Twenty-Three
TWENTY-THREE
Trinidad
T he drinks flowed with laughter and dancing as we waited our turn to go on the road.
For carnival, each band had several sections, and those sections had distinct costumes for men and women; the women’s costumes were full of feathers and sparkles, and the men complemented the women’s wardrobes. Each section had different versions of the costume, some more extravagant than others, depending on the expertise of the revelers to manage such large headpieces and back pieces behind them while dancing to the fast soca songs that were the hallmark of each carnival. Every year, the biggest and brightest soca stars would put out hits that would be played on the road at each carnival in the islands and wherever there were large Caribbean communities. Ofele had started a little carnival years ago, mostly for locals, but once the secret was out, the carnival exploded into what we were experiencing today, a true bacchanal.
The grounds had a path around the stands about three miles long that ended in front of a stage. There the bands would show the best of their costumes, their king and queen, and would compete for the best band of the year. Power by Four was the undefeated champion, and I could see why. The level of care they had for their revelers, the way the drinks and food kept flowing, and the intricacy of their costumes spoke to their commitment to our culture and traditions with a touch of modernity.
By the time we hit the road, starting the journey to the stage, the rum fumes were clouding my head with fuzzy good feelings. The heat of the day no longer bothered me. I was with my man and he had myback, literally. Orlando and I whined down the road, my ass married to his hips as we danced and juked up down the road. Whenever there was a lull, and we stopped to wait for the next band to go up, we found our cadence, the cheers and encouragement of our fellow section members fueling my joy—intoxication by happiness. And rum, too, but happiness came first.
When my favorite song from Barbados played, Grace and I jumped around with our flags in hand, waiving them in the air while the boys surrounded us, their glistening torsos and hips moving to the beat of the music.
This was soca, this was life, this was passion.
Power by Four Posse knew exactly how to party, and by the time it was our turn on the stage, we showed every single reveler there why the band was the winner.
When the queen called us to the stage, the section erupted in screams and laughter, running toward the stage, making the ground shake. The vibrations of speakers carried me forward, Orlando just behind. We found a spot by the front of the stage, and my hips took over, Orlando’s hands nestled on my waist, running up and down as he guided me to bend exactly how he wanted, his hardness now evident after hours of close dancing.
He was allowed. There was no space required between us like Grace and Desmond were maintaining. This was my man, and if I wanted to whine on his dick on stage, then I would whine on his dick on stage. With clothes on, of course.
Sweet heat made our bodies slick with perspiration, the sweating the only reason the rum hadn’t put me on my ass already. The gentle sway of my head told me I needed more water before Orlando had to carry me back to the rental on his shoulder.
“Go ahead, Ms. V, get yours,” Orlando encouraged me, and those were the exact words I needed. My locs fell in front of my face as I bent so far down, I could see between both our legs. Orlando never let me go, holding me tight against me, keeping me safe while I had the time of my life.
We descended the stage, full of an indescribable joy, the type that filled you up and solidified photographic memories in your brain for your viewing pleasure later. I would always remember the feel of Orlando’s slick skin against mine, of the drooping feathers on my shoulders brushing back and forth as I danced, of the sweet savor of rum and coke, of the tangy taste of Orlando’s kisses, and the scent of sea and sand and Ofele.
And I would always remember the drunk flapping in my stomach, the butterflies always present, reminding me that this moment was special.
We made it back to our truck as the carnival organizers got the stage ready for the second part of carnival. Local and international soca artists hit the stage and kept all the revelers dancing and vibing as the sunset and heat gave way to a warm breeze.
“I need to sit down!” My thighs were on fire, whining meant squatting, and Mama hadn’t gone to the gym this whole week. This substituted five leg days in a row.
“We bought some foldable chairs,” Desmond explained, pulling them out of the trunk of their rental and placing things a little away from the loud noise of the music. All the trucks had synced up with the music from the stage, creating a wonderful surround system.
Relief coursed through me once I sat down. Grace sat next to me, closing her eyes and relaxing in the camping chair.
“I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” she complained.
“Who are you telling?” I laughed, knowing I would pay for it and gladly.
The ocean breeze cooled down my heated skin and helped clear my fuzzy brain. Ms. V, Hot Gyal, was back and stronger than ever, the vibes of the day solidifying that I could have more than what I thought I could. I deserved happiness and fun times, security, and steadfastness.
I had to pinch myself as Orlando and his friends stood next to Grace and me. Orlando’s aura lightened through my stay here in Ofele with him; even with all that waited for both of us back home, his happiness was evident.
Somehow, I had missed that before this, he’d always walked weighed down, the load he carried a solitary task. The vulnerability he’d shown these past days held me in awe and made mine easier to bear. I hated opening up, but we’d learned how to do it together. There was still much more to learn about each other, and be tested.
But for now, the future felt good…with the exception of his law school and Milton. Those two topics needed full revisiting, but I didn’t want to spoil the vibes. There would be time back home for the tough conversations.
For now, I stared at my man, his chiseled melanated lean torso glowing under the dying sun, his smirk enhanced by those crafty lips I couldn’t wait to kiss again. His deep brown eyes so beautiful to me, so full of pride and joy.
My man.
