Nipple Man

            In the middle of the Paleolithic Age, where beasts weighing as much as the elephant and as long as the infamous Loch Ness Monster romp, lies a deep dark cave. In this deep abyss lives a primitive human species existing between the Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal Age. They are called Nipple men.  When I first saw nipple man at Granny’s attic it reminded me of early humans that lived and caves and giant romping dinosaurs. He has a protruding belly button with legs equal in length to his arms, which are flailed in the air frantically. He is a muddy brown color with patches of tangerine orange.  He is made of what seems to be some type of wood, perhaps maple. His hair is flipped up in a way which is odd for an artifact that is supposed to be seen at a garage sale rather than a Paul Mitchell catalog. Nipple Man has a small ball-shaped head with a narrow snout. His mouth is open with an expression that says, “Help me!” Lastly, the most prominent characteristic of Nipple Man are, well, his nipples. It appears as if the creator of Nipple Man took two black marbles and glued them symmetrically above his ribs. The nipples protrude so far outward that it would be impossible for them to go unnoticed. They protrude outward about 3 centimeters and are shaped like big pencil erasers. Nipple Man reminds me of what was once my home away from home located in St. Marten.

My grandparents on my mother’s side had a beautiful house there upon a hill. At the bottom of the hill just minutes from the house we called “Acajoux” was a dock, pure Caribbean blue ocean, and a beautiful boat that we’d take for joy rides. Often times, on a lazy day, I would go to the native market area. This market screamed culture. There were women skinning pineapples bigger than I at the time, some selling precious herbs and spices for cooking, while others sat behind their booth selling tropical style dresses filled with blues, reds, and basically any color that reminds you of the beach life. You could even find the typical sketchy guy who looks cool at first but after five minutes you realize he is a creep trying to sell you a fake Rolex of some sort for thirty-five dollars. There were so many times when we passed the typical sketchy island man’s booth and my mom would calmly say, “Maybe we will come back later.” Knowing my mom’s shopping antics, I knew we were not actually coming back. Usually the last stop we made at the market would be at the booth that had “all the cool old stuff” as I’d put it in my eight-year-old mind. There would be toy-sized elephant statues made out of rock and precious dolls. The most common figure in the booth, however, was that of a man just like Nipple Man. Some were naked; others were clothed, black, white, primitive, modern, traditional, planters, hunters, and prayers. Market browsing was not my favorite activity in St. Marten. There are plenty of more comical and enjoyable memories I remember from St. Marten, but no object in all of Granny’s Warehouse could put me back in the crisp salty air of St. Marten except my beloved Nipple Man.