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“I could never stand that bitch. Grace was two years older than me and we only had the same mother. My father wasn’t around to do shit for me, but Grace’s father would get her every weekend and take her out. The bitch would always come back with some sort of new clothes and toys or some shit.
“When we got in high school, it was this fine ass senior and his name was Tory Taylor. Tory was mixed with black and Indian. He would always wear his hair in these two big braids that went down to the middle of his back. Everybody in school wanted him, but I promise you that I was in love with this man. Not only was he fine as hell, but he also had money because word around school was that he used to sell drugs and shit. I believe it too because we were in high school and this man was driving a damn BMW.
“Anyway, to make a long story short, Grace got with him, had a baby by him, and I’ve hated her ass ever since. She knew damn well how I felt about that man because I would talk to her about him almost every damn night,” my aunt said and I could tell that she was still hurt.
“Wow, so that’s how Antonia gets that long pretty hair. She gets it from her father. What happened to him? Is he still alive?” Porsha asked.
“No, he was murdered by some niggas when Antonia was only a month old. I’m guessing he must have left Grace stupid ass with some money because she up and moved to a nice apartment in Miramar. I honestly don’t know how she started with the drugs, but I’ve always assumed that she missed him so much that she just lost her damn mind. I hated that bitch so much that I would go over and support her damn habit. I was bringing cocaine, anything she needed because I hated that bitch and I felt like she was getting everything that she deserved,” my aunt said and a tear fell from my eye.
This lady had played a huge role in the death of my mother. Instead of helping her, she supported her habit, which killed her in the end.
“Damn. You hated her mama so much, so why did you volunteer to take Antonia in when her mom died?” Porsha asked. She was asking all of the questions that I had been dying to know ever since I was six.
“I wanted to make sure that Antonia got what the fuck I got growing up. I didn’t live in a household where I had both parents, and my mom used to beat my ass for every little thing I did, but she never beat Grace because she knew that Grace had her father and she would tell him. Everything that I’ve done to Antonia, was something that was already done to me,” my aunt finished. There was a pause for a few
minutes and then Porsha continued.
“Why didn’t you just put her in the system if you hated her that much? You didn’t think that she would have suffered enough there?” Porsha asked.
“Yeah, she would have gone through some minor shit, like jumping from house to house, but I wanted her shit to be major and I wanted it all to be done at my hands. Believe it or not, Grace hurt me by getting with Tory and I wanted to hurt her daughter in the end. Dog eat dog world, and karma is a motha fucka,” my aunt said in closing.
With my towel and pajamas in hand, I walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I sank my body to the floor and cried my eyes out. I cried for a father who I now knew loved me and I cried for my mother. My aunt had instilled these negative thoughts in my head throughout the years, like my mother was some hoe who went around sleeping with random men, when all along my mother knew exactly who my father was and so did my aunt. My aunt took my life as a game and she passed the hatred that she had toward my mother down, and treated me this way for all of these years. I never knew that a person could be so hateful, especially toward their own flesh and blood.
I stood in the shower, letting the water take me and my thoughts away. I thought about how my life would have been had my father still been here with me and my mother. I knew that the three of us would have been the perfect family. Sadly, I couldn’t remember any good experiences that I had with my mother. Like my aunt said, my father died when I was only a month old and I could remember things as far back as four years old, watching my mom sit on the floor, sniffing white stuff, that I used to think was baby powder. So, pretty much my whole life, my mother had lost her damn mind over the death of my father.
It felt good to have some clarity, but it only made me long for my parents that much more. I wondered where my grandfather was or maybe even my grandmother. My aunt did say that my mom’s father would pick her up every weekend, buying her toys and stuff. It’s crazy because how would I even start the search for them?
After showering and washing my hair, I stepped out of the shower, dried myself off and threw on my pajamas. I made sure to straighten up the bathroom and then I went back into my room and threw my clothes in the dirty hamper. I grabbed my phone from under my pillow and I went onto the internet. I typed in “Tory Taylor’s murder” and almost immediately, I was brought to all type of resources.
I clicked on the first link, which was posted November 17th 1996. A picture of my father holding me as I slept in his arms was on the article, and as I looked at the picture, I noticed a tear fall onto the phone screen. I quickly wiped the phone with my shirt. He had his hair in those two braids like how my aunt said he used to wear it, with a smile on his face, as he held onto his baby girl. I hadn’t even read the article yet because I was so intrigued with the picture and amazed by how much I looked like him. I took a screenshot of the picture and scrolled down, to read the article.
A Miami Gardens man, Tory Taylor, was shot to death in front of the Walmart Supercenter, while making a quick stop to pick up some milk for his newborn baby girl. Witnesses say that the 18-year-old young man was getting into his vehicle when they noticed two men get out of a car wearing ski masks and shot Mr. Taylor to death.
I continued to shake my head because who the hell would do that? I clicked out of it and went to another link and after reading over five articles, they still didn’t find the men responsible for my father’s death. After staring at my father’s picture in my phone for about another two hours, I finally put the phone down and cried myself to sleep that night.
Christmas Day
I woke up the next morning to the sounds of my little cousins screaming to the top of their lungs as they opened their gifts in the living room. I got out of the bed and followed their happy voices. Even though I knew I would be waking up this morning to no gifts under the tree, I still loved to see other people happy, especially my three little cousins.
I walked into the living room in a tank top with no bra on and a pair of shorts that I’ve had since like the fourth grade. When I rounded the corner and saw that Rick was sitting on the couch with my aunt, I quickly went to my room to put on something else. He hadn’t been back into my room in months messing with me, but he was still giving me these lustful stares. I threw on a sweater and some pants and walked back out.
“Girl, you didn’t have to change. Nobody wanted to see shit your skinny ass got,” Porsha said.
I waved her off because it was Christmas morning and I didn’t feel like dealing with her or her negativity at all today.
I took a seat at the dining room table, hugged all of my little cousins and continued to watch them play with their new toys that they thought Santa had brought them. If we really wanted to be technical about the situation, I pretty much bought them these gifts from the money that I was giving my aunt every two weeks. Let’s be clear here, we were on section 8, so her rent was probably 100 dollars, if that a month, plus she got food stamps, so I know for a fact that my hard earned money paid for these gifts. I didn’t mind though, as long as they were happy but I did take offense to seeing Porsha sit with her new pair of shoes from Steve Madden, with the matching purse.
“Tonia, look at my bike,” PJ said excitedly as he rode his Spiderman bike throughout the house, with the training wheels on them.
“I see it. You’re a big boy,” I told him, as he rode the bike in the living room.
Ciara and Allison were too busy playing around with their Barbie dream house to pay me any attention. What was so sad about this day was that I’ve never had a Christmas where I woke up to something. I remember being a little girl and I would ask my mom how come she didn’t get me anything, and she would always say that she had to spend all of her money on her “medicine”. So, for the past eighteen years, Christmas has been just another normal day to me. I would have been thankful for just a card, shit, anything.
“Kids, put your toys up. We’re spending the day at Rick’s house for Christmas. He has a big pool, so pack your bathing suits,” my aunt told the kids and they took off running to the back. Even though it was Christmas and in the winter, that didn’t mean shit in Miami because it was still hot outside over here.
Once the kids left, I stood up and placed my hands in my pants pocket. “Let me guess, I’m not invited, right?” I said, pretty much already knowing how this was going to go down.
Laughing, my aunt said, “No wonder you got those scholarships, you are smart after all.”
