Trigger Warning: Discrimination against women.
The sun had risen, as was expected.
Perched between the breasts of mountains, signaling the roosters to crow, as they were expected.
The dirty morning breeze tumbled in, as expected.
And as the smell of fresh bread curled out of houses, a pungency latched onto its tail,
Unexpected by everyone else but her.
To them, the smell of greed and opportunity was a welcome accompanying aroma.
A pairing as classic and yet as scarce as corned beef and rice.
The smell of expectancy soaked many hearts in dread—
And yet mothers with wombs that had blessed them with sons rejoiced.
As expected.
For the community will benefit as soon as the wedding bells toll, and only one will have to sell their soul.
For the good of the rest, she must bare her breasts and her beauty because the man will come to collect.
That is what he will expect:
Her.
Young.
Hair braided from her face to boast her youth. Her body drenched in white like milk.
If she was any fresher, she would be suckling.
But he would settle for veal.
Her mind raced, her skin itched from the foreign lace.
Her eyes followed the clock as her heels followed the markings of the wooden floor when she began to pace.
Hope in her heart that he would forget,
But he was always on time.
His golden pocket watch would dangle in his calloused palm.
His polished leather shoes did not fear the uneven, mud-filled roads that the Third World had to offer.
There was no turning back.
The church had already been filled with butterfly jasmine and balloons.
The pianist already had his share of rum.
Her mother sobbed, and her father’s mouth was sealed.
They had already spent the money paid for her.
A price for her head was set and given.
Her hands trembled with a bouquet picked from the neighbor’s garden.
The clock struck one.
She wished the bouquet was a gun.
Men and women dressed in their Sunday best.
The wedding proceeded and soon,
She made vows to a man who promised her parents the earth, stars, and moon.
The wedding bells tolled and then,
She kissed the devil dressed in black himself.
He smelled like butterscotch and “The New World.”
A traveler too stuck in his ways
To find a bride the same age.
So he flipped the page, of his passport.
Paid his way through TSA
To transport someone more traditional.
Someone who would obey.
Her fate was set—
When the wedding bells tolled.
But who should fret—
It was just another foreigner snatching another soul.
The sun had risen, as it was expected.
Three months in, and she’s expecting.
The shackle around her ring finger weighs heavy.
Another life in this world
And still, her path is unsteady.
She sobs to herself at night,
Hoping that there is love in her heart
To offer the life inside her.
But what is love? What is the price?
For her parents, her soul was worth 10 lbs of rice,
—An acre of land
—Maybe some cement.
How could she look into the child’s eyes and find
Enough love to even make a dent
In the hatred she carried in her heart.
But maybe, the child
Could wipe tears from her eyes
And she could finally find the strength
To leave the “new world” behind.
Adia Smith began writing short stories for her sisters as a child, crafting makeshift books with illustrations and tales they loved. Growing up in Jamaica, a culture rich in storytelling, Adia was naturally drawn to writing, encouraged by her mother. She enjoys creating stories about strong female characters and hopes readers find the same joy in her work that she does in writing it.
Featured image by Ishaan on Unsplash.
