Three Years Later
Jimmy was fifteen now.
Taller. Broader. Meaner with a blade.
And in the hills of Westmoreland, everyone knew his name.
Just like that, three years passed. Jimmy had started high school, but his reputation? It wasn't built in no classroom. It was carved in bush, sweat, and blood.
Every weekend, Jimmy and his hunting crew disappeared into the hills like spirits. By the time Monday come, they returned with wild goats, hogs, mongoose—even a crocodile once, dragged from the Black River banks.
Keno was twenty now. Still lanky, still lazy-eyed, but fast with a slingshot and fearless when Jimmy led.
William and Tajay, Jimmy's classmates, were sharper with traps than with textbooks.
And David—William's father—was the butcher. The moment they returned from the hunt, he'd clean and carve every beast like a master. Then he'd sell the meat, skin, and bones right in the village square.
The boys always got their cut.
But Jimmy? He never kept all of it.
He gave a portion of his share to someone who meant everything to him.
Rose Thompson.
Ms. Michael Thompson's daughter.
His girlfriend.
They'd met in first year, back when Jimmy barely knew how to tie a tie but already knew how to slit a goat's throat in one motion. Rose was the only thing that made him soft. And even then—only a little.
She loved him. Fiercely. Wildly. And Jimmy? He loved her back like it was the only real thing in the world.
Every time he returned from a hunt, he gave her a portion of what he earned—sometimes cash, sometimes a piece of jewelry he bartered for, sometimes just a rare fruit he'd found deep in the bush.
And Rose waited. Always.
At school, Ms. Michael Thompson kept a close eye on him. She saw the way Rose smiled around him. She saw the way Jimmy protected her daughter like a hawk over a nest.
One day, after class, she called Jimmy aside.
"Jimmy Martin," she said softly, arms folded over her chest. "Mi want ask yuh something serious."
Jimmy blinked. "Yes, Miss?"
She tilted her head, serious now. "Yuh really plan to become a hunter for the rest of yuh life?"
He didn't hesitate. Not even a second.
"Yes, Miss Michael. Mi a guh hunt right round di world."
Her face tightened for a moment, like she wasn't sure if to scold him or admire him.
"Yuh know Rose love yuh, right?"
Jimmy nodded. "Mi know."
"And mi nuh want her heart mash up if yuh dead out deh chasing lion or bear."
Jimmy didn't flinch. His voice was calm. Dead sure.
"Mi nuh plan fi dead, Miss. Mi plan fi make history."
There was silence for a long time.
Then, slowly… Ms. Michael smiled.
"Mi hope yuh do. But just remember—if yuh ever break mi daughter heart… mi will hunt you."
Jimmy grinned wide. "Yuh a di only one mi would run from."
They both laughed.
But under the laughter, one thing was clear:
He had roots.
A crew.
A girl who loved him.
And a fire in his chest that whispered louder every day:
You were born fi more.
That Same Evening – The Argument
The laughter from earlier still echoed faintly in Jimmy's ears as he stepped through the house, but the air had shifted. It was heavy now—thick like rain about to fall.
"Jimmy," his mother's voice called, low and firm.
He stepped out of his room and walked toward the dining room. Jackie Ashley Martin sat stiff in one of the old wooden chairs, hands folded tight in her lap, eyes already glassy with worry.
Jimmy tilted his head. "Yes, Mommy?"
She looked up at him. "What yuh plan fi do after yuh done school?"
The question hung in the air.
Jimmy didn't even blink. "Mi a guh turn a hunter. Like Daddy. That a mi goal from long time, Mommy."
Jackie's lips parted, trembling. Her eyes spilled before her voice could even answer.
"Jimmy…" Her voice cracked. "Please, mi beg yuh. Don't do this. Mi cya go through that again. Mi lose yuh father to this same hunting madness. Yuh a mi only child. If mi lose yuh too…"
She broke down.
Her hands flew to her face, tears leaking between her fingers as the memories—of machetes, coffins, and cold misty mornings—rushed back in like floodwaters.
Jimmy's heart twisted in his chest.
He stepped forward, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
"Mommy," he said softly. "Stop cry. Please."
She kept weeping.
Jimmy dropped to his knees beside her and pulled her into his arms. Her body shook in his embrace.
"Mi nah plan fi dead like dat," he whispered into her hair. "As yuh said, Daddy blood run through mi veins. But mi strong, Mommy. Strong like him—and smart too. Mi nah go out like no fool."
She clutched him tighter, sobbing into his shoulder, until the shaking slowly eased.
"Yuh promise mi?" she whispered.
Jimmy nodded.
"Mi promise. But mi cya pretend to be something mi not. This… this is who mi is."
They stayed like that for a long time. Mother and son. Grief and fire.
Jackie didn't say another word. But in her silence was something deeper than fear—something that only a mother who had already buried love could understand.
She knew.
The boy she raised?
Three Years Later – The 18th Birthday Gift
He was already on the path.
And nothing—not her tears, not her prayers—could stop him now.
But she walked beside him anyway.
On Jimmy's 18th birthday, the sun rose warm and golden over the Westmoreland hills. Birds sang outside the house, and the morning breeze carried the smell of dew and promise.
Jackie Ashley Martin stood in the yard, arms folded, waiting. When Jimmy stepped outside, barefoot and yawning, she gestured him over.
On the porch lay a long wrapped bundle. Neatly tied with twine. Beside it—two smaller wrapped packages.
"Happy birthday, mi son," she said, voice calm but eyes shining. "This… is just a start."
Jimmy tore into the bundle.
Inside: a brand-new hunting rifle, sleek and deadly. Four compound bows, three crossbows, and two steel hunting knives—each one engraved with the initials "J.M."
