*Side Note*
Redacted means to obscure or remove (text) from a document prior to publication or release.

December 2007

I was in Trinidad driving around with my cousin (Mr. Business) when it came on the radio. I stopped dancing and looked over at him. I could see he was having a hard time controlling himself. He was trying to stop himself from desolving into fits of laughter, while still navigating the teeny, tiny road. I hadn’t heard the song in a minute and I just rolled my eyes. In my head I was thinking, if I never heard this stupid song again it would be too soon.

Carnival — February *redacted*

I am in Trinidad for my first Carnival and I am beyond excited. I am going to be playing mas for the first time in Trinidad and going to all the tents and all the shows. My cousins were still young and trying to avoid the real responsibility they could see coming, so they were into music. They wanted to be producers, but settled themselves into throwing parties. On this night our immediate families would be at this fête not to mention 200 other guests who had paid a nice chunk of change to attend. I was sitting with my cousin’s boring ass girlfriend (What? I can say that now. She’s out the picture…not that the new one is much better) chatting when this dude comes up to us. We are sitting outside the main hall. He was cute, but I am not one to flirt with men in front of family. I like to keep my business private and that is not going to happen, if I give my digits to some dude in a room packed with not only my immediate family, but also numerous cousins, aunties, uncles etc., however this dude was bold. He was not just going to leave me alone. What to call him…I know…Too Much Offensiveness.

TMO: Hey baby. He leans in closer leering at my chest. You are looking real good.

Me: Moving back and beginning to grimace. Thanks.

TMO: So, did you come to this party — he looks around clearly unimpressed — to hear me sing?

Me: Umm, no. I came because my cousins are throwing this party.

TMO: Ahhh. Giving me a shit-eating grin. You’re not from here.

Me: That’s right, I am not from here. My voice is dripping with sarcasm.

TMO:  You sound– giving a fake thinking look (hand under chin) — Canadian. I can tell. I travel a lot. Actually, I am going to be in Montreal after carnival performing. You should come see me.

Me: I don’t think so. That’s pretty far from where I live. I am on the West Coast of Canada.

With that I feel I have dismissed him, I turn away and begin to say something to my cousin’s girlfriend. I look up and he is still smiling/leering at me.

TMO: I have to go perform now. We will talk later.

Me: Yah…sure.

My cousin’s girlfriend can not believe what I have just done.

CBAG: Do you know who that was?!?!??

Me: Um, no. A singer?

CBAG: Girrrrl…dat is *redacted*. His song is so hot right now. You just finish telling me how much you does love that song. Mr. Business had to work real hard to get him here.

Me: Oh, that’s…*redacted*. Interesting. He’s cute, but that entire come on was a bit much. I think he’s on next let’s go inside.

We move into the main hall and CBAG walks over and starts talking to Mr. Business and his brother. Then she moves over to my stepdad and his sister (Mom of Mr. Business) and starts chatting them up. They look over at me. My stepdad is laughing. I walk over to Mama J and ask her if she wants a drink. I can tell I am going to need some alcohol to make it through this night. She says no and I walk over to the bar.

As the bartender is handing me my drink I hear his voice “I met a girl here tonight…a special girl…this song is for you my darling…because you *redacted*”. I whip around and TMO is on stage singing. Not only is he singing the song I use to really like, which would eventually become a cross over hit in North America and Europe, tormenting me for months/years to come, he is pointing at me and smiling at me, while he is singing. I am stunned. I want to run, but where? So many people are staring. I just stand there and sip my drink, half smiling, half scowling. I can’t believe this dude is singing *redacted* to me in front of my entire family. Mr. Business is mouthing the words to me as well. CBAG is just staring at TMO mesmerized. My stepdad is whispering to Mama J.

As TMO finishes his set and I walk over to my stepdad and Mama J. They are both smiling that “you are about to get made fun of” smile. I brace myself, but I was raised to handle fatigue. Mama J wonders how it is I came to meet TMO and why it is that he is dedicating songs to me? My stepdad asks if *redacted* is my new boyfriend and ponders aloud when he’ll get to meet him. Mama J comments that *redacted* would not make a good first song at a wedding and that I’ll need to pick something else. I stupse and try to explain when CBAG runs up and asks me, if that is not the most romantic/sweetest thing ever? I give her the side eye and am thinking she has lost her damn mind. I open my mouth to say something, when out of the corner of my eye I can see that TMO is approaching the family table. I can’t believe this ish.

TMO glides up and asks me how I enjoyed my song. I laugh and tell him that *redacted* is not my song. He just smiles and raises an eyebrow. As he hands me a piece of paper, he tells me to call him. He says that he is leaving to do another show, but he definitely wants to make time to see me while we’re both in Trinidad. I nod and mumble something as a reply. At this point I would say anything to make him go away. I can see that a lot of people are staring. I dislike being the centre of attention. Then out of nowhere he leans down and kisses me on the cheek before sauntering off. I can hear Mr. Business laughing from across the room.

Needless to say my family did not let me forget that for incident for a long, long while. Also, TMO and his song just became more and more popular. I could not escape him. He was being interviewed on TV and was in every single newspaper on the island. My family would always tease me about it anytime *redacted* came on the radio, which was about five hundred times a day. Of course, I never called him.

December 2007
I turned the radio to a different station. “No need to hear *redacted* from that one hit wonder,” I say. Mr. Business is still laughing. He says “Gyal…you coulda been Mrs. *redacted*”. I looked him dead in the eye and say “I much prefer being Miz JJ”.

Still *redacted*,
Miz JJ