Honey Daiquiri
Before you tell me my dislike of owls is irrational, know the only other thing I’ve seen turn their head like that was in The Exorcist…
by Miniq Brown
Honey’s Heroes
‘So Honey, you kn ow how you’re an echoing empty womb desperate for drooling affection?’ Bentley asks me… maybe not in those exact words. ‘Alli is going back to work part-time and it costs basically the same amount as she earns to put Tate in day care, so do you think you might be interested in spending time with your nephew?’ He blinks and smiles innocently.
Let me think, am I interested in saving them thousands of pounds in childcare fees so that I can spend time with my nephew?
‘Gee Bentley, I just don’t know…’
‘She’d be working from home so it’s not like you’d be alone. She’d just be in the next room, focussed, not to be disturbed.’
‘Right…’
‘But I’m sure she’d take breaks and come and have a chat and stuff.’
‘So you want me to watch Tate and spend time with Alliance?’
‘Win, win!’
On the one hand, they are right. I’m waiting for all this fostering stuff to come together and my giant empty womb is crying out and tearing its robes Old Testament style to spend time with a baby. On the other, Alliance…
‘Alright, I’ll do it.’ And instantly regret it. Because although I’d love to get to know Tate as, you know, they haven’t let us see him since his birth four months ago, by the look on Bentley’s face I’m not sure he fully realises that I would be doing them a favour. And if there’s anything I know about my big brother, he doesn’t express gratitude well.
The shrill sound of Bentley’s keyboard penetrated the calm of mine and Daiquiri’s bedroom as I scribbled in my diary. G- G- G, over and over again. Pick another chord! And then silence. God does answer prayers. Knock knock knock. He also has a sense of humour.
‘Honey! Honey you in there?’ he asked while he peered inside.
‘Yes Bentley, what do you want?’ I said, sitting up and tucking my denim shirt around my belly- yes, he was my brother, that did not make me any less self-conscious. You see, Bentley was That Guy. He had always been, That Guy, and That Guy, had never liked me.
‘You writing? A song, maybe?’ his eyes glittered suspiciously.
‘Yes… why?’
‘Nothing. You know I was just trying to play “One Sweet Day”, that Mariah Carey, Boys II Men song-’
‘I’m familiar with it, and, I can hear-’
‘Wanna come sing it with me?’
‘I, uh…’ I stumbled. Bentley wanted to sing with me?
‘It needs a female voice on it.’
‘You, I, the, what?’
‘Come on Hon, when was the last time we sang together?’
‘Never.’
‘And you’re getting good too. Come on!’ Bentley ruffled my braids from the top bunk and I fought a losing battle to the prepubescent blush creeping up my chubby cheeks.
‘And I know eventually we’ll be together- One sweet day!’ I sang, my best, if subdued, Mariah Carey impression.
‘One sweet da-y,’ Bentley riffed. ‘That’s great! You know what, I’m having a couple of people over tomorrow, fellow music-lovers. We’ve been looking for a lyricist… You know it would be a massive favour, if you would… You should come! Maybe bring the lyrics you were working on.’
My lips flapped. ‘I, uh, ye, uh, okay.’
So… I didn’t sleep. I mean, jam sesh, with my big bro and the cool people, no big. At eleven and just a little bit chubby I wasn’t having fantasies of them making me over and accepting me into their inner sanctum She’s All That style, setting me up for freedom from ridicule, epic weight loss, and popularity for the rest of my life.
I wore jeans and a busty black vest, work what you’ve got. I collected my songbook from under my pillow and took a few deep breaths before I knocked on Bentley’s door.
There were people. Six people. I needed my inhaler.
‘Hi,’ I chirped, because other than boobs, I had acting. Blank stares. Right, this was more of an artistic drum-circle kind of thing, got it, I’d adjust.
I took a seat beside a mixed-race girl with deep red lipstick and Roman and Laura, who I hadn’t known would be there, but whatever, I was cool now.
‘How about we go around and share what we’ve got?’ Bentley suggested, to the pensive nods of the band.
