Let loose the lips of Lucifer (Revised)

A Story by ReneeJ

I stepped into my own mansion. I knew I was late because the sun was red and peeking through the white kitchen curtains. The water was violently boiling over one of the pots, but I was too exhausted and uncaring to do anything. I dropped my bag on the stairs and was about to go up when the arm pulled me back. The force was familiar, so I didn't fight.

She spun me around to face her, her blood red eyes scanned my unravelled hair and dirty, torn clothes. Her hand struck my cheek hard, it hurt, but I only looked at her quivering lips and the tears dropping on her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, and then the kettle started screeching.

“You drink too much tea” I said, and yanked my hand away. I have never defied my mother before.

I ran up the stairs and slammed my door, dropping on the bed; the pain stung my cheek. Instead of making me angry, it made me think of Nora and the day we had. I moved the curtain and looked out; night was beginning to take over. I could hear my brother tapping the pencil in his room noisily. I got up and hit the wall. He hit his too and it made me angry that he wanted to challenge me.

I opened his door, he looked frightened. I was about to grab the pencil and stab his arm, but I could only look at him. He has grown, his legs are longer and his hair higher.

He looked like a man, maybe too much reading, for he was only sixteen. He was my mother’s prize and if she had it her way, she would keep him pressed to her bosom all his days, but my brother was almost a man and I think the thought pained my mother, because she couldn't dare hold him that way now.

“Mind closing the door” his voice was mature and deep, and I wish I could tell my brother about Nora, like the old times when we shared stories, but I knew he wouldn't listen, so I just hissed and slammed the door.

I walked back to my own room and sat on the bed inhaling the scent of the river, the dirt and the grass that stained my uniform, reminding me of the day I had with Nora. The candle on my table had finally burnt to nothing. I closed my eyes and tried to think about Nora, but my brother’s image kept blocking the view, so I forgot everyone and welcomed the temporary escape from my life.

I was still in my dirty uniform when I woke up; I took a quick bath and went downstairs to breakfast. It was oatmeal and fried plantains; we ate this almost every day. I flung the lumpy meal into the bowl and flung myself into the chair, I didn't even pray.

“What is wrong with you” her eyes were still red, probably she was crying last night. Her hair was not in the tight high bun and she was still in her night gown.

“nutten”* I replied with my head down

*(Jamaican Creole for nothing)

“Don’t speak like that!” she shouted, she looked as though she was going to burst, and I enjoyed it. My brother glared at me and shook his head in pity, it made me angry, so I flung the bowl to the centre of the table and ran up the steps.

She called after me, and when I looked back her eyes looked hollow and sunken, they looked almost grey around the lids. She looked tired and hopeless. I just kept on stomping up the stairs.

I glared at myself in the mirror. The ribbons decorated my small head and I looked like a silly five year old, so I pulled them from my hair. I grabbed a notebook from the night table and tucked it under my arm. When I descended from the stairs, my mother looked at my hair and I could hear the sharp breath she took and see the fire in her eyes.

It was Saturday, the day when my brother and I were supposed to roam dimly lit rooms filled with old dusty books and speak in hushed voices. I would sit at the table and etch rude words into the dark brown tables that seemed to survive the world war. The woman at the front table eyed me carefully every week, as if my mother told her to watch me as she told everyone. It wasn't the never ending shelves and musty smell that irritated me, but the journey to the dreadful building.

We were supposed to walk as loving siblings, probably link our arms and skip like they did in the pictures. We always had to make reports about something that caught our eyes, a beautiful flower perhaps. When we presented it to our mother in her room that smelt of talcum powder and oils, mine would be full of angry red lines and her usual comment “make an effort” and an exclamation mark that pierced the paper.

I thought about all these things as I walked in awkward silence with my brother. The sun was high and powerful, sweat ran down my bare chest and legs, but he looked calm and collected. The farmers on the other side dug and separated the land, standing upright very often to wipe their sweat drenched faces. A woman stood behind one with a jug in her hand. She had a baby on her hip, and they were laughing.

The woman had a loud, raucous laugh that seemed to make the man laugh harder. She let out an animal like sound, and then she turned her attention to us as we passed the fence that separated us. No one really spoke to us, they only stared, and I guess it was because of my mother.

I was walking slowly behind my brother, thinking about the couple when I heard the bold voice call out my name. It was Nora. My face lit up. She was wearing a dress with frills around her neck that made her look like a small golliwog. I waved excitedly at her. My brother paused and looked at her; he half shut his eyes and gazed discreetly. His feet began shuffling and he lightly smiled at her and kept walking. I hugged her and she put her hand around my waist. We turned to the opposite direction, he called out to me, but I ignored him and kept walking. The woman at the reference desk would have to miss me today.

We went back to the river and sat on the dry bank. She tore the frilly collar and handed me a cigarette. I nervously took it and let her light it, this time I breathed in slowly and exhaled. I coughed a little and tried again, I was better but still awkward. I really didn't like the taste and had no idea what I was supposed to feel, but it felt good to do something unacceptable, and my mother’s face in my mind kept me going.

We took off our shoes and dipped our toes in the cool water, squinting at the noon sun.

“Ever kissed a boy?” she asked with a laugh

“No” I giggled. I hadn't really thought of it before and now felt as though I should. The only boy I really knew was my brother and the few I was not really acquainted with at church.

She leaned towards me and kissed my cheek. I felt a tingling feeling and blushed; no one has ever kissed me before, except the day when my mother thought I was first in the country and kissed my forehead. I smiled and she laughed, then we stripped ourselves of the dresses and jumped into the cool river in the hot summer day.

It was evening when we left; the sun was just bowing out, leaving a light breeze and the moon to take over. I boldly walked into the bar filled with rowdy men and we bought sodas, swallowing in one gulp. We walked back in silence and without a word we separated. I felt an unusual tingle of sadness as I watched her leave. For the second time I watched as she sadly opened the door. She looked back and waved slightly, but I didn't have the will to do the same, for that wave meant goodbye.

I knew I wouldn't see her tomorrow, for we had church, a very special day to my mother, I could at least ease my rebellion for that day.