Some other kinds of people,�though.
In his capacity as a school bus driver, Elkhan the elk happened to be assigned a route beside her. Which was to see him transporting some other kind of kid, of another kind of people, quite unlike these, regularly. He remembers it well. One day, while driving along with the slow-moving traffic. Twenty or more passengers were on board his vehicle and rocking in the pocket. This girl broke away from the chatter in the bus, yes, the hot pan. She pulled down a window and shouted to the teenage boy? Come on, yes, he was walking along the sidewalk at the time, alongside a slow-moving line of traffic, home to the park.
The girl shouted it at the boy, calling him by name and giggling with joy. "I love you," she said, and the compliment was returned, back to her head. "I love you, too." Quite casually, it was said. Everyone continued doing as they were before, going ahead, on their way to gracing the shore, Miss Mildred. From the Elk's observation, no one at all, whether inside or outside the bus, even on the ball, whooping the toss, or out on the street, the sidewalk, or anywhere else around the park. No one seemed to blink an eyelid a little bit faster. So, what's the point here? Did you ask her? What are you saying?
I heard you, yes, all of you asking those questions, you bet. The point here is this: from where we're coming, we as a people. In our neck of the woods (and yours too,) I'm sure. Well, unless you happen to be the one walking there on the floor, the one we were addressing before. One would be stretched to breaking point, to hear of anything like that, one would be far more likely to hear something quite the opposite, to spot. Or even worse than that. Like, something more or less like; hey, Bram, or whatever else the name might be, or become. You? I hate you, I'mma gonna kick your blessed assurance too.
Or even worse. You're a dead man, Brad. I'm gonna kill you, he might curse. Laughs, laughs, everybody is laughing, because? yeah! Because they're glad, with the half-spring, and if someone, some nerd or weirdo from somewhere. Like this other kind of kid walking there, just for example, my dear, if he should have happened to be anywhere near this latter bunch, over here. Or even where you are and should have inadvertently said those words; those same, rather beautiful words, like those that were exchanged between the two young kids, from another ethnic group, we'd so heard, other than our kind. But within earshot of this bunch of our own, and dying. He would stand a good chance of getting himself beaten to a pulp. Or get laughed at to scorn, at the very least of the bone.
"Different socialization," you say to these at home? Yeah, I heard you, but really now, if you're a forward-thinking, caring, progressive kind of person, and daring. Let me "word you" with an asked? or two. Which of the two groups would you rather be in, and why can't the one be, or be made to become, (in some ways,) like me, I mean, like the other?
On another occasion, the Elk was found doing the same sort of tasks for them. No, not like, not for anything more than an amen, no. But for the other ones, for payment, driving home a group of mostly teenagers from school on the bus, as per the agreement. Another school, this time, with teenagers of another racial background than his and mine. But more of the kinds we spoke about earlier, at top speed, I ain't lying. Out the window again, the girl was to stick her head and shout at the teenage boy who was there playing tossed balls on the plains, or the playing field, grass high, and haying.
"Hey," she said, "Wanna make babies with me?" And the Elk was like, "How come no one ever asked me that?" From within himself, of course. But we all do know the answer. We've always known the answer. Even when we didn't know that we knew those answers, we knew. Some things are very taboo in our neck of the woods, and our homes, and to think that our folks, chiefly our church folks and the goods, (half-boned) like to poke all sorts of fun at these types of folks, saying things like, "They're still waiting for the Messiah to come."
We say it all the time, don't go lying now and deny that one. "They're still waiting for the Messiah; that's why they have so many children." Or, every one of these women thinks that her child is going to be the Messiah. Laughs, and yet more laughs. But again, perhaps. You do know what foo? I mean, those other faraway people like you. You know what they do best, don't you? They make a mock at sin and other such things, oh, what a sin ting! or something. Meanwhile, these people tell the young ones amongst themselves, and in style, wait?
"Wait on the Lord," they say, for the children, or for the child to go and play the games of the day. As the years come and go away again, carrying the best years of those young ones' lives with them, and the very thing that would, could, and should ensure that that thing for which they are waiting and praying fast, like, (to get married and start a family, in high class.) The best of their childbearing years, the family-creating years. Those things are fast slipping away from them, and theirs. Because, as a people, we're so over-tabooed with the whole idea of sex, sexuality, and having babies. So much so that we lay waste somewhere in the waist in-deeds, I mean, West Indies.
We even despise the very words, it would seem. We have seen and heard it way too often; the way some of our folks would react to questions, or any arguments surrounding said subjects asked of them, even married women from among us. Should someone dare to inquire about when the babies will be forthcoming, after they have gotten married, for example, and humming? Like normal people the world over tend to do. This is the response one is likely to get from our folks and you. It's likely to be some pushback of some sort or spew. "What kind of nastiness are you asking me? Yuh gweh fram mi yah." Yes I-yah, (kiss mi dyam teet.) Oh no, my teeth hurt.
