suck suck and sweet balls

i've got a sweet tooth for the treats that i ate as a young grrl in jamaica. suck suck and sweet balls...

the man across the street used to sell little sweets and snacks to the local kids from his living room. inside, he had a freezer of plastic baggies filled with brightly colored sugar water. i'd give him the small silver ten dollar jamaican coin and grab a red bag, my favorite, and a blue bag as well for my cousin.

it was only in that house did i ever see his wife, a skinny, sickly looking woman. she didnt say much but she would always smile at me and ask me to relay the message " tell yuh hawnty mi sey mi a come look fi har soon, yea hyear?" and i'd shake my head yes and run out of the house, message already forgotten, before she could scold me on my scabby knees and dirty clothes.

i didn't know her very well but i knew that she made her husband smile. he had a big bellied laugh that i could hear from all the way across the street. the last time i visited jamaica, aunty patsy told me his wife had passed. just dropped down dead in her front yard. her husband came over later that night to say hello. he didn't look as happy anymore- his smile was gone, and the friendly glint in his eyes were replaced with a wild one. he asked me if i remembered him.

"yes." i smiled. "you sold me the sweet balls and the suck-suck."

he grabbed my hand, pulled me through the gate. asked me if i still wanted to come over for some suck-suck. his smile seemed too earnest, too forced.

i think his name was mr lee. he was dark as night and kind of short and his hands were rough and leathery. he was lonely and missed his wife and was slowly losing his mind. needless to say, i never went into his house again.

i still occasionally get a craving for some sugary tamarind seeds and frozen kool-aid.