What is going on? When is the funeral? Is the funeral past?
Since you guys are on the good memories, let me also reminisce:
As kids Andy knew who I was but as yet he was out of my younger school world. He reminded me of our childhood when we became close friends in Belize City. Then I was studying and he was hustling. But as kids I never sold any bread on my run. Andy always sold his basket of bread on his run. He boasted about his every-day win.
As teenagers, we worked together in the Pine Forest out of Bermuda Landing. In the village, our hostel was the community center where we curated the pine cones and seeds. Tio John’s drying running beds were made on the playing field, the front yard of the Center. During the dark nights, under the starry cosmos, we spoke while we gazed from a distance on the faint glow emanating from the family home of young ladies who knew nothing of the teenagers in the hazy Center turned warehouse. That summer I was age 13.
Yes, you remind me. Every night while I was a young student and teacher in Belize City we would have tasty food, pastry or soup at the night clubs, after he turned in his sale of lottery tickets. He had money. I had none. We had delicious Belizean tarts and meat pies; peppery rice and beans with stew chicken; or well done country tamales. He recounted his many escapades. I told him about my disappointments with my girl-friend lodging nearby with her cousin in a home that to me appeared to be part of a landscape. Andy and I were always bosom friends.
After Sixth Form, Mr Johnny and Miss Juana, my land lord and lady, left for Chetumal, Yucatan, Mexico. In retrospect I think Daddy must have owed boarding and lodging. I think the debt was too much. I then had to stay with Andy’s mom, Miss Inez, and her family, Andy, the boys and Angie. That is when Andy and me wondered through the streets of the city late at night, entering restaurants that had already closed their front doors. We entered through side doors to buy the exquisite pies and puddings. There was one hut on a side street on the way to Technical College to which we walked all the way from Euphrates. Andy claimed that that shop’s soup was the best in the City. It certainly was the only soup in the city available at that ungodly hour of 2 to 3 am. But there were always a few customers having soup at the tables inside.
I have good memories of Euphrates Avenue, Mesopotamia, Yarbrough, Canal Street. Those nights the streets were minimally lit, quiet, and lonely, fit for a precocious hustler and his poor student.
When we were back home in Cayo, mommy liked Andy because he would dutifully collect the weekly sack of oranges from the farm. He ate with us; he worked with us; he lived with us. None of my other young cousins stayed at home with us. He ran all the errands for mommy and daddy. The only one that drove all of daddy’s vehicles and tractor was Andy.
Andy left for the United States of America. Many years later, after my medical schooling in Jamaica and in hospitals in New York City, I was not surprised when he told me how much money he made in Los Angeles, California, providing aliens with green cards. Then when he visited Cayo, I know he stayed at home. He visited me in New York City. Whenever we were about to exit for the day’s outing, I noted he went missing for a few minutes. Later, when discussing Andy, Javi brought his transient absences to my attention: then I had a reason for the new blush in his eyes. Could I have made a difference for Andy then had I known this at that time, the way he made a difference for a naive Cayo kid in his City? Sorry, I never gave him as much as he gave me. He remains a fond memory.
It is a “Good night” after Andy’s sunset.
By the way, Gutty and Ramon were also good to me. Ramon gave me, a high-school kid, 25 cents on Burn’s Avenue every Saturday night. I never forget this. But I digress.
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