His mouth dropped open.
"Mommy… wah dis?"
Jackie smiled and brushed his cheek.
"Mi might nuh agree with yuh choice… but mi respect it. Just promise mi dis—always keep yuh team geared proper. Safety first. Don't move reckless. Yuh father hunt with honor… and mi want yuh to do di same."
Jimmy pulled her into a tight hug. "Mi love yuh, Mommy."
"And mi love yuh more," she whispered.
A few hours later, as they finished breakfast, Mr. David, William's father, pulled into the yard in his dusty van. He stepped out with a quiet smile and handed Jimmy a small envelope.
"From me and mi wife," he said. "Mi know yuh a real hunter now. But dis… dis make it official."
Jimmy opened the card.
Inside was his Jamaica National Hunter's License—name stamped clean and bold: Jimmy Stanley Martin. And below it, tucked inside the envelope, were four more laminated licenses—one each for Keno, William, Tajay, and David Jr.
"Mi go ahead and sign dem up for yuh," Mr. David said with a grin. "So now—every man in yuh crew? Certified. Registered. Protected by law."
Jimmy was speechless.
Tears welled up in his eyes, but he blinked them away, jaw tightening.
"Thank yuh, Uncle D."
Mr. David nodded, clapping a strong hand on Jimmy's shoulder. "Make we proud, youth. Hunt wise. Hunt safe. Bring back stories."
Jimmy grinned, holding up the rifle to the sky like a sword of destiny.
"This a just the beginning," he said.
The Last Celebration – Stir It Up Restaurant & Lounge
Later that day, the golden sun dipped low over Negril, painting the sky in streaks of orange and rum cream. A gentle wind swept through the palms, and the bass of old-school dancehall music thumped through the streets.
Stir It Up Restaurant & Lounge was already alive when Jimmy pulled open the carved bamboo doors. The scent of grilled lobster, garlic butter, pepper shrimp, and curry floated through the air, mixing with laughter and clinking glasses.
His boys were there—Keno, Tajay, William, and David Jr.—spread out at their usual corner table in the back, already three drinks in and rowdy.
The moment Jimmy stepped in, Keno jumped up and shouted loud enough for the whole place to hear:
"Likkle Jimmy tun big man now, people! Di most dangerous virgin inna Westmoreland!"
The table exploded with laughter. Even Miss Donna at the bar nearly spit out her rum cream.
Jimmy grinned and rolled his eyes, but he was glowing—prideful, humbled, and proud as ever.
He reached into his backpack and pulled out five laminated cards. Slapped them on the table one by one like championship medals.
"Uno shut up and tek uno license. Whole crew certified now."
The boys shouted in triumph, banging their fists on the table like warriors.
"Mi love yuh, mi G!" Tajay howled, raising his shot glass. "We up now!"
Keno grabbed his license and waved it like a flag. "Mi name legal now! No more hiding when mi shoot wild hog!"
William raised his Red Stripe. "A toast to di man who tun Westmoreland into a hunter's paradise!"
They all clinked glasses—then downed shots of Wray & Nephew white rum like seasoned pirates.
And there she was.
Rose.
She stepped through the curtain from the lounge section in a deep-red dress that clung to her like temptation. Silver earrings glinted beneath her locs, and her smile? That smile stopped Jimmy mid-sentence.
She walked straight to him, hands behind her back, and kissed him softly on the cheek. The boys ooh'd and whooped like schoolchildren.
"Happy birthday, hunter man," she whispered.
Then she pulled out a small envelope, thick and clean, and handed it to him.
"From my mother," she said softly. "She say… she believe in yuh."
Jimmy opened it.
Ninety-five thousand Jamaican dollars.
Cash. Neatly folded. No strings.
Jimmy's jaw dropped. His hands trembled just slightly.
"Mi—Rose—mi cya take—"
"She say yuh saved our family once. Now she return di favor."
And before he could recover, Rose pulled out a small jewelry box.
"Mi gift," she whispered.
Inside was a necklace. A delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like two rabbits biting onto the same carrot—mouths locked in playful battle.
Jimmy stared at it. He laughed—real, full, belly laughter.
"A wah kinda symbolism dat?" he asked, already slipping it on.
Rose leaned in, her lips brushing the edge of his ear.
"Two stubborn souls… sharing one sweet thing," she whispered. "Just like we."
Then her voice dropped even softer.
"And don't mind dem teasing you. Yuh won't be a virgin tomorrow night."
Jimmy blinked.
His whole face lit up like the flare from a bush fire. The table exploded with laughter as he choked on his drink.
"BLOODCLAAAT!" Keno roared, falling over in his chair.
"Somebody buy dis man a Guinness fi stamina!" William laughed.
"Mi a go cry tears of joy," Tajay said, fanning himself with a napkin.
Jimmy wiped his face, shook his head, and looked at Rose with a gleam in his eye.
"Yuh sure about dat?" he asked, voice low.
Rose smirked. "Mi more sure than your machete is sharp."
That was it.
The night became a blur of rum shots, domino slaps, basslines, and old stories. They ordered jerk chicken, pepper shrimp, and grilled plantain. Jimmy told the tale of the giant hog again—this time with more dramatic flair. Rose laughed until she was breathless, curled against his arm. Even Mr. David passed through and raised a toast to the boy who had become a man.
And when the moon was high, and their bellies were full, and their heads fuzzy with liquor and joy…
They rose.
And together—Jimmy, Rose, and the entire crew—headed upstairs to the private lounge.
The last night Jimmy Martin would ever know as a man.
The last memory he'd carry of rose …