Yellow Reggae

Two.

**Note: Some of the dialogue will be in Jamaican patois, but if you need clarification, comment. Oh, and feel free to correct if I'm wrong.**

  I took in a deep breath, realizing I was still alive. Once I saw that the murderous car was gone, I ran back down the block to see if anyone was hurt. There was a body sprawled on the concrete with a bullet in his shoulder. I gasped at the sight as he clutched his shoulder. I kneeled down to his level.

  "Oh my God!" I yelled. "We need to call an ambulance!"

  "Naa." The guy muttered in his slight Jamaican accent. "I'm aright."

  "You're not aright," I snapped mockingly. "You have a fucking bullet in your shoulder!"

  He closed his eyes in pain, sighing. "I'm fine, gyal. Calm down." Effortlessly, he removed the bloody bullet from his shoulder, causing a pool of blood to stain his white shirt. I literally felt my okonomiyaki come up my throat seeing the guy do such a thing. So grotesque. "It's just a bullet."

  "That's fucking nasty, man!" I exclaimed. I noticed a Jamaican flag bandana tied around his arm. I ripped it off, placing it over his wound. I put his hand over it to suppress the bleeding. "Keep your hand over this."

  "Who are yuh, gyal? Yuh new fi Jamaica?" He inquired, staring at me, then at the tattoo of the two fishes on my wrist. Something about his stare drew me to him. The guy surely wasn't ugly. He had dark brown skin, deep brown eyes, and pretty white teeth engrossed with golden grills. He had a chiseled jawline that complimented his barely visible dimples and a pair diamond squares in his ears. Although he had a hat on, I could clearly see that he had a fresh pair of braids in his head.

  Engrossed in my observations, I didn't give him an answer.

  "Ay! Ma, I'm chattin' fi yuh."

  "Hmmm?" I finally replied, snapping out of my thoughts. "Oh, um...I'm Nami. I just moved here from the United States."

"Oh, yuh from di foreign?" He asked.

  I nodded. "Yeah." I watched as his eyes analyzed my body. I wasn't wearing anything special, to be quite honest. I was wearing a now-soiled white shirt, black shorts, and my Jordans. Nothing serious. "What's your name?"

  "Jules."

  He licked his lips at me, slowly getting up from the concrete. As he did so, his hat dropped onto the floor. I contemplated whether I should have picked it up or not. What if I bend over and he thinks I'm some easy girl. Then again, why do I care what he thinks? I just met him.

"You dropped your hat." I said lowly.

"Oh?" He looked down at the ground and crouched down, picking up his hat. "Safe, Nami."

"Huh?" I asked in confusion.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Safe means thank yuh."

  "Oh..." I dragged out in understanding. I guess that was my wake up call to get up to date with their slang.

  "Yuh live 'round here?" Jules asked me.

  "Yes. You?"

  "Naa. Mans live in di Spanish Town." He replied.

  Before I could reply to him, I saw the guys who were playing dice with Jules come back around the corner. They clutched their stomachs and chests, trying to catch their breath. One of the guys dapped Jules, giving him a manly embrace.

  "Jules, nuh scare mans like dat, yuh hear?" He hissed. "Fucking shottas coulda licked yuh with di bullet!"

  "I know, X," Jules replied. He dapped the other two boys, whom he called Scorpion and Carlos. "Let's chat 'bout it later, aright?"