Phoned a pensioner to see how she was faring after the flood. She talks in a straight, flat line when she’s happy. A straight, flat line when she’s sad. A straight, flat line when she’s excited. A straight, flat line when she’s stressed.
In a straight, flat line she’d once told my mother, “Some people near me, them cuss me up. Them tell me how me son them is auntie-man. Them no auntie-man. Is just that them can’t find the right gal to marry.”
[For those not in the know, an auntie-man is a gay guy.]
In a straight, flat line she told me, “We done clean up the place. We buy all we medicine, bleach and so, and wash down the place. Now, if you see masquita all over the place. After five o’ clock, we does lock up tight, tight. Lock the door, lock all them window. We no go outside. One night, we spray the veranda. If you see masquita. When we sweep them up, one cupful we sweep up.”
“How much?!?” I asked, just to make sure I'd heard right.
She laughed in a straight, flat line. “One cupful o’ masquita.”
She'd endured the flood, in a calm, flat line.