...the solemn voice on the line informing her that her beloved husband had been in an accident and was battling for his life...her rush to the hospital and the refusal by the nurses to let her see him...
Shaking herself out of her stupor, Kadija hastily put the picture back into the box. "Well, there's enough time to figure out where I should put you," she sighed. "Right now, though...I said I needed to get some onions and seasoning, didn't I?"
--
Kadija was originally from Ocho Rios, a tourist resort town and the capitol city of St. Ann, a parish on the north coast of the island of Jamaica. There she had lived for several years, including the six she'd been married to her husband Nathan. During that time Kadija had been pursuing her degree at the University of the West Indies, majoring in Music with a minor in Child Education; Nathan, meanwhile, was able to support both of them through his job as the manager of a popular hotel in the town. Unfortunately, one year ago, Nathan's car had been struck by an extremely careless driver, and he had been seriously injured; and though he put up a valiant effort for life in his hospital room over the next week, he'd eventually succumbed.
Naturally, Kadija was devastated at her loss. She had not anticipated that she could have ever become a widow at so young an age, and the thought of having lost her husband in such a manner left her feeling bitter and emotionally scarred. Unable to stay in the same place where Nathan's life had ended, she'd made arrangements to move elsewhere, to someplace where she could get away from the constant reminders of what had happened. And so, over the course of the next year following Nathan's funeral, Kadija had sought out good places where she could live and, perhaps, use her teaching and music skills to make a living for herself. Although they didn't quite agree with her leaving them behind, her family and in-laws understood her grief and did what they could to help.
It was her sister-in-law who had suggested the place where she now resided: a quiet little district in the cool hills of St. James. This particular area was only thirty minutes' drive from the main city, Montego Bay, and also, the sister-in-law had asserted, it was where one of her old high school teachers now lived as well. If Kadija intended to go into teaching with her degree, the sister-in-law had assured her, then this teacher would be one of the best persons to give her recommendations.
--
So now Kadija briefly reflected on all of this as she strolled down the street. She glanced around at the neighborhood, smiling as she observed the children playing in nearby yards. A few of the adults standing nearby called to her in greeting, and she waved back as a courtesy.
"Good afternoon, ma'am!" one woman called to her from the verandah of a house, cloth tied around her head and broom in hand. "Yu jus' move here to live, yes? Ah saw di truck goin' up to yu house dis mornin'!"
Kadija chuckled as she heard the woman's generous use of the familiar Jamaican patois. "Yes, I just moved in today," she replied, mixing in a little of the patois with her usually proper English so as not to ostracize the woman.
"Well, ah hope yu will be stayin' here a long time, ma'am," the woman grinned good-naturedly. "Dis is a very quiet area, yu know, ma'am, an' everybody will 'elp u get settled in. If yu eva need anyt'ing, jus' mek one a wi know, 'cause we is neighbor, yu know?"
"True, true," Kadija agreed. "Anyhow, I need to buy a few things from the shop...you think you could show me where it is?"
"Yeah, man," the woman nodded, and she pointed up the road. "See dat green house up dere so? Di shop is di blue house next to it—is really one place, yu know, ma'am, di shopkeeper have 'im house dere so too."
"Okay, thanks a lot," Kadija nodded, and hurried on.
A short moment later, she arrived at the shop—a small establishment with a grilled window separating where she stood from the goods inside. There was nobody in sight. "Hello?" she called.
"Comin'!" a loud voice yelled from a back room, followed a moment later by heavy footsteps. Then the shopkeeper appeared, a large, fat man with a graying beard.
"Hello," said Kadija politely. "Do you have any onions?"
"Yeah," the man answered gruffly. "'Ow much yu want?"
"I'd like three, please, and a half-pound of meat seasoning," Kadija replied.
Nodding, the shopkeeper turned and began to search the lower shelves. Kadija decided to make some small talk. "I just moved into this district today, you know," she said.
"Dat so?" the shopkeeper answered. "Well, welcome, den. Wat u name?"
