Page 6 of Her Savior
Four
There’s a reason why I still live in Inglewood and not with my Daddy.
My Granny’s home is here. When she died a few years ago, she left it to my Daddy, who in turn, gave it to me to live in once I turned 18.“You can sell it if you want and make a profit,” he advised, “or you can stay here and look after it until you get tired of it.”
My Granny’s home is actually a duplex. My auntie lives in one home, while I live in the other. She’s still salty that Granny left the home to my Daddy in her will, but I know she ain’t that salty, because the only thing she pays for are bills and not rent so she needs to keep quiet.
My home is two bedrooms and two bathrooms with a small living room and kitchen. The yards are of a decent size for how small the home is, but honestly, it’s enough space for a small cookout or smoking a blunt and listening to The Jacksons sing about good times.
For a family, this would be too small but for me, it’s just right. I didn’t feel comfortable living by myself so my best friend, Tasha, is staying with me. She’s also living rent-free because we’re girls like that.
But we do split the bills, though her cheap-ass has tried getting out of paying some. I told that bitch if she has enough money for yaki, she has enough money to pay for all the damn water and electric she’s using up.
“Hey girl,” Tasha blows out a plume of smoke from her pipe. It’s not even two in the afternoon and she’s already half-baked. She’s not like Snoop Dogg who stays high but also stays employed. I often wonder how productive Tasha would be if she stopped smoking for a month.
“Hey,” I reply to her as I drop off my messenger bag and slip out of my Gucci high heels. They’re cute AF but they also hurt like a motherfucker. No amount of Dr. Scholl’s can save my feet. “Whatchu up to?”
Tasha shakes her long braids and takes another hit from the pipe. She’s dark-skinned, thick, and has a number of piercings and tattoos. She also discovered her newfound wokeness.
I applaud her for that but I really wish she would stop sending them fake-ass IG memes and shit. I don’t think she even realizes half the shit she sends me are probably some shit a bored nigga thought of when he was higher than a damn kite himself. “Just woke up not that long ago. About to start driving soon.”
Tasha’s a full-time Lyft driver, though my daddy and I told her that wasn’t a gig to have unless she had her own car and was doing it part-time to make some ends. But no matter how much advice you give someone to better themselves, some niggas are gonna nigga.
“Oh, cool,” I reply. I sit across from her on the sofa. She offers me a hit but I decline. I have a feeling Jalen might be coming over soon and I don’t need to be high when that nigga shows up.
He’s one of those fools that a girl needs to be fully aware of what’s going on at all times or he’ll try some shit like bending you over and playing with your ass, telling you he’ll just put the tip in.
“How did it go today?” She asks and I shrug.
“As well as it could go.” I quickly pull the hot-ass wig off my head and toss it aside, “I don’t know if I’ll get the internship but it’s worth a shot. I just need something on my resume so I when I start applying to the four-year universities, I’ll look better.”
“I hope you get it, Kiesh,” her voice is smoky like just the air. I got used to smelling weed, though it’s not my preference. Yet, somehow, I learned how to roll a blunt with the precision of a world-class surgeon. I guess being a drug lord’s daughter taught me something.
“I hope so, too.” I reply, unsure if it’s something I really want to have. It felt like one of those places that I would’ve been out of place and way over my head in, but I always get the feeling that might happen with me no matter where I go in life.
It’s like I don’t want to stay in the hood but I’m not sure if my black ass is going to Spago anytime soon. I really just want some Popeye’s and be happy while I’m making bank. Is that too much to ask?
“Junie’s coming over in a bit. He’s gonna stay the night.” She says.
“That’s fine.” I stare out into space. “Jalen might come over but it’s still iffy.”
Tasha shoots me a look and I know she’s about to say some shit I don’t like. Since she’s feeling a certain type of way, I’ll let sis say her peace. “You’re still with him?”
I know this bitch didn’t just fix her mouth to say something about my relationship. Junie stands for Junebug, which is short for, oh, I don’t really fucking care. Ain’t like the nigga gon’ do anything with his life anyway. Each time he comes over, I swear that nigga smells like stale motel carpet, broken dreams, and wet dog with a side of Kimchi.
He’s a dime a dozen SoundCloud rapper/producer/wanna be art heaux, and somewhere between graduating from high school and having big dreams to follow in the footsteps of Tyler, the Creator, and Chance the Rapper, Tasha’s nigga successfully morphed himself into Junie the No-Good Nigga Who Uses Up My WiFi.
I don’t know why I’m so defensive about Jalen. It’s been well-established the only thing that nigga is good for is orgasms, but I feel I’m the only one who can talk shit about my nigga if that makes sense.
“I wouldn’t go as far as saying I’m with him, but yes, he’s coming over tonight.” I reply.
Tasha sighs and takes another hit from her pipe. “I don’t know what you see in him.”
I see a night full of screaming and curled toes. “We’re not getting married and I ain’t gon’ be his baby mama so I don’t see the problem.”
“I’m just saying you’re young, barely 21 and you need to explore more,” Tasha nods as if she’s proud of the advice she damn well knows she won’t follow her damn self. Every time her and Junie broke up, it’s because he initiated it. Yet, she keeps giving him chances like the blessed Pick Me chick she is. “That’s all.”
“Point taken.” I get a notification on my phone and see it’s the Big Dick Bastard himself.
