The Day I Fell Off My Island

by Yvonne Bailey-Smith

‘nothing happens before its time.’

‘Yuh mighta put yuh finger right pon de problem, Miss Lily,’ another woman said. ‘Mi wonder if dem a transport dese disease tings from Hamerica!’

De Lard word tell us Harmageddon a come, and mi sure seh it nearly deh pon us.

But a soh life go, chile. None of us ave authority over it.’

Memories of my simple island childhood with Sippa and Melba came flooding back and I felt a deep longing to return to that time. I was sitting with my old, worn-out coat wrapped tightly around me as I wrote my letter, but it offered little warmth.

It was such an incredible tale of woe it all felt suddenly ludicrous, as if it had happened to someone else and not to me.

‘Life always goes on, doesn’t it, Jen,’ I said. ‘It always does, Erna.’

‘You know, it was so extreme, it felt like my whole world had been pulled out from underneath me.’

‘Like you fell off your island and there was no one there to catch you.’

she was never able to show me one iota of love because I was a constant reminder, every striking day, of what you did to her.’