Dancehall Divination

"Women, it's made out like they're some kind of necessary counterpart to men." I said sipping at my fifth beer.

"You're tellin' me you never get lonely? That you don't wish sometimes that you had a good woman to come home to?" As usual Jonesy debated my philosphical musings with common sense, and as usual he had a good point.

"Of course I'd like to come home to a nice girl sometimes, and I am lonely, but that's not exactly what I mean." With this heat, and an empty stomach the beers were affecting me more than I expected and so I had to search for what I did mean exactly.

"It's just - -"
"Wait, could you hold that thought man? I need to get another beer . . . you want one?"
"No, I still got more than half"

Jones, a true heavyweight. Seven beers in just over an hour and a half, and he's sober as a priest. Some live jazz was playing, not sure who they were, but the music had a good feel to it. Sounded like it might be Miles Davis' The Meaning of the Blues. I was suprised they all fit on such a small stage.

"Alright bro, sorry it took so long. I saw this girl at the bar, gorgeous. So long story short I got her number and a date for tomorrow night." He laughed lighting a cigarette.

"But, sorry man. What were you saying? . . . About women and necessary counterparts to the modern man or something?"

"I don't know, sometimes I feel a little apathetic. It's like I know I want a piece of candy, but I don't wanna risk losing the quarter it'll cost to get it, especially if the candy never comes out. . . Does that make any sense?"

"You remind me of my sister, always spoutin' that philosophical shit. You're both missing out on life because you think too much into it." Here he offered me a smoke, I accepted.

"I think you two should meet up sometime." He had a more serious that usual look on his face. I laughed.

"Ol Jonesy, trying to set me up with his own sister."

"This is different bro, it's not like I'm trying to get you into my sisters pants or anything. You should consider it."

"Tell me if I'm wrong, but didn't we beat the hell out of two guys a few months back, just for hitting on her?" I asked grinning, remembering the course of events.

"Listen, those assholes were talking to her like she was some kind of sailor slut. One even tried to grab her ass."

"What about when Lou tried to start talking to her? I'm pretty sure you threatened to cut his dick off." We both laughed.

"You and I both know Lou's reputation with women, he uses and loses 'em. I love the guy but he's definitely a pussyhound."

"And you're not?" I asked raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not trying to date my sister bro. My relationships have no bearing on this issue"

"Alright then, why is it OK for me to date her then? Why change your policy for me?" He put down his beer and leaned forward on the table, looking directly into my eyes.

"I always knew my sister was different, never could blend into the real world well. And I'd never met anyone else like that until I met you. It's like you guys are both from outerspace or somethin'."

"Thanks."

"No honestly though, If there's anybody who could understand my sister, it's gotta be you bro. Shit, maybe you two can make eachother happy for once and stop with all this existential droning. . . Just think about it alright? As a favor to me." He looked sincere, I don't think I'd ever seen him like this.

"Alright man, I'll give it some thought. And I do appreciate you trusting me with your sister, it means a lot to hear you say it."

"A-lright, it's settled then. I'll tell her to meet you here at 7 tomorrow."

"So soon? I thought I said I'd think about it."

"Tomorrow is the last night the band will be here. Esther loves jazz almost as much as you do. I figured it'd be perfect, if all else fails, at least you'll both get to enjoy some good live music. . . So you'll be here right? I don't want you standing her up." He pointed at me with a serious expression.

"Yeah yeah, I'll be here."

"A-lright bro, this'll be good for you guys, I'm tellin' you."

"Take it easy Jonesy."

I stayed behind until the band packed up and left. I stayed and weighed the situation, thought of possible pros and cons. But in the end I hadn't sorted anything out at all. Jonah and Esther McCauslin, probably the most extremely different siblings I've ever seen. Black Irish, both pale as a ghost with jet black hair. One loud and energetic, the other quiet and reserved. One liked anything loud and fastpaced, the other was a connesuer of mellow, often unheard of musicians. One was a social animal through and through, not a shy bone in his body, the other didn't mind going out in public, but never made an effort to socialize, seeming not to care about anything but the food, drink or music of the evening. I'd only ever met Esther briefly, and she seemed more like an 18th century portrait than a living breathing woman. What was I getting into? The only thing I could do was come back the next day at seven o'clock and see for myself.

