Someone once said: “Jamaicans don’t read.”
Judging from the spike in subscribers to my last blog, I am here to tell you Jamaicans do read. But, I am left wondering if people subscribed because of the ‘fairy tale’ or because of the ‘love’ part of the story.
Let’s examine this for a second.
Personally, I don’t believe it was the fairy tale aspect. Jamaica is an amazing girl, but I don’t think she’s into fairy tales.
In my mind, a Jamaican Fairy Tale would have Cinderella divorcing Prince Charming for being faithful on his FB wall:
… and cheating in his inbox:
Beauty would marry the beast, take his money, then break his heart.
And Rapunzel, poor Rapunzel, I can already hear her frustrations:
“Do not touch my hair! It look like weave to you?!”
And when Prince Charming comes calling. Her Jamaican accent would get extra thick:
“Climb up which tower? Pon which hair? You mad? Plus you know me live next door to pastor — come back later — make sure it dark — use the back door.”
Yea. I don’t think it was the fairy tale. I believe y’all wanted a love story. So, I went in search of one for you. Enjoy.
It was Saturday night.
Beyonce’s ‘Freakum Dress’ was blasting when Terry-an walked into the club. She smiled. Her dress was on point. Red. Short. Tight. It had just enough slit in the front to reveal some chest and just enough split in the back to reveal — the rest. She sauntered to the bar, ordered her favourite brand of red wine and allowed her eyes to survey the room. She saw them all. The inflated egos, the old vultures, the smooth talkers, the ballers, the shot callers. Her eyes skipped over them and finally stopped on him.
He stood in a corner, mojito in hand. Like her, he surveyed the room. He’d undone the first three buttons of his untucked collared shirt to show some chest and his fitted jeans showed off — the rest. Eyes met. Energies ignited. Sparks flew. That’s how it started.
Okay, I lied.
That’s not how it started.
That’s what I wanted Terry-an to tell me when I asked her how she met Eric, but she was intent on dousing the flames my imagination had ignited. She said:
“We met in sociology class.”
Boring. I know. But sometimes, most times, that’s how love comes. It doesn’t need the bright lights and extra hype at a Beyonce concert. Sometimes, most times, it’s raw, passionate, unaccompanied by puff and fluffery — like an Adele song.
Fresh out of a divorce, Terry-an moved from Boston to Philadelphia with the intent to start a new life and seek higher education. Eric was the guy in class with the jokes she could relate to because they were both older than the average student and as Terry-an puts it: ‘We just got each other’.
New state, new lease on life, hot guy in class — recipe for romance, right?
I’d like to think so, but that’s still not how it started.
She placed him straight into the friend zone. For four years, she took advantage of his sweet nature and listening ear. He was the guy she would run to with all her good date stories, her bad date stories, her ‘What the hell was I thinking?’ date stories. He was the guy who had her back.
And you already know what Jamaican comedian Owen Blakka Ellis says about the guy who has your back — he never gets your (insert word that starts with ‘F’ and rhymes with hunt).
Eric was totally besotted by Terry-an. She embodied everything he was looking for in a woman and he absolutely loved that fact that she abided by three simple rules: ‘clothes muss press, house muss clean and Sunday-rice-and-peas fi cook pon Sundays’.
He patiently listened to her stories, all the while biding his time because he knew one day he would get to sample her rice and peas … and he did. One night, he shattered Mr. Ellis’s theory to shreds. Terry-an said:
“It took two beers and a stupid play. It wasn’t even a DATE!”
And that my friends is how their love story started.
Now, forget the ‘they met, fell in love and live happily ever after’ BS. This is real life and it would be remiss of me to tell it without mentioning some real-life issues.
Like the fact that Eric dumped Terry-an two days before Christmas because he feared getting his heart broken and she was willing to walk away because she feared losing her best friend. Luckily, they were smart enough to put their fears aside and by New Years, they were back together.
And then, there was the issue of Terry-an’s mom who like most Jamaican women do not believe in the subtle art and skill of saying something with thoughtfulness and consideration.
Though she later came to love him, her comment when she heard her daughter was dating Eric was:
“I would never date fi them kind. The amount of black women them rape…me would a neva deh wid one.”
Her mother, like the many other people who were quick to pass judgement didn’t understand Terry-an’s frustrations in dating. She explained:
“I am black … like Alek Wek black. Black men don’t often look in my direction. In fact, if I walk down the street and turn 5 heads, most of them are not black. Black men only see me when I walk with Eric.”
Thankfully, the couple didn’t allow trivialities to get in the way.
They were married at The Half Moon Jamaica Resort on November 7, 2015.
As Terry-an puts it:
“At the end of the day, I didn’t see colour. I married a man whose intelligence and sense of humour won me over. A man who proposed to me while I was washing the dishes. A man who loves rice and peas, red stripe beer and everything Jamaican. At the end of the day, I married my best friend.”
Until next time remember to:
Keep liking, keep sharing, and keep commenting and as per usual:
Live, Love and Laugh a lot!
A Piece Of Mine © 2015