By Shanice Skyers
It’s a Saturday morning and the sun is shining through the windows that have been worn and swollen from the hurricane that finally past on last week. The hurricane was brutal, and I was scared that the windows would crack or the door would be ripped angrily from its crusty hinges, but it didn’t, and I was thankful that even though the hurricane had uprooted all the trees in my neighborhood, disconnected all the cable wires, and sent the rooftops of small zinc houses flying in the wind and rendering some homeless, my house was left mostly unharmed. The minor damages suffered a small crack could be seen now through the ugly brown swollen windows.
The sunlight through the window is aggressive and refuses to set me free from the captivity of its assault on my eyes. This effort by the sun is successful as I sluggishly sit up in my bed. The first thing that catches my eye is the outfit my mother has chosen for me, which consists of a brown colored Capri and a green and white polka dotted top, that exudes youth and happiness. I scowl at this outfit, arose, then walk to the door where I knew I would find my mother pinning the clothes on the line she had just finished washing.
“Shanice!” my mother called “get yourself out of bed, it’s your birthday so you have to get up and thank the Lord for the beautiful day, plus your party is this afternoon,” mother exclaimed.
I rolled my eyes, Ma has always been excited enough
for both of us on past birthday’s but this time, I think my excitement nearly
matches hers, but not quite.
“If
you don’t get up, I’m going to throw a bucket of cold water on you,” mother
declared, I snort of course; she would use threats if I didn’t comply.I opened the also swollen wooden door with a firm pull and this proved useless as the door refused to move, I pulled again determined to see my mother, for I knew she would be happy, because my father was due home today from Guantanamo Bay for my birthday. After this effort the door finally swings open to reveal the bright, hot Jamaican morning I have become too used to. The sun hurts my unaccustomed eyes and I blinked rapidly waiting for them to become comfortable. When they grew accustomed I opened my eyes to the beauty now set before me, three butterflies were flying in a group, they all shared the common color of yellow but the biggest one had black spots snaking around its wings and the others had blue outlining around each wing, they looked spectacular as then flew together, as a family, and I imagined them having normal human conversations as they flew by and busily landed on various trees and flowers. I imagined they talked about common things, like what flower the like best, or the latest gossip regarding the new cocoon, and what the butterfly may look like.
