Finding My Normal

Chapter 2

Bertha Mae Pollock played no games when it came to my appearance. For as long as I could remember, I was well groomed, always well dressed, and properly handled in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. I, Kianna Marie Jones, was not to be seen as a child of the street. I was never allowed to be out on the streets, anyways. My grandmother drilled the idea that kids who spent time running out on the street were wasting their time and would all become drug dealers. I never believed her, though. Trevor was considered a street kid and as far as I knew, he didn't sell any drugs. He may have smoked a blunt or two, but he never sold it.

All in all, I didn't think street kids were bad. They had their ways just like anyone else. When we all got together at school and at various get togethers, there was no difference. We all spoke the same slang, smoked the same weed, and listened to the same music. Street kids just had more freedom.

"Kianna, I'm calling your father." My grandmother yelled. She grabbed the house phone, angrily punching in my father's number, "you must be out of your rabbit ass mind, going out here getting nonsense tattooed into your body. That stuff is permanent girl!"

"Momma's name is not nonsense, grandma." I shot back, annoyed. My grandmother had said a lot of sideways things, but she knew my mother was a soft spot for me. I could barely remember her, most of the memories I'd had of her had been collected from the never ending collection of home movies my father had in his bedroom. He'd saved every video they'd recorded before she died and began to show them to me after her death. When I was younger, I used to refuse to go to bed unless someone played the video of my mother singing a lullaby.

"But that's your body, Kianna. Forever!"

I took a deep breath and flashed my grandmother a half assed smile. She was beginning to tiptoe on a nerve I didn't even know I had. She held the house phone up to her ear and I allowed myself to actually look at her. Her usually black hair was almost fully grey. She was shorter than me without any shoes on, standing at a mere 5'. I watched as her brown eyes were swirling with displeasure as she ordered whoever answered the phone to find my father. I knew she was going to blow this way out of proportion so I took a seat on the couch and pulled my phone out. A text message from Trevor sat on my lockscreen awaiting a response.

Trev: Yo, there's a party this weekend. Come with me? I'm lowkey not tryna be there with them niggas acting all friendly and shit.

I laughed at Trevor's hypocrisy. He hated parties yet he wanted to be at each and every one, smiling up in someone's face. I knew he wanted me there because I had a car and I would drive him back. I also knew that as soon as we went into the party he was gonna find him a girl to lay and leave me by myself until he came back either drunk off his ass or high as a kite. I didn't mind because no one ever bothered me, but I knew that it would be waste of my time.

Me: Nigga, why would I go to some house party with yo fake ass? You know you just gon leave me in the kitchen by myself AGAIN. Imma pass on that one partna.

As I switched out of the messages app, the house phone was shoved into my face. Of course my father would want to talk to me. I honestly didn't want to hear what either of them had to say at this point, but being the respectful child I was, I shot my grandmother the fakest smile I could muster and took the phone.

"Hi daddy! How's California?" I chirped as nicely as I could muster.

"Don't even try it. Why is your grandmother calling me all worked about cause you got a tattoo? Fuck was you thinking, Kianna?" My father fussed.

I sighed loudly, not caring that he would probably fuss about that as well. "Dad, honestly, I got a tattoo of mom's name and birthday. I have nothing to remember her by, and I know tattoos are permanent, but I miss her. I know you do to."