The Trifling Trinidadian

The man from Trinidad appeared one night, out of thin air, and knocked on my door one morning at four. I squinted my sleepy eyes as I opened the door and made out a silhouette amidst all the dogs barking in the darkness somewhere. He wore a grin and brought with himself some good humor and a memory of the good old days. The sun, orange with delight, promptly rose from slumber and spread across my city a shower of golden eagerness.

Couple of omelets later, we realized breakfast wasn’t quite complete without a sip of good old rock music. Of late, my man from Trinidad has been spoilt rotten on Soca and local rum. Bring on the Van Halen, bring on sweet Led Zeppelin. As music played and the guitar wailed, the day began to slip away. I clasped at it with my fist but it still slipped away through my fingers.

Later that night, old friends came to life straight from the pages of my photo album. Laughter rang through the walls of my home, like from a ticklish baby. Conversation flowed at the speed of sound. Before it was too late the friends disappeared into their respective photo albums.

Drowsy eyed I stared at his book of a face and read every line of what had happened since he had sailed away to Trinidad. I thought of telling him that he had left heavy luggage behind. He showed me his picture book. Little images of Trinidadian life. Ah, the decadence, the sunshine and the sultry beaches. He showed me her photo, the one he had ‘limed’ with. She was very pretty. He told me stories and incidents and wove a web of images that are still so fresh in my mind.

Another night, another morning, another lunch, a few words and moments later, the man from Trinidad showed me the last trick in his bag of tricks. He turned around and vanished into thin air.