Finding My Normal

Chapter 1

"Damn." I cursed silently.

I had been standing in front of my mirror for almost an hour trying to get my hair to do something other than sit on my head in a huge shrunken puff. My hair had broken two combs, a brush, and popped several scrunchies today alone. The numbers on the clock flashed as a constant reminder that I was running on a tight schedule. I needed to meet my grandmother at her appointment in half an hour but I couldn't leave the house without something done to my hair. When I'd washed my kinky fro the night before, I was confident that I would be able to handle it the next day, but it seemed like the devil was working on me today.

With a huff, I decided to pull it into a high puff and call it a day. The doctor's office was a 45 minute drive from my house and I knew that even while speeding, I would only be able to shave off about ten minutes. Driving in New York traffic was no joke, especially in Manhattan. Taxi drivers had no respect for any car that wasn't yellow with the signature mini billboard on the top. My Jeep could definitely survive a run in with the little taxi cabs, but I definitely didn't want to risk it. That car was taking up all of my money.

The clock bore the numbers 11:37 and I knew I had to get a move on it. Swinging my purse onto my shoulder, I snatched my keys off of the coffee table and ran out of the door. It wasn't until I made it halfway down the driveway that I realized my mistake. I was about to head to the busiest part of the city in a pair of Winnie the Pooh pajama shorts and an oversized T-shirt. My shoe choice was no better. I had spent so much time on my hair that I hadn't even gotten properly dressed.

"Come on, Ki. You gotta do better, sis." I chastised myself. I ran back into the house as fast as I could. My legs found themselves shoved into a pair of grey leggings and my oversized shirt had been swapped for a simple white T-shirt. Thankfully my slides were by the door and soon I was on my way. I rolled my windows down and plugged my phone into the car console, scrolling until my eyes fell on my favorite song. Jocelyn Flores by XXXtentacion blared through my car as I pulled out of my parking space and into the busy streets of New York.

My head bobbed along with the slow beat of the song. Nothing calmed my anxious mind quicker than this song, among a few others. My mind instantly slowed and I found myself pulling up outside of my grandmother's doctor's office. I lowered the volume, knowing that my grandma would give me a lecture if she got in the car and the music was too loud. She hated when I behaved like anything less than an 'adult.' Her favorite thing to tell me is that being black was a full time job and I didn't have time to be a child. Sometimes I felt like she forgot I was still technically a teenager.

For example, when she walked out of the building and got into my car, she cast me a disapproving glance. She didn't even need to say anything. When Bertha gave you a disapproving glance, you knew you'd messed up. I'd been on the receiving end of many different glances from my grandmother so I was able to distinguish between them.

"Kianna, don't you think you should straighten your hair? I thought we talked about it." She grumbled, struggling with her seatbelt.

"Grandma, I told you I wanted to try being natural for a little bit longer. I'm almost at bra-strap length." I replied, eyes glued to the road.

"Yes, but you're not going to get a real job with it looking like that. Your hair looks like a nappy mess. You don't ever do nothing to it." She began her usual rant about my hair. We had this conversation at least twice a month. "You already have the disadvantage of your skin color, but walk into an interview with neat hair and you're less of a negro to them."

I nodded, knowing I wouldn't win if I said anything in response. We had agreed I was going to stay natural until I reached the length I wanted. I was so close but my grandmother hated that my hair was so unruly. One thing I got from my mother was her 4C hair. I had also gotten my mother's deep cocoa skin and her height, putting me at 5'4". I was a decent size for my height, not at all skinny, but I had all of my curves exactly where I liked them. My butt was big, much to my own discomfort, but I was lacking in the chest area. My mother had been blessed with a DD cup and I was stuck in a small C. I liked to believe that what I lacked in my boobs, I made up for with an A1 personality. My father, however, had given me his deep chocolate eyes that became entrancing in the sun. That was the only similarity we had to each other.