It's not those other people, though, those people who do everything as a community and as a people. They're the ones who are getting things to happen in the world, the real world, that is. But they are still the tail, the nobodies, right? We, on the other hand, have been serving them well. Going, and coming, in and out of their houses, serving them, seeing and hearing things, and hastening to go and tell. Telling tales, but never learning nuttn. Or even "anything" worth learning. And yet, what can those folks or anyone else do to stop us from being the head? "Absolutely nothing," they have said. It's just our portion, just the way things are, and that's that, Mi Bred. Pinto finale.
Those folks have a history, too, you know. Not unlike our history in some regards, to show you. But they have risen above it, and we have not. I wonder why, why not? Could it be because we're not too big on the "history" thing either? Be it his story or mine, to please her? Not our story, though, that's for sure. Other than to "pop tory gimme," maybe, so I can have a good time laughing and then, goh get a belly full and goh li dung anh sleep. Or go to bed, lie down, and sleep, like how those folks like to say it out there on the street. I know you wanna laugh, so go right on, laugh a kikikikikee. Let them stroke your funny bones, mi pickney, all the way home, with me. You must be pampered, like the sweet and cuddly little kids that you are, in the hamper. The real kids, even, of the ram kind, Sir.
Kids who like to jump on the rocks and prance all about on time or, all day long, no doubt, and into the evening. Not a care in the world, nothing to worry about, nor the girl who deceives me, with the words from her mouth. Nothing hard for you. So, close this book, and go instead to the other book; the social type of book. Now, take a look, and let them lie to you there. Or tell you the truth, they were to hear, the ugly truth, beware. Or even the beautiful and the cute. Which all of you already know anyway, like, how beautiful you are today, as always, and never anything other than?
The same as how they will tell those "Others" their truths too, from the gut, even. You know them, the ugly ones, you see them there all the time. Everybody knows that they are ugly, no denying, and they? They know it too. So, there's nothing to it when others tell them what they already know, right? Just like you, the beautiful ones, and the bright? There's nothing to it, it's just the way thou art. So, why bother with the hard stuff when life is this easy? Leavey, as in, leave it alone, let it be.
Which of your emotions will win in the end, and rule the day, though? Anger? Or joy, and laughter? As for me, I'll choose to laugh and go laughing at myself. If only to stop me from crying, alone on the shelf.�
To be continued.�
WritingElk.
In his capacity as a school bus driver, Elkhan the elk happened to be assigned a route beside her. Which was to see him transporting some other kind of kid, of another kind of people, quite unlike these, regularly. He remembers it well. One day, while driving along with the slow-moving traffic. Twenty or more passengers were on board his vehicle and rocking in the pocket. This girl broke away from the chatter in the bus, yes, the hot pan. She pulled down a window and shouted to the teenage boy? Come on, yes, he was walking along the sidewalk at the time, alongside a slow-moving line of traffic, home to the park.
The girl shouted it at the boy, calling him by name and giggling with joy. "I love you," she said, and the compliment was returned, back to her head. "I love you, too." Quite casually, it was said. Everyone continued doing as they were before, going ahead, on their way to gracing the shore, Miss Mildred. From the Elk's observation, no one at all, whether inside or outside the bus, even on the ball, whooping the toss, or out on the street, the sidewalk, or anywhere else around the park. No one seemed to blink an eyelid a little bit faster. So, what's the point here? Did you ask her? What are you saying?
I heard you, yes, all of you asking those questions, you bet. The point here is this: from where we're coming, we as a people. In our neck of the woods (and yours too,) I'm sure. Well, unless you happen to be the one walking there on the floor, the one we were addressing before. One would be stretched to breaking point, to hear of anything like that, one would be far more likely to hear something quite the opposite, to spot. Or even worse than that. Like, something more or less like; hey, Bram, or whatever else the name might be, or become. You? I hate you, I'mma gonna kick your blessed assurance too.
Or even worse. You're a dead man, Brad. I'm gonna kill you, he might curse. Laughs, laughs, everybody is laughing, because? yeah! Because they're glad, with the half-spring, and if someone, some nerd or weirdo from somewhere. Like this other kind of kid walking there, just for example, my dear, if he should have happened to be anywhere near this latter bunch, over here. Or even where you are and should have inadvertently said those words; those same, rather beautiful words, like those that were exchanged between the two young kids, from another ethnic group, we'd so heard, other than our kind. But within earshot of this bunch of our own, and dying. He would stand a good chance of getting himself beaten to a pulp. Or get laughed at to scorn, at the very least of the bone.
"Different socialization," you say to these at home? Yeah, I heard you, but really now, if you're a forward-thinking, caring, progressive kind of person, and daring. Let me "word you" with an asked? or two. Which of the two groups would you rather be in, and why can't the one be, or be made to become, (in some ways,) like me, I mean, like the other?
