Page 16 of Not My Type (Not My Type #1)

Zara

I look down from the balcony at the persons moving to and fro, minding the business that pays them. I hope.

Says Zara who’s watching them. “One and drive!” a slender man exclaims and I shake my head. There are only two persons seated in his car. Typical Jamaican taxi men – it’s always one and drive. Dem car neva empty yet.

“Bingy!” someone shrieks and he snaps his head around eagerly— so, greedy for passengers. He runs to the woman and take her bags. She’s probably in her thi— Zara the readers nuh affi know every soul’s age or unuh fass and wah know?

The door pulls behind me grabbing my attention. I look around and notice that it’s the Latina. Obviously, she’s just taking a private call because the plait isn’t finished. I turn my head, shifting my focus to Bingy—minding my business. Are you?

Somewhat... I’ll admit. “Make sure they have D’usse there,” I hear her say. She’s four feet away from me, of course I’m going to hear her conversation.

“Did my father call you?” she asks gingerly. “He said he was trying..” She sounds timid out of nowhere. What the hell? She steps forward— even closer to where I’m planted.

Dadadee…

“Okay. I’ll tell him that,” she nods. Then she looks at me.

Thank God

A few seconds pass and she’s silent— clearly, her boyfriend is talking. Her mood suddenly soars. She tilts her head, smiling at nothing. The lady a get sweet talk enuh.

“Todavía no me he peinado,” I hear her say. What? I finally look at her and she’s blushing even harder than I thought.

“Okay, te amo papi,” she’s now staring at her feet crossed.

I gulp. She walks back inside. Goods really in love I must say. I just hope that man reciprocates it and give her the love that she deserves. Malik didn’t requite my love—not even for once. A sigh leaves my lips.

Fifteen minutes of scrolling through Instagram. I save a few outfit inspo then Clova calls me inside. “The hair done now,” she tells me and I smile sweetly then my eyes finds the Latina. She’s even more gorgeous now. I take a seat in front Clova, watching as she gawks at herself in the mirror.

“It’s so cute. This ate,” she smiles and adjust her hat on her head. It’s definitely the icing on the cake.

“Hey Mama, can you take a picture for me please?” She asks me and I nod.

She hands me her iPhone, it’s the latest model too, with a picture of her and her boyfriend on the case. It’s a no face no case type of picture. After taking about ten pictures for her I finally hand her phone to her. Her smile grows as her eyes twinkles with appreciation.

“I can’t wait to send these to him,” she chuckles to herself.

I sit down. “Gracias Mama,” she hands me $5000 and I shake my head no with a smile. Mi nah tek no money from nobody, if it isn’t my mom. I hate it. It makes me feel like I’m worthless.

“Thanks but that’s okay,” I tell her.

“I insist,” she tries. “The pictures are so good and you gave me the seat willingly.” Generous, but no.

“It’s really fine,” I give her my best smile, the billion dollar one, I think. You are something else.

“Okay, thanks though,” she finally gives up. After saying her goodbyes to everyone and showering Clova with tips, she makes her exit.

“Alright, lemme continue your hair now,” Clova gently tilts my head.

Soon after, I’m skipping through random IG stories. The room is awfully silent – that man is definitely missing. When him even leave? Nosa.

He must’ve went out when I wasn’t looking.

Just by the silence of the shop, I could tell he left.

Feeling restless, I go on a shopping binge on Shein – window shopping of course.

Spending almost half an hour on their beachwear section alone.

I’m gonna have to plan some excursions with my cousins, just so I can wear these trendy new pieces.

Lordt. Mi excited.

When I see Clova finally doing my edges, happiness spreads through me. I sit up with a heavy sigh, gently touching the cornrows. It’s so tender. “A you that!” Clova exclaims.

She spins the seat and I smile at myself. This hairstyle really brings out the ‘Indi’ in me —especially with these Dearra edges.

Angleeee dat! My subconscious starts.

“Nah lie this really fit yuh!” Clova blurts out, with her phone on me.

“She really look pretty,” the other hairdresser compliments as she puts rollers in her client’s hair.

“Thanks,” I smile charmingly.

“Yuh wah the video go up pan ig?” Clova asks.

