Who is E Lloyd Kelly, and what does he do? E Lloyd Kelly is the author of the Manley book as well as several other books. Find a list of E Lloyd’s books on his Amazon author’s page.
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E Lloyd K. the author in the press
E Lloyd on the radio
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So why do I write? You ask? And the answer is: I'm a guy of many words, but whose tongue is slow and heavy, and my words tend to come out awkward and clumsy, so I write, because I always have something to say, I think. Which always tends to get me into trouble anyway. The extra bonus though, in writing is that a pencil usually comes with an eraser.
Thewritingelk
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Today, however, we will be focusing on the Manley book.
How to train a wild puppy dog named, Manley is a hardcore romance novel, Jamaican Yardie-style. How to train a wild puppy dog named, Manley tells the story of what happens when East meets West. Manley is a Jamaican-born Montrealer who would have fallen in love with a girl of East Indian descent and was to find out soon enough, that the hurdles would have been almost insurmountable navigating the socio-divide.
Note, adult contents included, therefore, parental supervision is strongly advised. Today we will be featuring an excerpt from the Manley book. Here goes, Chapter ten from the Manley book, enjoy.
Chapter Ten
Coming to a town near you
The Millers wanted to do things to me, one wants to grind me, the other wants to grind me up, like mincemeat.
It was in my teen years, I was about fifteen or sixteen at the time. I had run away from home and hitched a ride on a delivery truck into the big city of Toronto, lucky for me, I had managed to find myself a job that very day, a Gardener and errand boy with a rather wealthy family. I had arrived, I thought to myself.
The man, the master of the house, was a businessman, a CEO of a Nation-wide manufacturing and distributing business outfit. The woman, who as it turned out was his wife because, at first I thought that she was probably his daughter or some other relatives of his, because of the obvious massive age difference between them.
She seemed to me, to be rather mean and sad-at-heart most of the times, but she also came across as awfully sweet at other times. I never did see any signs of children around the house, if there were any, I thought, they were probably living somewhere else. Then one day it happened that the mister man: Mr. Miller, had was to go overseas on some business trips. That was when it happened.
She had asked me to come inside and tend to the kitchen sink, the wastewater outlet pipe she said, was leaking and dripping water onto the kitchen floor. Why did I suddenly feel so uncomfortable, why all of those knots in my stomach?
Oh well, I consoled myself, it was probably nothing more than the fact that, I have never done anything even remotely resembling a plumbing job before, but I am a fast learner, a willing hand, and a guy who really needed a job, this job.
She had all the tools on hand which was necessary to get the job done, and on this particular day, it did seem to me like it was one of her better days, she seemed exceptionally exuberant, spirited, helpful and generous, and was rather perky in her overall mannerisms too.
The problem was quickly spotted and just as quickly rectified. There was nothing wrong with the pipes more than a loose connecting coupling on the p-trap, in no time I was done with tightening it up, but she seemed to be searching all over the place for more and more chores for me to do. In the meantime, she wanted to know all that she could about me, and the more I divulge, the more she dug in.
What started out as mere small talks, quickly escalated to the point where I was even telling her all about the escapades between me and my fairy-god-mother. Perked her up real quick, and then, after she has done got me baring my soul to her, my physical appearances were her next target. She eyed me from head to toe.
"Oh I forgot," she said, "the one upstairs needs fixing too."
"What one upstairs?" I asked.
"The basin in the bathroom upstairs," she replied, “there is something wrong with the basin drain pipe up there, maybe you can take a look at it too since you are already here.”
So up the stairs we went, she in the lead, and nervous, shaking in my boots little me, in-toe. She talked very loudly as we mount up the stairs, maybe she was nervous but not nearly as nervous as I was.
Her heavy army-like footsteps were pounding on the hardwood too, as she mounts up on them, mine - in contrast, was soft and well thought out.
"Mind you wake the baby up," I hear Bubbles saying in my inner ear. "What baby you fool," said I, in my near-inner voice.
Her perplexed gaze caught me off guard, "what? What baby are you talking about now?"
“Never mind.” I said, “I was just thinking out loud."
There were no repairs to be done up there, well, that is unless we can categorize what happened next as repairs... It probably was.
In her lazy, heavy-tongued West African accent, she said, "So you are Mister lover-man eh, let me see what you have here, give me some of your best stuff."
“What about your husband?” I asked, “what if he should find out?”
“You don’t have to worry bout he, or nothing else oh, I will take good care of you, and him.”
"I'm scared.” I said, “suppose Mr. Miller should..."
“Eh! Eh!” she interrupted. “He is 93 years old oh, what is he going to do, eh, what is he going to do? Even if he should come inside here this very minute, what, is, he, going, to, do? To me. Or even to you?”
She said all that one word at a time while poking her index finger, with a sharp nail, hard into my forehead, as if to make sure that each letter, each syllable, each word, was firmly registered somewhere in there.
When she'd asked for my help to fix the sink drain, I’d obliged, when she’d asked me up the stairs to go and check out the bathroom plumbing, I did also oblige. Well, she now finds it necessary to check out my best stuff, and to show me hers, so what do you think I'm going to do?
I reached into my ever-ready tool chest for my trusted nails and hammer and went to work nailing her to the ceramic tiles all over the bathroom floor, and up the steep-climbing walls. It felt like heaven's practice run to me. Will this be enough to set her straight? Set her straight maybe, enough? Not on your life.
For the remainder of the two and a half years, while I was still "working" there, we make it a point of our duty to paint the entire house, from the attic to the bloody-bleeding Basement.
The mister man was fast closing in on us, getting much too close to clamping down on us, (on me in particular,) for my comfort, that was when I’d packed up my little trinket box and kitty bags and skip the scene. I went back home to my mother's place, and then back to school to study computer science.
She, Mrs. Miller, was not as willing and ready as I was to move on though, not at all, she would seek me out at every opportune time to get her welding done.
When I got engaged to Aylene, she wished me well, she wished us both well, of course, she couldn't do that on the phone. She needed to come to see me in person.
That was the last time we were to be together in any one place, by our lonesome selves, of course, nothing did happen then, nothing more has ever happened between us since either. Not even so much as a solitary wayward phone call.
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