I wanted to be put out of my misery and would take just about any drug that would do that. I was sick like a dog. I was throwing up and doing number 2 at the same time just after midnight. There was no way I was going to work so at 6:00 am I called the store to let them know I would not be in.

At first, I thought it was a virus. But then a series of events had me questioning that theory.

I dragged myself out of bed at 8:00am as  I could hear Julia doing something in the kitchen.

I was desperate.

“Juliet, I am not feeling well. Can you help me? I need to go to the doctor” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“what” she replied.

Then I heard a male voice. He was trying to whisper but doing a terrible job. It was probably the Jamaican security guys who seemed to always be leaving the house when I was coming in.

“Can you help me? I need to go to the doctor” I asked.

There was silence.

Then I heard scrambling and the front door slammed.

Wow, that witch walked out on me dying. I wondered If she was the cause of my sickness. Maybe she out something in my food.

I could not believe it. It seemed like everything went downhill ever since I spurned her advance that date night.

I was starting to wonder if she poisoned me. She had cooked last night and I ate when I came in. Did she put something in the food.

I was also surprised that Jamaican security guy left and did not offer any type of help. I am sure he heard me. As a Jamaican he should have helped another fellow Jamaican.

My anger did not help it seemed to add another level of stress on my body. I was back sitting on the toilet thinking who I could call. One of the things about not having family or a girlfriend around is there is no support. Then it came to me. I grabbed the phone.

“HiDonesha

, I need your help”

I explained what was happening and she started to ask a few questions. She was in medical school now and was also driving. She sounded like a doctor, however, what I wanted was the pain to go away.

Please come get me and ask those questions on the way to the doctor.

“I am on my way.”

++++++

There were 2 people in my doctor’s waiting room but it seemed to take a life time to get in to see him. I love going to a Jamaican doctor because they recommend old time remedies over an expensive prescription. Things like Eucalyptus oil, camphor, tiger balm and things they did in Jamaica. The thing about Jamaican doctors is they love to talk. This is what I hated about them. You spent all day in the doctors office waiting.

Donesha tried her best to keep me occupied. She had late evening class so she could spend the day with me.  Her “husband” Craig was stationed in Germany with the army. It was ironic listening to her talk about her marriage. I remembered how initially I was against business marriages and I thought I was going to marry Amber for love.

It seemed her life and business marriage was going great.

My stomach started to “stir” again. I had to go to the bathroom. I rushed to the bathroom in the lobby. I was going at both ends.

“Are you okay?”, Donesha asked knocking at the door.

“Please, tell them to come and get me. Please!”, I replied hugging the toilet throwing up.

“Okay..okay”

Five minutes later there was a knock. The Doctor’s medical staff had come for me with a wheelchair. I was quickly wheeled into one of the examination rooms in the office. They took my vitals and asked a few questions as I curled up on the examining table. Dr. Chang entered the room as the other medical staff exited. He was a 50ish year old half-Chinese Jamaican man. He was about 5’9 and slender. He loved to talk about Jamaica and how great it used to be before the Government destroyed it. He left in the 1970’s when many Jamaicans left for Miami.

“How yuh doing man? It’s been a long time” He asked talking in Jamaica patois and English. It was the way many uptown Jamaicans speak drawing their words.

I moaned lying there on the examination table.

“Not so well today” I replied explaining to what I had been experiencing all day.

“It sounds like you have the Rotavirus. It usually happens to children and infants in the USA. Like chicken pox, it happens only once. We often don’t get it in Jamaica but once you move here you become vulnerable to this.” he stated.

“I guess Juliet did not poison me” I thought to myself.

He then gave me a shot in my “butt”, a prescription, and told me to drink a lots of Gatorade. There was no Jamaican remedy.

I don’t know what was in the shot but it seemed to start working immediately.

Donesha was eagerly waiting for me on the waiting room. An older Jamaican woman was talking to her. She told me she was anxiously waiting as the lady kept talking to her in Jamaican patois and she did not have a clue what she was saying. My coming out to the waiting room rescued her. I was happy to see and was happier to see that none of the people who were in the waiting room was still there.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I am doing much better” I replied.

As we got into the car Donesha asked the question I was afraid of…

“What’s going on with you and Juliet? Where is she and why didn’t she take you to the doctor?”

Donesha was one of the first persons I told I was getting married. In fact she was going to be one of the bridesmaids if one of my sisters did not come from Jamaica.

“Nothing is going on. She just had an early morning and I told her to go”.  Just taking about Juliet ticked me off but I had to remain calm. As far as Donesha knew, we were in love and getting married.

But she did not call you once to find out if you were okay.

“She must be having a busy day”

“But you did not call her either”

“I will when I get home”

Silence

“Something is wrong” Donesha said.

She continued “from the day I met Juliet something did not seem right. I held back long enough but as your friend I have to say something. She is not the right girl for you.”

“What do you mean?” I was trying my best to “hold my tongue”.

“I know it’s none of my business but I saw her with a security officer in the mall last week. They were all over each other. I meant to call you but was not sure. She does not love you.”

I could no longer “hold my tongue”. Now Juliet was embarrassing me publicly with her behavior.

“I don’t love her either. It’s a business marriage”, I wanted to take back my words but I was angry and wanted to explain why I was being “cheated” on.

“What?” Donesha almost stopped the car.

Then she started to chew me out.

“All this time I was going through my immigration problems and my own business marriage you were an illegal alien?”

“Yes” I confessed to her.

“I am so angry at you right now that if you were not sick I would leave you right here. I thought we were friends”, she had a disappointed look on her face.

“We are friends. I just had kept this a secret so long”

“All that time you advised me andrecommending an immigration lawyer

you were in the same situation like me?” She asked like there was some disbelief.

“Yes, I just wanted to make sure you got through your immigration situation. In fact you inspired me to take charge and get my own immigration problems straightened out.”

That statement seemed to soften her stance.

“You can’t marry Juliet”

“Why not, it’s only business”

“You are going to fail the interview if you are both not on the same page. This situation is a prime example. Let’s say you go on the interview and it slips you were sick and she know nothing about it. How will that look”

I had no response

“Craig and I were on the same page. This is why everything has been so smooth”

She went on to explain the process it took to get her a work permit and temporary documents.

I was getting worried. Juliet could mess this whole thing up. As we pulled up in front of my house Donesha made a final plea.

“Don’t do this. Just pay her some money and get out of this arrangement. Find someone else”

Those words echoed in my head for the rest of the day. Each time I thought about it I felt sick.