FOU: Until Death Do Us Part

FOU Chapter 1

Chapter 1 Abella I was born in a small town called Cap-Haitian, a northern coastal port and the capital of the Department of Nord in Haiti. It's a beautiful place, known for its architecture and artistic ways. I never knew my father. All I know of him is he worked on the gingerbread houses that lined the street. My mother used to joke all the time and say she killed him in his dream. The only picture I had of him was taken on his deathbed, and that was all. It was pathetic. I didn't even have memories of him. Never even wanted to think of him, I had no reason to do so. Kreyol was my first language. My family and I learned English from tourists who visited the island, and by reading a lot. My family was a part of the better off crowd in Haiti. We had our times like all the islanders, though. My mom made good money cooking for locals. From time to time, she would work at the hotels as a bartender. That job made a lot of money from all the tourists. Despite Haiti's dark and poor reputation, we got many travelers. I went to private school, Union, while living on the island. We all wore white collared cotton shirts with navy bottoms. Skirts for the girls with knee high cotton socks and long pants for the boys, no matter how hot it was. I played volleyball for the most part, and in my spare time, I made beaded-feather jewelry and sold them from my backpack. You could call me the Haitian Hustler. Chapter 1 Abella I was born in a small town called Cap-Haitian, a northern coastal port and the capital of the Department of Nord in Haiti. It's a beautiful place, known for its architecture and artistic ways. I never knew my father. All I know of him is he worked on the gingerbread houses that lined the street. My mother used to joke all the time and say she killed him in his dream. The only picture I had of him was taken on his deathbed, and that was all. It was pathetic. I didn't even have memories of him. Never even wanted to think of him, I had no reason to do so. Kreyol was my first language. My family and I learned English from tourists who visited the island, and by reading a lot. My family was a part of the better off crowd in Haiti. We had our times like all the islanders, though. My mom made good money cooking for locals. From time to time, she would work at the hotels as a bartender. That job made a lot of money from all the tourists. Despite Haiti's dark and poor reputation, we got many travelers. I went to private school, Union, while living on the island. We all wore white collared cotton shirts with navy bottoms. Skirts for the girls with knee Everyone on the island knew each other. My mom used to take my brothers and me under the grotto ceiling to rituals and ceremonies for the iwa and loas (voodoo spirits). That's where I learned how to dance so well. I'll never forget the first time I saw my mom sacrifice a black pig. We sat there in pigs' blood for hours until all the spirits were contacted and they came into our dimension. Every time someone on the island died, we would have a ceremony for the soul of the person crossing over. My mother was very strict on our Haitian roots and education. The first time I tried voodoo was November 1, during Fet Gede when I was seven years old. This light skinned Haitian named Nanah used to mess with me in school. She would always put lizards in my desk and sand in my backpack to make it heavy. She felt like she was above darker complexions just because her mother was French and she had married a Cuban ambassador. Her hair was down to her waist, and the only reason she still lived on the island was because of the scenery and the Cuban cigar shop her family owned here. I was fed up. I took my nail file and cut a lock of her hair one day when I was standing in line behind her waiting to drink from the water fountain. It was so long, she didn't even realize it. When I got home that afternoon, I chewed five packs of bubble gum and stuck every piece into the lock of hair. I promised myself I would only kill an animal one time and one time only, and that was for this spell. I went to my back yard and grabbed a chicken. It was making noises out of terror, so I quickly stabbed it with my nail file. All I needed was the blood. I mixed it in with the furry ball of bubble gum and set it on fire. It was still daytime, so no one saw flames. I stomped the fire out after I spit on it three times. I then buried the remains under the well near my house. The next day, Nanah fell asleep at her desk with a mouth full of gum. When she woke up, all her beautiful long hair was stuck in her mouth, intertwined with the wad of mango bubble gum she had been chewing. She screamed. It took the teacher two hours to cut all the gum out of her hair. It left her pretty much bald. She didn't show up to school the next day. Many thought she was too embarrassed to come back, until news spread around the island that her father had fallen asleep while smoking one of his own Cuban cigars. Their whole house caught on fire. Nanah's parents burned to death, while she escaped from the house, blinded by ashes and smoke, screaming in pain from her burnt flesh. She fell into her watery grave in a well by her house. I was a loner. I spent my time reading and mixing ingredients for cooking or the healing rituals the island held for the elderly. My mother always warned us to never try to play the role of God though, and I didn't until I got older and lost my mother and my two brothers. My two brothers, Alain and Valery passed away within days of each other from Malaria and yellow fever. Shortly after my brothers' deaths, my mother fell ill, due to mold in our attic and died. I almost passed as well, but because my body was younger and healthier, I survived. After my mother's death, I was sent to New Orleans to live with my mother's sister, Adias. Her daughter, Abella, was three years younger, and we formed an instant bond. Living in America was a difficult adjustment. Our family was locally despised for our special gifts, and I didn't fit in at all. In fact, I was a favorite target for ridicule and bullying. If it wasn't for Summer, I'm sure I would've destroyed the town by now. Summer was my best friend. She and I understood each other to the max. We were like sisters from another mother. Some even said that we favored each other a bit, with the same sort of wild and curly hair. The two of us had so many similarities it was fou. She didn't know her mama, nor did I. Well, it wasn't that I didn't know my mama. I knew her, but when she passed, I refused to speak much of her. That didn't stop me from thinking about her at times. Summer was born in Louisiana, but we both were Creole, and to make matters even better, we both were some sorts of special. Born with a special gift, that only the two of us understood. That's why from day one we clicked and had been best friends ever since. It was like the two of us were meant to be together until death do us part... From the day we met, everything between us had become great memories and history in the making. I had run out of the classroom, leaving a trail of laughter behind me and rushed into the girls' bathroom. I burst through the stall, and threw the toilet seat down with a swift kick. My weary body flopped down on the seat and I buried my face into my hands, allowing the tears to escape. A few stalls down, I heard a door being kicked open.Hearing the kicks getting closer, I grabbed my belongings and stood on top of the toilet. I didn't know if someone was coming after me or what. "Where are you?" I heard a voice say. On my tippy toes, I stood and saw the curly locks flowing wildly. Summer was a girl in my class, and we'd only started speaking a few days ago. I had seen her around in the past, we just never really hung out or anything of that sort. We would say our hi's and bye's and that was about it. Why was she looking for me? Did I do something wrong to her?" She stood in front of my stall and sent a powerful kick to the door, flinging it wide open. I jumped and gripped my belongings even tighter. "Why you look so scared?" She questioned with her hands on her hips. "I'm not scared!" I shook my head. "Then why are you hiding?" she asked, pulling her hair out of her face. I stared at her cherubic face and shrugged. "I'm not hiding, nor am I scared." She shook her head; her curls flowed all over the place. "I'm not hiding, nor am I scared," she said in a baby voice, mocking me. I turned my nose up at her and was about to say something until she reached her hands out.