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It's a funny story, how me and Jonesy became friends. I was born to an Irish mother and a Puerto Rican father. When I was around 7 years old, the family packed up and moved to an Irish neighborhood, right across the street from the McCauslin's.

One summer evening, a few days moved in, I went to the corner store to buy a drink. Walking home I heard the sound of a bike approaching, baseball card flapping loudly.

"Hey wop." he rode right along side me now.
"I ain't Italian." I told him, "I'm Puerto Rican." here his eyes got wide and he busted out laughing.
"O-oh, so your a nigger then? What the fuck are you doin' on my street nigger?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and some kind of fury broke out inside me. I turned quick and kicked his bike over with him on it. In a fraction of a second, we were fighting. We went on like that for ten minutes straight, til our mothers came out and broke up the fight.

Strangely enough, it was the very next day that Jonesy showed up outside my house, baseball glove in hand.

"Got a glove?" he asked.
"Why would you wanna play with a nigger?" I said bitterly, still on my guard.
"Listen, I'm sorry about all that. I won't say it again. Plus you got balls, we could get alotta respect for our street. So whaddaya say kid?"
"Alright, but if I hear any more racist shit, I'll kick your ass."

And that was it, we were best friends from that day on, even after my family moved a few years later.

We would get into all kinds of shit, day in day out, but it got worse after Jonesy's dad got a life sentence. He'd get stressed out and come up with one crazy plan after another and I was always behind him. Stealing from the candy store, breaking out car windows, getting into fights with anyone who looked our way, we were little bastards. We had a lot of fun back then.

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I got to the cafe around 6:30. I'm always early, it's better to be waiting for someone then to be looking for them. Glancing around for open tables, I noticed a woman was waving to me.

"You're early." she said, sipping at her coffee.
"Not as early as you." I said raising an eyebrow, and taking a seat across from her. She smiled.
"I always come 45 minutes early, so I get there before the people I'm meeting."

The waiter came. I asked him to bring me coffee and an ashtray.
"Oh . . . You don't mind if I smoke do you?" She grinned taking out a pack of Benson & Hedges, lighting up.
"No. I don't mind."

More silence. I myself am a quiet person, usually waiting for the other person to lead the conversation. I'm not used to meeting with other quiet people. I tried to break the ice.

"So," I cleared my throat, "you like jazz?" She looked up as if she was surprised I was still seated across from her.
"Hm . . . I guess you could say that. But mostly just from the 20's to the 60's." Her tone was dry. she didn't seem to be too interested or amused.
"Any favorite artists?" My throat felt narrow.
"Sidney Bechet" She paused, staring at me, if not through me.
"I've never heard anyone else convey so much emotion and feeling, without words. It's like each note was a different voice, telling pieces of a story. Heart and soul."
"Heart and Soul . . ." I repeated, nodding.

Silence prevailed again, until like a tiny miracle, the band stepped up to play. I thankfully, drew my attention to the stage.

The same band that just the other night played classic numbers from 'Blue In Green' to 'Straight No Chaser' was now gracing us with their own original tracks. Contemporary, smooth jazz, something you're likely to hear waiting in line at the barbershop, or on the inside of an elevator. This kind of music did little for me except make me sleepy. Esther too looked even more disinterested.

"You like this?" She asked grimacing.
"No not really . . . Last night they played 'Autumn Leaves'."
"Let's get outta here . . . Go for a walk?"
"Why not?"

Outside the sun was out of site, but the heat hadn't gone anywhere. I always prefer heat to cold.

