Centipede, p.3
Centipede, page 3
"Alright! Later!" I say and don't stop for no response nor look back. Next time I would go the long way and face the dogs that scale the fence after sunset.
* * *
Barely step through the door, throw down my gym bag and he like he find a charger. Text message notification: "is Anthony I wan b upfront wit you"
"Say what you got to say." I pull apart my thumb and forefinger on he profile pic to see if it is really a cross in that gold tooth.
"I use b a real bad person"
"That's unfortunate. I like bad people!"
"jail bad"
Wonderful! It's my dream to have a prison man, brave enough to face the consequences of breaking the rules. Maybe I don't have to be fearful of appearing with him in public despite the unabashed way he calls attention to himself.
"Oh dear," I say, deleting the tear emoji before hitting send.
"can i ask u a question" comes the reply.
Before I could respond, another message: "u belief d Lord Jesus Christ is we saviur?"
My eyeballs near drop out my head.
No man! Not another Christian man who lays with other men as with a woman! 'u belief d Lord Jesus Christ is we saviur?!' I place the tips of my fingers over my heart with a mind to asking if he mean White Jesus, and to define 'saviour' because I've been saving myself ever since I get put out by one of these Sunday Christians. Like Reverend Sekou say, Gays are the New Niggers! They only letting go one type of restricted freedom as the legally disenfranchised because of their sexuality, to hold on tighter to another because they are economically exploitable.
"No. I believe I am my own saviour. People have always been afraid of dying and so they've worshiped heavenly bodies, animals and men as gods, pretending to be granted eternal life as a reward for obedience." I switch to recording my voice because my mind racing too fast for me to type the many things I have to say.
"I ain't know bout all that. I just know that without God, I wouldn't be the man I is today." He follows my lead and we continue speaking to each other by exchanging voice messages.
"And who is that? The man you is today?" I ask, hoping he might say something I could use against him.
He doesn't disappoint. "Changed. The things I used to do, I do no more."
"I could think of at least one thing you used to do that you still doing."
"Wuz dah?"
"The same thing you was doing with you friends and the boogaloos in jail."
He laughs heartily. "Yuh see you! You feel you smart." He continues laughing until the end of his message.
"I ain't the body who 'like making friends.' When you coming over to be friendly to me?" I ask confidently.
After a minute goes by and I ain't hear from him, it occurs to me that I got the entire thing wrong, that I mek too many assumptions. My heart races when the next message come through.
"I can come cross by you tonight?" he ask in an almost whisper.
My non-heteronormative police force scanners maintain an unsullied track record. "Only if you bringing you Bible," I say, releasing the button and sending the message before continuing another, "so I could show you scriptures telling you why your God don't want you to come by me tonight."
He start up laughing again. "God may hate the sin but he love the sinner, real talk," he say, and simple so, he gives all actions, whether considered good or bad, lives of their own, independent of their forgiven actors, subject to unconditional love from a God I think to be make believe.
"What about resisting the desire to sin? You making any effort at all?" I ask, playing Devil's advocate.
"God know the flesh weak, sir," he responds quickly, as if he'd saved the phrase and only had to hit 'select' and 'send.'
Why am I even indulging him? Religiosity doesn't lend to constructive, rational discourse. Faith makes sure of that. Setting my satellite to zoom, I plug in Anthony Bishop on my Facebook page. Well, be Crixus Jeez! That is he right? First on the list of five [(cause you know them tracking we and must-be realize we phones did close)] skinning he teet like a parrot fish. But the name: Anthony 'De Bishop' Alleyne. Bishop is the man nickname. And look at the last post: "Stay calm and say, 'Thank you Jesus!'" Haw-Haw!
You mean I hadn't considered that he too is a centipede? A centipede with it two, long, false antennas that might cause you to mistake the harmless tail end for the head? I despise these hypocrites who have two heads with two faces because what they choose to believe enables them to get away with being simultaneously pious and sexually immoral, which notably includes sex between unmarried individuals in its definition. Choose one.
"Come by around nine-thirty. My grandmother should be asleep by then," I say finally, choosing the latter for both of us, because with all my talk, living under these anachronistic Old Testament laws doesn't leave me many options.
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About The Author
Martin Boyce was born in Kingston, Jamaica, and grew up in Barbados. He received his B.Sc. in Business Administration from the University of Brasilia, Brazil in 2004.
Traveling extensively as an English teacher, he has lived in Japan, Spain, Colombia, Panama and Costa Rica.
Martin has been writing since 2005 and has won several literary awards, including the Carolle Bourne Award for Literary Innovation. His short stories have been published in Arts Etc. NIFCA Winning Words Anthologies.
He became a vegan in 2017 and currently resides in Barbados where he ponders the Anthropocene and Sixth Extinction when he is not attempting to write, meditate, grow food, find off-grid communities or play Capoeira.
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Connect with Martin Boyce
Thanks for reading my book! If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favourite retailer?
I'm not a heavy social media user, but you can:
Friend me on Facebook.
Learn more about me from my blog.
Email me: centipedesting@gmail.com.
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Books By This Author
My Sister's Voice. In this debut collection of short stories, award-winning writer, Martin Boyce, explores the struggle between private and public selves, writing as a sexual minority from the Caribbean island of Barbados. Bold, brooding and humorous are these often lyrical soliloquies which extend past superficial musings into the realm of honest revelations, including urgent, universal social commentaries about fighting approval addiction to find peace through self-acceptance.
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Martin Boyce, Centipede