The mixed-race girl sang, nice, if a little R&B defined. Then Roman rapped, some ‘gangsta’ lyric that I couldn’t totally understand but vaguely gave me the impression of various sexual acts and things that, if true, could get him and Bentley arrested. And then it was my turn…
‘Chains are on my hands, And chains are on my ankles, I’m working for the guy with nine tails, Pain is on my mind, And pain is on my body, I’m dying slowly all this work is hard. I’m only a child, Yet I am doing labours, That even the adults won’t do… Let my people go, We want to have the right, We should be able to live like human beings. Let my people go, it’s not right to slave in captivity, We just want to be free, to live a life… life…’ I sang my lyrics. The most R&B friendly song of all the P!NK and Avril Lavigne inspired songs I had.
Mixed-race girl giggled. Then so did Laura. Then Roman joined in and Bentley looked like he wanted to laugh and for his bed to swallow him.
‘What was that?’ The girl asked, snorting.
‘It was… It’s just something I was… It’s called “Let My People Go” it’s…’ I trailed off as the sniggers started again.
‘Yeah, Honey, I’m gonna have to call you a taxi,’ Bentley joked, and they all laughed, but I didn’t get it. ‘Thanks though, yeah?’ he said.
I got up and left. Took my dignity with me. But just a little piece of me was left behind. The piece that would ever do my big brother a favour, or trust him with anything precious, again.
It is time. Cue James Earl Jones voice to underline the epicness of this moment.
In a land not too far, one woman dares to defy the bitter British winter. No longer will she press fair cheek against the foul, sticky armpit of Stranger McBlue-Suits. No longer will she wait, knee deep in street muck and hobo juice for the hail-and-ride S1 to chug past her without even a thought of stopping. Today is the dawn of a new day. Because today is the day that I, Honey Marie Saks-Adams, will take- My Driving Test.
So, yeah, waiting for dad to teach me WAS NOT happening. He’s just so busy. Which is why next time I won’t have superheroes for parents, because guess what- Captain America’s kids had to ride the bus too.
I went with RED Driving School, I was hoping for Helen Mirren or Bruce Willis, but the balding pub-lout guy in a white shirt and navy trousers with brown shoes *anti-swagger twitch*, would have to do.
‘George,’ he’d introduced himself, offering his hand.
‘I don’t really…’ I started, looking at his hand, thinking about touching this stranger who I’d be trapped in close proximity to for the next forty-five minutes. But then if I refused those forty-five minutes would pass slower and a lot more awkwardly, so- ‘Oh, alright then.’ I shook his freckled hand.
Over the next ten weeks we unlearned everything my dad had taught me, which felt wrong, very wrong, but also secretly thrilling. We did roundabouts, give-ways, dual carriageways. Oh yeah, Honey’s super-fly… well she would be if she didn’t still say words like “super-fly”.
Anyway, it’s today. Dad drives me up to Sutton test centre, a corner next to the Job Centre and one of the few remaining Blockbusters.
‘You’ve got this,’ he tells me with a hug. ‘You’re a great driver.’ And I believe him, until I see the fattest, most intimidating man in South London walking towards me wearing a yellow vest.
‘I’m James. I’ll be your examiner,’ he says, and all knowledge of basic mechanics leaves my brain. We answer the questions outside the car, and then it is time for me to get in beside him. James is huge. He sucks all the air out of the room, the smell of his sweat cloying the back of my throat and I start to have a mini-panic attack.
This is not going to be good.
I suck at roundabouts, I hesitate at give ways. I nail my manoeuvres, but by the time we pull back up at the test centre I know what James is going to say.
‘Fail,’ his words echo around the small car as my cheeks burn and my heart races. ‘You went at the wrong time at one of those mini roundabouts. But other than that you were a great driver. Would you like me to go over the test sheet with you?’
‘Dad!’ I cry as I leap out of the car. Would I like to go over every detail of my failure? I think not. What I would like to do is crawl into a hole and never emerge because I have never failed a test in my life. Ever. I’ve never even had a cavity. And now, I, Honey Marie Sax-Adams, am among the mortals.
‘Congratu-’ Dad starts, and then sees my face. ‘Oh.’
‘I failed!’ I scream like a toddler and fly into his arms shamelessly as I realise that twenty-one years old, I’m still his baby.
And also, it’s time to write George’s death note. When will you learn Honey, Daddy knows it all.
BK / is licensed by CC by 2.0.
Stay tuned for the Honey Daiquiri Valentine’s special.