"Another June evening, huh?"
"I guess that makes us June bugs then." she said smiling.
"Sorry," she said rubbing her eyes.
"For what?"
"I can't be in a place with bad music. When the music and my thoughts are going in different directions, I feel like I'm off balance. Like I'm fighting to swim upstream, against the current. . . That probably makes no sense to you."
"No, I get what you mean. I feel like that a lot." I said looking at my feet, "Off balance." She nodded.

In the distance, I could just make out a reggae beat, and it seemed we were moving towards it. She too must have taken interest, as she was heading this expedition.
It took us around ten minutes to reach the tiny, hole in the wall bar. I'd never knew the place existed.

"Mind if we go inside?" She asked.
"Yeah, I'd like that."

As we stepped up to the bar, a lanky old man in a green brimmed hat, greeted us.

"Hey, how aya? What you'll be 'avin? It's Redstripe Winsday, two for two dollas ya know."
"We'll take two."
"A-lright den my brodda." A-lright, just like Jonesy, I thought.

The place was real low key, home style and laid back. Posters of reggae, dub artists and Rastafarian religious imagery hung everywhere on the pastel, blue green walls. Small, round tables occupied the area next to the stage. We took one front and center, and watched the performers.
The atmosphere was perfect, there was positive energy in the air around us, and I for one was picking up on it.
"I never would've expected you as a reggae fan."
"I never was until today." She smiled, giving me a sideways glance.

She seemed like a different person now. At the cafe, she had the same portrait quality, that I'd noticed on meeting her before. Now though, there was warmth and excitement subtly present in her face, and a smile played in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. I guess the atmosphere was doing her good as well.

As the song came to a close, a purple flash of lightning struck, and a soft rain could be heard falling. As the next song started, I made my way to back to the bar. The bartender placed two fresh bottles on the counter as I approached.
"Hey Brodda, can a old man give ya some advise?"
"Yeah, go ahead mano, what's up?"
"You got a genuine good gil there, ya know."
"Oh-"
"I'm tellin ya brodda, I can read a woman, and that's a good one ya know. So don't let uh slip away."
"She's a strong gil, but difficul ya know . . . like you," He said tilting his head to the side. I went to speak but no words followed, I returned his smile instead.
"Thanks for listnin' to a crazy ol' man. These brews are onna 'ouse." he said tapping his knuckles on the counter. I thanked him and turned back towards the stage.

The band announced that they'd be covering Bob Marley's 'Sun Is Shining'. And just as the music started, the singer led Esther up on stage to dance. After declining once, she made her way onto the stage laughing, blushing slightly. Time seemed to slow, and my field of vision narrowed to the small stage. The music set smooth vibrations through the air, and the vision of Esther up there in the dim lights, dancing to the melody, so pure and free. I noticed I'd been holding my breath. I took a seat, never breaking the stare, my heart racing.

"Do ya like some spirits boy?" I hadn't noticed anyone standing there.
"Huh?"
"Do ya like some spirits?" she asked holding up a large brown glass jug.
"Oh, yeah I'd like some. Thanks."
"This uh homemade Jamaican rum." she said filling my glass.
"My Solomon, said you uh like some." pointing towards the bar.
The old man tipped his hat at me, grinning. I laughed, raising my glass to him, thanking the woman and she moved on. The rum was rich and strong, but smooth, dark and delicious.

The song ended as did the dance. The singer kissed Esther's hand and a new song started up. She came back to the table smiling and sweating, breathing heavily.
"You're a good dancer." I said handing her a beer.
"Oh," she laughed "Thank you. I've never done anything like that before. Usually I'd just say no, but once I gave myself up to the music, it's like I wasn't in control of myself anymore. Nothing else mattered. I was completely free." She wiped the sweat from her forehead, lighting a cigarette.

She looked up blushing. I noticed I'd been staring, now I blushed smiling sheepishly.

"I like this place," she said "It has the right flow."
"Got your balance back." I said grinning. She smiled pushing her hair behind one ear.
"You could say that."