I shake my head no. She steps back dramatically, eyeing me from head to toe.

We have this conversation every two weeks when I’m here.

I look away laughing. “Girl! Look how you nice? Nuh tell me say you still fraid a take a likkle picture!” Clova is playfully fuming.

“Wah this mon,” I giggle.

“Look how much ugly gyal a post pan Instagram? Zara! Who post nuff like dem ugly gyal yah?”

No mon Clova.

While chuckling, I throw my hands up in surrender. “Post it mon cause you nah stop til’ you get what you want.”

“Yesss, cause nice gyal supposed to get post!” She sticks her tongue out, averting her attention to the phone in her hand. “You too nice fi nuh wah deh pan the gram mon,” she mutters to herself.

After a while, she mentions that she’s going to leave. It’s my perfect opportunity to get her input on my situation. I ask her and she follows me out. “Den nuh muss? Look how long me and yuh nuh sidung and talk?” My smile grows. I didn’t expect this.

“We can buy lunch first.” I suggest since I’m feeling a little hungry.

“No, I have a better idea. Mi ago carry you up a mi nice clean house weh mi husband buy me and cook up some food.” She’s exuding so much contentment.

“Alright,” I agree and watch as she moves to the door — saying goodbye. Standing behind Clova’s tall figure, I wave to the hairdresser and her client.

“I’m gonna leave now ladies,” I beam.

“Alright baby. Take care you hear?”

“Yeah,” I bob my head.

“Marie a you last client this right?” Clova questions.

“Yeah, when mi done me lock the shop,” Marie retorts.

I really be minding my own business. Can you imagine, Clova has been my hairstylist for as long as I can remember and I’m just knowing that she drives a Honda Civic — also married? Maybe a private wedding.

We get inside and I waste no time to put on my seatbelt. She does the same, power the car on and pull off shortly after. A minute or two runs by and I shake my head.

Why Spanish town one affi busy so?

“You see all this a mi husband buy it enuh,” she giggles switching the lane. My eyes darts to her.

“It’s nice,” I compliment, admiring the car. So comfy.

“Mi seh the man just in love and a spend him pound dem pah mi so,” she says causing us to laugh.

She turns on Lady Saw’s I’ve Got Your Man faintly, moving her hips while maneuvring through Spain. When we get to Eltham Park, I’m in awe. Knowing Clova, I expected nothing below par. But this — this, exceeded my expectations.

“This is so nice,” I compliment.

“Thanks baby wait til’ you see the inside nuh,” she gets out and lead the way. I follow behind, just in time to hear an unfamiliar voice coming from the living room.

“ The bwoy nice, him nice so til!” the voice blurts out. Ok? Another voice responds with a laugh.

“Nuh trueeee?!”

“Mi pray fi only one thing and a fi God bless me with him,” I hear and I spot the two teenagers.

They have a lot in common — the only difference is, that the slim one has curly short hair and dark skin whilst the clear-skinned friend is stout with loosened hair. Dem look bad. Stop judging, the queen in my head chastises. A just the truth!

I work with teenagers, and I can tell the bad ones from the ones who are just following bad influence. And by the looks of it, these ones are sores, especially the stout one.

“Hi ladies,” I greet, quickly transitioning to my teacher mode.

“Hey,” they wave getting back to whoever they’re asking God to bless them with.

“Shanae a mi niece... the brown one,” oh, the sore is Clova’s niece. She laughs just in time and I spot a small tongue ring — it startles me. Wah the hell mi just see?

“How old is she?” I ask, turning to Clova.

“Seventeen,” she answers. Oh? Nosa.

“The next one a Kim, her best friend,” she adds. Ok... Moving on, them too big fi me. We get to the kitchen. I scan the room in admiration as Clova prepares to cook.

“This nice, nah lie I would never stop cooking,” I beam, happily. Everything is grandeur. Clova laughs at my excitement and organizes her ingredients.

“So weh you say now, you meet a guy?” she starts, eager to dive into that subject.

“Yeah,” I start smiling.

“Watch blushing, Aye! Me like this,” she squeals. She’s such a ball of excitement.

“Yeah, so I met someone but... ”