"Certainly not," she said and I felt much of my anxiety fade away as soon as she said it. "If anything it's more like a honeydew."
Although speaking from a place of goodness and light, and I was touched by her words, they left me non-plussed for the moment. I mean, it isn't every day that one of the nearest and dearest tells you, in a soft caring voice, that your head resembles one melon more than another.
I looked to Claudia who had just that moment joined us at our sidewalk table in front of Ibis Coffee Cafe and Dance Bar on Princess Street. She's one of those whip-spart urban girls who always knows just the thing to say in any situation.
She didn't fail me in this situation. Apparently overhearing the recent conversation, she sat, and gave my hand a light pat as if to say, there there.
"Not at all like a melon," she said.
"Not like a melon?" I said hoping for more encouragement.
She gave Lupe a look that carried a light reprimand if I read it correctly.
Then turning back to me she said, "Not like a melon." Her eyes turned up and to the right, as if she'd find something more to say in that corner of her head. "More like the dome of St. Catherine's," she said.
I was struck mute and could only return her look, which immediately softened, and took on something resembling what I've heard described as, that hangdog look of a native English speaker who is about to attempt French.
"Are you familiar?" she said. "With St. Catherine's I mean."
"Of course," I said, "it's the cathedral on 3rd Street."
She brightened when she heard my words and said, "Yes, that's the one! Good." With that she patted my hand, excused herself, and went inside to order what I assumed would be a steaming cup of Jah's Mercy.
I followed, feeling that I could use another cup of his mercy myself.