For the next few hours we talked nonstop about music, art, old times and life in general. We each put away our fair share of beer and liquor as well, and by closing time, we were both a little drunk.

Just as we walked out the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey brodda, mind if I and I 'ave a quick word?"
"Yeah Solomon, what's goin' on?"

He walked me to a small office behind the bar, and handed me a half gallon milk jug full of rum and a 5x7 photo of a man in military attire.

"This 'ere Haile Selassie" he said pointing to the photo.
"Hang it in ya bedrum. Keep the bad out an uh good in ya know."
"Thanks man, you didn't have to do this."
"I like ya brodda, and I seen ya droppin' drink like at, so 'ere some rom as well." He gave a wide grin and led me back outside.
"Best luck to ya brodda. Jah bless."
"Take it easy, Solomon." I said waving.
"Call me Sol brodda. Hope see you 'gain."

"What was that about?" Esther asked, cheeks rosy and eyes glazed.
"He wanted to give me some things" I said holding them up.
"Who's the man in the picture?"
"Haile Selassie." I annunciated.
"What a nice place," she said almost under her breath.

We stood under the awning, watching the rain. A full moon hung in a dark purple sky.
"Let's go," she said, wrapping her small soft hand around mine.
The rain felt cool and refreshing on my skin. After a few minutes, walking in no particular direction, she stopped in the middle of the street.
"Can we go back to your place?"
"Ok" And so we went.

---------------------

Inside, I gave her my smallest shirt and pair of shorts, both too small for me. We took turns changing out of wet clothes. She insisted I go first.
One in the morning, still hot and humid, I sweated. She came out of the bathroom, the clothes I'd loaned her obviously too big, were hanging crooked off her small frame.

"They're a little too big."
"Sorry, they're the smallest I have."
"Do you have any big T-shirts?"
"Uh . . . Yeah let me look."
"It's kind of a pain, holding up these shorts."

I handed her my biggest shirt, a green XXL Puerto Rico T, coqui playing a cuatro on the front. She came out of the bathroom, this time both knees and elbows hidden. Her skin contrasted greatly with the dark green cotton.
"Much better," she said smiling.

As she took a seat next to me on the couch, I noticed she'd taken off her bra as well.

"Do you have any reggae? I still have that Bob Marley song in my head."
"'Sun is Shining'? I have that one here somewhere.
"Really?" she asked beaming. "Could you put that track on repeat please?"
"No problem," I said readying the music.

The fat bass lines buzzed out through my old speakers. She closed her eyes, drinking it in. Suddenly she got up, taking my hand and started to dance. I resisted at first, but not for long. We kept our bodies moving to the surreal beat over and over until day break, nipping at the bottle from time to time.

Glazed eyes focused slowly on the ceiling, the living room ceiling. What was I doing in the living room? Looking down I saw Esther laying on top of me, head on my chest, breathing softly. She looked ,much younger asleep, more innocent. Had we slept together? I wondered. No, I recalled the night before in small careful steps. I turned my head back towards the kitchen clock, 8:15. I decided to try to fall back asleep, not wanting to wake her. It was still early.

Of course I couldn't sleep. I laid there watching her sleep, recapping the previous night until 10:30. She gave a long sigh, opening her eyes, she looked into mine, with a sweet smile.

"Hey," she said in a sleepy voice.
"Hey."

She pushed her face flat into my chest, moaning softly and stretching her legs. She went to the bathroom to wash up and gather her things, as I made a pot of coffee.

"Coffee?" I asked.
"No, sorry. I have a 12 o'clock class, I really have to get going."
"It's alright."
"Hey . . ."
"Yeah?"
"I had a really good time last night." She smiled.
"Me too."
"See you around."

I sat there drinking cup after cup of coffee until the pot was gone, thinking over the previous night and staring at the portrait of Haile Selassie.

"Hang it in ya bedrom," he'd said, so I did just that.