RED'S REVENGE

If you ask any tourist what they recall most about Negril Jamaica, I’m sure they would say the breathtaking sunsets and Ricks Cafe however, growing up in Jamaica I can tell you there was quite a lot more. We lived in Negril, located right on the western tip of the island known for its beautiful beaches and tropical sunsets. Mom would say, “Exploit the magnificence God has bestowed on us.”

With those lovely words I made that my backdrop from my realities. I learned at a very youthful age to value the entirety of God’s blessings from the beaches to the beautiful greenery of the island. One beach, among the many seashores we spent time on, Bloody Bay Beach, my mom’s unequaled top-pick favorite. Amusingly, the name did not fit the peaceful, serene beach. A few steps away, you could find the sound of the steel drums or Jamaica’s own Bob Marley’s ONE LOVE being played again and again “One love, one heart, let’s get together and feel alright”. What stunning verses.

Watching the glowing orange and red fireball sink into the brilliant blue sea mesmerized me, Mom, and Sheri. As I would like to think, this dusk was the best by far.

Sheri, mom’s “best friend” would go along with us regularly at the beach. Sheri was beautiful, her olive color skin and high cheekbones and gray eyes were piercing. Her thick lips matched her lush body; a body that made you question where the heck she had gotten legs and a shape that she never flaunted until it was time to do what she loved and that was run. Being an advent runner, she would spend her downtime running on the beaches, and her body showed it. Her long brown hair always up in a bun gave off this tomboyish look, however, she was far from a tomboy. When she let that hair down, I was in awe of her looks. Between her and my mom, I wondered how they fought off all the advances they received. I believed “Gyal yuh look gud” was the proper way to address ladies, as I heard it frequently.

They proclaimed themselves to be best friends, but their interaction said, partners. Looks are worth a thousand words and the looks they shared said LOVE. They needed each other, and they took care of me.

I had the essentials, clothing on my back, a roof over my head, food in my belly. Being my mother’s pride and joy, she ensured I had my all-time favorites. Spicy jerk chicken, callaloo, Jamaican spinach, and bammy, what Americans call pancakes made from cassava root planted in the backyard garden of our quaint home. Mom considered it a shack, yet it appeared as a mansion in my eyes. Decorated by her exquisite style, everything bright and whimsical. She made poor work.

I loved my mother like no other love you can envision, and she cherished me. We did everything together. Homeschooling permitted us to get to know one another and with all that we learned about one another my mom protected me like a lion protects her cub. I wondered why she had been so protective, however; it felt natural, so I questioned nothing my mom did or said.

An astounding woman who figured out how to get what I needed for me to have a desirable way of life; unlike the one she endured and never discussed. Being a awesome cook, she catered food, cleaned homes, and took trips to the states to work as a housekeeper for a very wealthy family. By this time, Sheri lived with us and watched out for me when my mom was expected to travel. A story, I wouldn’t accept. My natural sense questioned the information about her cleaning someone else’s home, however being a kid, you never questioned adults. Sheri likewise made trips to the states to work on clients she acquired from working at the resort in Jamaica.

Brought into the world Chinese Jamaican, the supposition is that you lived a more attractive life than the “dark-looking Jamaicans,” notwithstanding, that wasn’t reality. Poor is poor no matter the color of your skin, and I detested being poor, I swore to do whatever necessary to get what I needed and wanted in life.

Beautiful didn’t hurt yes beautiful, my combination of a Chinese father and Jamaican mom produced me; Red, the only name I recall. My mother said whenever the sweltering Jamaican sun caught my body; everything became red. From my skin to the hair on my head, and the little freckles that graced my body before I turned golden brown.

Wavy light earthly colored hair, slanted green eyes, and vibrant lips were shapely proportioned from top to bottom. Curvy in the correct spots. Shy, awkward, I never liked my looks like a young girl, the kids in my parish that I tried to befriend teased me and never accepted me. Be that as it may, as I developed, I figured out how to accept my looks and use them in my favor. I recognized looks played a powerful part throughout everyday life. I can hear my mom’s hefty Jamaican brogue saying this one phrase that remains in my mind.

“Million exquisite women out there, Red,” “Confidence and brains will NEVA stop being beautiful.”

Three weeks passed since mom left for New York, and still, we hadn’t heard from her nor had she returned. My mother and I connected like no other. She never left for that long, and she always called regardless. Something must not be right, and I felt it in my gut. Even as a young girl, my instinct never led me wrong.

Sheri sat me down, and I naturally felt something wasn’t right. I had that feeling in my gut.

Informed of the news, it felt like someone tore my heart from my chest.

Missing? Vanished? Disappeared like planes and ships in the Bermuda Triangle. It was more to this. I could never accept this news.

Who did this? Why? Where was my mother?

Leaving no stones unturned, I would do anything yes anything to solve the piece to this missing puzzle. A puzzle I had to solve. Where do I start, I thought? Suddenly I recalled that she composed all her thoughts in this small black notebook that she kept in the safe. The safe she never knew I was aware of.

I started scouring her room, clothes tossed here, papers over there. At last, I discovered precisely what I needed. My chest was palpitating so fast I could hear every beat of my heart.

With sweaty palms and trembling hands, three times to the right 38, one full turn to the left, passing the first number 16, one more right turn 22. I pulled on the lock and bam the lock opened.

I couldn’t believe what I saw – $20,000 US dollars. What was happening? Where did mom get all this cash? Was this the reason she disappeared. Such countless unanswered questions. I was beginning to trust that I didn’t know the lady whom I called mother. Needless to say, my findings would be helpful in my pursuit of the truth.

It was time to use what I had to get what I wanted. The power of seduction and the art of persuasion became my passion in solving this mystery.