Taylor

Chapter 2 | Murder She Wrote

"Good morning. Welcome to Brenda's Warm Buns café. What can I get you?"

Through the fog of thoughts that enveloped my mind, I heard the programmed greeting repeat for like the hundredth time since I got here two hours ago.

Taking a sip of my third cup of peppermint chai latte, I smiled contentedly as I turned away from the cozy scene of the cafe to the bustling streets of downtown Georgetown that were on the other side of the large picture windows that lined the western wall of the café.

For an outsider, the sight of freshly picked fruits and vegetables laid out just a few feet from overflowing garbage dumpsites and the odd concoction of smells including the toxic gases emitted from the ever-running taxis and minibusses – not forgetting the countless seemingly crooked characters cleverly camouflaged among the stream of wandering souls – can be overwhelming and at times unpleasant. But, for the locals who were evidently unfazed by their surroundings, it was just another day in the big city.

When Maxine told me that she was opening her café here, I have to admit that I was a bit worried at first.

"What are you gonna call it?" I had asked skeptically.

"Well," she began, her eyes twinkling with apparent mischief, "I am leaning towards something about warm buns."

Admittedly, I was skeptical at first but the idea grew on me and, luckily, the official name created a lot of buzz on social media because, apparently, Guyanese men are very fond of 'warm buns' (no pun intended).

"Who is this Brenda?" everyone had questioned.

Well, truth be told, there was no Brenda. Maxine just liked the name and preferred it over her own.

"If I use Maxine," she had explained to me when she was filling out the registration form, "it would add too much sex appeal to the name and that would've taken away from the cute, light flirty feel of the café. The name Brenda is more 'girl next door'. It just gives off the right vibes, you know?"

No, I don't, Maxine. I don't know. I thought, chuckling to myself as I placed my now cold, unfinished cup of latte on the warm mahogany table before me.

Now that I think about it, the idea that her name has too much sex appeal probably stemmed from the origin of her name. Her mother was a fan of dancehall music but Max never understood why anyone in their right mind would name their daughter after the main character in the song 'Murder She Wrote' by Chaka Demus and Pliers.

The lyrics go something like this:

"I know this little girl, her name is Maxine

Her beauty is like a bunch of rose

If I ever tell yuh 'bout Maxine

Yuh only say I don't know what I know (but)

Murder she wrote...

Watch ya now, it name

Ah pretty face and bad character

Them there kind of livin' can't hold Chaka...

Say, gyal yuh pretty

Your face, it pretty

But your character dirty

Girl, yuh just ah act too flirty flirty

Yuh run to Tom, Dick, and also Harry

And when yuh find yuh mistake

Yuh talk 'bout yuh sorry, sorry, sorry"

Yeah, definitely the worst inspiration for a name, I thought to myself, smiling.

I placed my emptied cup of latte back on the table as my mind became reoccupied with thoughts of the present. It's funny how the rest of the world just seems to continue on with life despite the handful of souls that are stuck feeling dead on the inside. Shouldn't there be some moral law against that? Like a 'no souls left behind' policy?

"A penny for your thoughts?" a familiar voice whispered next to my ear.

"Oh no, I'd sell them for a dollar 'cause they're worth so much more after I'm a goner," I sang as I smiled and turned around to face my other childhood friend. "Hey, Sash. What's up?"

"I don't know. You tell me," she answered, taking the seat opposite me. "You're the one quoting 'If I Die Young' lyrics. Why? You planning to die young or something?".

I playfully rolled my eyes at her. "Don't worry. If I do make any such plans, you'd be the first to know."

"Much obliged," she responded, seemingly pleased. "Now, how was the interview?"

Sighing, I leaned back into my chair and clasped my hands on my lap. "It actually went well."

Sasha lit up. "Yeah? And...?"

"And I got the job..." I answered shrugging.

Sasha squealed and launched herself across the table, hugging and congratulating me. But she froze the minute I informed her that I lost the job.

"Say what now?!" she asked unsure of what she thought she heard.

"Then I lost it," I repeated, staring at her with a straight face.

Sasha stared back too. "How...?"

"I got fired."

Sasha tried to keep her cool but eventually burst out laughing and I followed suit. "How in the hell do you get fired from a job right after you get it, yo?"

"I know right!" I exclaimed wheezing. "Ughhhhhhh! But that's just my luck, ain't it?" My laughter quickly died down to a sad smile.

"Well, that's some bad freaking luck you got there," she commented, trying not to laugh.

I lightly punched her on her arm and she stretched her tongue out at me. "I've got to go check in because I'm late and Max will have my head but I'll come to see you when I get off."

"Actually, I think I'll stay here until you guys close 'cause I don't want to go home just yet," I admitted. "Plus I need to decide what I'm gonna tell my mom."

"Okay. No problem. You can come help out me serve if you want," she offered. "We're short-staffed today and it's gonna get busy during lunchtime."

"Okay, yeah. Sure. I've got nothing to do anyway," I remarked as I collected my things and followed her in the back.