Orlando caught me staring, and the wink he gave me made all the fuzzy feelings sharpen in full detail. The wink morphed into a frown as he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out my cell phone. Orlando’s face slackened, and the shoulders that only a second ago sat proud and relaxed tensed up, the weight of it all returning with no explanation. What the hell could my phone say? Was it the twins?
“Qué paso?” My body acted before my brain could catch up. Heart in my throat, I stood up, extending my hand, flapping my fingers until the weight of my phone landed on my hand.
Milton: Hey, gorgeous. Can you see if you can change your flight tomorrow for an earlier one? I can pay for the difference. I want you to drive down to the Poconos for the farewell dinner. The partners want to meet you.
Relief washed over me, followed by retreat, leaving concern and a nervous energy behind. I should have called Milton and let him know about the end of our situationship, but a face-to-face conversation was the least I owed him. Now the procrastination meant I needed to open the subject, and suddenly, the rum made its presence known, the entire sky rotating against me, the floor shifting and vibrating under me. Stability. I needed an anchor, and my hand shot out in search of the first solid anything I could find. My hand landed on a firm, rigid surface and once my eyesight cleared, Orlando stood next to me, keeping me upright.
“You good?” he asked in a clipped tone.
“Yuuuup.” Oops, that took much longer to say than usual.
“Okay, here, sit down.” My feet obeyed his command instead of the ones I sent via my brain. My stomach cartwheeled, and I was grateful for the idea of sitting down. Sitting down was good. Chairs were excellent.
“Who invented chairs? Lord knows, but great, great call.”
“I don’t know who invented chairs, Trinidad.” Orlando’s beautiful face was right in front of me. I leaned over to give him a kiss, but air greeted me instead. Wasn’t his face just there, just now? “Aren’t you going to answer the text?”
“Text? What text?” I asked, my brain, trying to reach an understanding and failing spectacularly.
“Orlando, she’s lit. You gotta give her a second,” a lilting voice said, and I shook my head in agreement until my head told me to stop because it hurt too much.
“She was fine, not too long ago…” Was that shade? Did I detect shade in my man’s tone? What was going on?
“I think it hit her right now, probably standing up and everything, let’s give her a minute,” the voice urged Orlando. The voice of reason, listen to it, Orlando.
“Fine, that’s fine. I, fuck, I thought she and I were in alignment.”
“Now, wait a minute, don’t talk about me like I’m not here.” The r ’s and w ’s gave me a hard time, and the vowels wanted to show off and elongate in my mouth. I should have stopped one drink ago.
“Fine then, let’s talk. Are you going to answer that text message? Why is that dude texting you?” Orlando’s clipped tones were not appreciated when my head wanted to run away from my body and leave the pain behind until things calmed down.
“Nah, I can’t have a conversation right now; I don’t even know what you mean. And you best get your tone straightened out!” Oops. This was the side of Hot Gyal I didn’t fully embrace with joy and happiness—the sassy, angry side. But Orlando had me confused, and I was not about to let him think he could talk to me any type of way. I had enough sense to understand he was upset, and I needed clarity.
“The text from Milton, Trinidad, and you’re right, I do have a tone; I am sorry.” Orlando dropped the decibels but said it loud enough for me to hear him over the music. Milton…oh.
“I don’t know what to answer yet; I need to think,” I said, hoping he understood. I couldn’t just text Milton and say, “Hi, nah, I’m good, I have a man now.” That would be immature. This required a phone call, and I was not equipped to handle that at the moment.
“Wow, fine. Okay. Imma go take a walk with the guys. I…you do you, Trinidad,” Orlando said, his retreating form becoming a blur of color in a sea of more color. My chest ached, and I didn’t know how to make it better. But my head? That pounding was unbearable.
“Oh, Trinidad, listen, he’s…this is…you’re both drinking, it will be okay tomorrow.” Okay tomorrow…but nah.
“No, he should know better; he’s supposed to have my back. How can he walk away? When I’m not even doing okay?” The more I thought about what just happened the more I saw red. The haze grew at a faster rate than the cartwheels in my stomach until my body once more was in movement.
“Wait, wait, Trinidad, where are you going?” Grace’s tiny steps were loud as hell behind me as I navigated the crowd in search of a place where I could order a ride.
“You can’t leave on your own; I… I’ll come with you.”
Clearly, Grace didn’t want to leave. I saw her and Desmond dancing a lot; she danced with all her friends, but Desmond stayed by her side most of the time; his going with Orlando was clearly a solidarity thing, and I understood, but I did not plan to ruin her night too. Whirling around, the rum slushed all around my stomach and head, and I needed a second to wait for everything to settle down.
“No. I’m a grown woman. This is not the first time I have taken a taxi drunk. This is how we’ll do it. I will call you as soon as I am in the car, and I will leave the call open till I get to the rental. Okay? There is no need for both our nights to get messed up, alright?” The slurs were decreasing enough to convince Grace of the plan. She nodded sadly, holding me so tight in a hug more fit to a gentle giant instead of the tiny pixie she was.
“Listen, he is in love with you. The dumbass just doesn’t know how to say it.” All my veins lit up at the sound of her words, but clarity had a way of always inserting its way.
“Love is beautiful, and I do believe you believe that, but he needs to sort some things out first before he can love me like I deserve.” Every single part of the sentence came out clear and concise.
No slurs. No doubts.