PodCastle

* Author : Celeste Rita Baker
* Narrator : Derrick O’Neal
* Host : Matt Dovey
* Audio Producer : Eric Valdes
*
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PodCastle 793: Dip and Roll is a PodCastle original.


Rated PG



Dip and Roll
by Celeste Rita Baker
On de largest beach of de smallest island in de Tania archipelago in de Caribbean Sea five shoreside metamorphic beachrocks sit chatting, as dey have done for de last hundred and sixty-odd years.
“Hey, allyou. I leaving soon. You hear me? Dis place ain’t gon’ be de same,” Craggy Dan, de boulder of de bunch, announce, as he has done every sunrise for de last four days.
“CraggyDan, don’t start wid dat again, mehson,” Cuber say, always quick to want to fight. “You been here, most of we, been here, since we get push up from de self–same sea in front of we right now. You ain’t going nowhere.”
“Huh? Somebody callin me?” Shayla, all de way in de front, can’t see anyting but de bay in front of she. She forever telling everyone ‘bout de color of de water, de shape of de waves, de fish she see jumping and when Hundred Year HardBack coming to crawl ‘pon dem for a sunning and a catch up. She had de best shape and position for vigilant surveillance, nestle as she was in front of CraggyDan, but she don’t hear dat good, what wid de waves always running down she cracks, so she always yelling. De only ting dat does shut she up is snails. Shayla say she have to sit quiet when de snails telling dey silvery secrets else she can’t make out what dey saying. She say de snails mostly does complain dat she allow she dribbles and drool to run over dem while dey trying to make dere way up she front side. Shayla say she tired explain to dem dat even doh she big and hard she ain’t got no control of de sea or de waves and don’t even start wid she about de rain neither.




“Nobody ain’t call you, Shayla.” Cuber voice rough and loud. Every generation of flies and mosquitos learn to veer ‘round de jagged stone lest de erratic vibration of he speech alter dere flight. “I just saying,” Cuber scratchy voice go on, “I tired hear CraggyDan talk. You know how he been lately, Shayla, running on and on ‘bout he leaving. Someting dat never gon’ happen.”
“You don’t know dat, Cuber,” Shayla creak, trying to turn. She can’t, though. She a rock. Alla dem is rockstones, doh sometimes dey does forget.

Shayla continue, “Who woulda tink dat coconut tree woulda get blow over and die in de really bad hurricane when it had look so strong and healthy? And who woulda tink de other one, de other tree, on de far side, woulda get push down so low but continue to grow, even doh it now have to grow sideways? As if it reaching for de horizon instead of de sky? We been here long long time, see a lot a different tings. So when you say “never” it mean to me dat you just ain’t see dat yet.” Shayla usually take up for CraggyDan, dey been snuggled so close for so long.
“Eh-eh, it sunrise already?” Eshitt try highlight he glint one more time, aiming de song of he glow directly at he loved one. He under de impression he having nightly, poetic conversations wid de beautiful blue-bitch stone house across de bay. He glinting and sparkling, only dimming down when de clouds cover de moon. He say he know in de nit of he grit dat de unusually formed edifice listen to him carefully ‘cause of de steady glow of de lights ‘round she all night.