On another occasion, the Elk was found doing the same sort of tasks for them. No, not like, not for anything more than an amen, no. But for the other ones, for payment, driving home a group of mostly teenagers from school on the bus, as per the agreement. Another school, this time, with teenagers of another racial background than his and mine. But more of the kinds we spoke about earlier, at top speed, I ain't lying. Out the window again, the girl was to stick her head and shout at the teenage boy who was there playing tossed balls on the plains, or the playing field, grass high, and haying.
"Hey," she said, "Wanna make babies with me?" And the Elk was like, "How come no one ever asked me that?" From within himself, of course. But we all do know the answer. We've always known the answer. Even when we didn't know that we knew those answers, we knew. Some things are very taboo in our neck of the woods, and our homes, and to think that our folks, chiefly our church folks and the goods, (half-boned) like to poke all sorts of fun at these types of folks, saying things like, "They're still waiting for the Messiah to come."
We say it all the time, don't go lying now and deny that one. "They're still waiting for the Messiah; that's why they have so many children." Or, every one of these women thinks that her child is going to be the Messiah. Laughs, and yet more laughs. But again, perhaps. You do know what foo? I mean, those other faraway people like you. You know what they do best, don't you? They make a mock at sin and other such things, oh, what a sin ting! or something. Meanwhile, these people tell the young ones amongst themselves, and in style, wait?
"Wait on the Lord," they say, for the children, or for the child to go and play the games of the day. As the years come and go away again, carrying the best years of those young ones' lives with them, and the very thing that would, could, and should ensure that that thing for which they are waiting and praying fast, like, (to get married and start a family, in high class.) The best of their childbearing years, the family-creating years. Those things are fast slipping away from them, and theirs. Because, as a people, we're so over-tabooed with the whole idea of sex, sexuality, and having babies. So much so that we lay waste somewhere in the waist in-deeds, I mean, West Indies.
We even despise the very words, it would seem. We have seen and heard it way too often; the way some of our folks would react to questions, or any arguments surrounding said subjects asked of them, even married women from among us. Should someone dare to inquire about when the babies will be forthcoming, after they have gotten married, for example, and humming? Like normal people the world over tend to do. This is the response one is likely to get from our folks and you. It's likely to be some pushback of some sort or spew. "What kind of nastiness are you asking me? Yuh gweh fram mi yah." Yes I-yah, (kiss mi dyam teet.) Oh no, my teeth hurt.
It's not those other people, though, those people who do everything as a community and as a people. They're the ones who are getting things to happen in the world, the real world, that is. But they are still the tail, the nobodies, right? We, on the other hand, have been serving them well. Going, and coming, in and out of their houses, serving them, seeing and hearing things, and hastening to go and tell. Telling tales, but never learning nuttn. Or even "anything" worth learning. And yet, what can those folks or anyone else do to stop us from being the head? "Absolutely nothing," they have said. It's just our portion, just the way things are, and that's that, Mi Bred. Pinto finale.
Those folks have a history, too, you know. Not unlike our history in some regards, to show you. But they have risen above it, and we have not. I wonder why, why not? Could it be because we're not too big on the "history" thing either? Be it his story or mine, to please her? Not our story, though, that's for sure. Other than to "pop tory gimme," maybe, so I can have a good time laughing and then, goh get a belly full and goh li dung anh sleep. Or go to bed, lie down, and sleep, like how those folks like to say it out there on the street. I know you wanna laugh, so go right on, laugh a kikikikikee. Let them stroke your funny bones, mi pickney, all the way home, with me. You must be pampered, like the sweet and cuddly little kids that you are, in the hamper. The real kids, even, of the ram kind, Sir.
Kids who like to jump on the rocks and prance all about on time or, all day long, no doubt, and into the evening. Not a care in the world, nothing to worry about, nor the girl who deceives me, with the words from her mouth. Nothing hard for you. So, close this book, and go instead to the other book; the social type of book. Now, take a look, and let them lie to you there. Or tell you the truth, they were to hear, the ugly truth, beware. Or even the beautiful and the cute. Which all of you already know anyway, like, how beautiful you are today, as always, and never anything other than?
The same as how they will tell those "Others" their truths too, from the gut, even. You know them, the ugly ones, you see them there all the time. Everybody knows that they are ugly, no denying, and they? They know it too. So, there's nothing to it when others tell them what they already know, right? Just like you, the beautiful ones, and the bright? There's nothing to it, it's just the way thou art. So, why bother with the hard stuff when life is this easy? Leavey, as in, leave it alone, let it be.
Which of your emotions will win in the end, and rule the day, though? Anger? Or joy, and laughter? As for me, I'll choose to laugh and go laughing at myself. If only to stop me from crying, alone on the shelf.�
To be continued.�
WritingElk.
Support E. Lloyd K (The WritingElk)
