Janelle's memory
I can vaguely hear my mom and my sister's Kim's voice through the door of the closet where I sit with my knees to my chest obeying my mom's wishes. My mom sounds like she's on her third drink, maybe fourth as she yaps away to Kim who for some reason is always happy when there is nothing to be happy about. Well for me, she doesn't live at home with mom and instead has a dog and her own apartment. A life some other 26 year olds would beg for.
"I swear Kim that girl is sixteen and she is still crazy always crying, screaming, just like Ms. Jubilee down the street, I think she's been stealing my wine coolers," mom goes on. She's definitely on drink three. Drink three is when she begins bashing me and my existence, something that isn't that bad compared to my dad.
Kim begins to speak in her uber happy tone. "You know mom, she might be mentally ill."
I shake hearing mom's words, but stop when I remember my mom's words telling me not to move.
Mom lets out one of her long annoying laughs that make her throat dry thus leading her to drink more. "Mentally ill is some bullshit Kim that gets those entitled assholes an excuse to commit crimes." I can just see her shaking her head. "Huh, mentally ill, ain't that some shit." Now she's drinking again, I can't see it, but I know her, and I know the routine. She's about to say something else, but stops when the door creaks. Not the door I'm behind, but the front door meaning dad is home and this day is about to get a lot worse.
I stuff my face more into my knees as if that will make dad go back to his job at that dusty grocery store. It won't. I hear his loud steps and the way he's bringing mom into that tequila tasting kiss she treasures so much.
"Where's Janelle?" he asks and a moment of silence follows.
Mom's glass clicks on the amber table and she says louder than she has been talking this whole hour, "In the closet, she's been acting up again, Stephen, she's lucky I didn't smack her across her head." The feeling of the last time she hit me comes back the second I hear those words.
"Calm down, I'll talk to her," dad says, but only because he needs her to be calm so he can release all of his anger.
His steps become louder and louder until the closet door creaks open to reveal my dad towering over me still in his uniform still smelling like the whole frozen food section. "What are you doing sitting here crying, get up," he hisses.
I don't hesitate and do as he says knowing it will only get worse the more I don't do what he says. This is part of the routine. I follow him into his bedroom where he immediately starts pacing with his hand to his forehead telling me he's getting more angry by the second. Usually I begin crying after moments like these, but tears are now spilling down my face as if I'm trying to make things worse for myself.
"You better stop fucking crying," he hisses only looking out me from the side of his eye. Still his words just make my eyes water more. "You think you're just going to act up, and cry talking about all this 'you want to kill yourself BS, you're sixteen, stop acting like a child." He finally turns to look at me, but I wish he kept looking at the tv. I hate when he looks at me like this. I hate not being able to stop making him look at me like this.
"I'm sorry daddy," I whine standing in the same place of the doorway.
"Sorry is not going to cut it Janelle. We've been trying to put up with you and this whole thing you've got going on for your whole life. I'm exhausted, your mother is exhausted, and we need to live our lives we can't keep worrying about you, and if you're sad today." While I expect these lectures after my outburst this is different, this sounds like they're giving up on me.
"It won't happen again, I'll control it," I lie. I can't make that promise not entirely. I wish I could, but there is this burning sadness inside of me and it seems to come whenever it wants to and fuck shit up. But if I could control it, I would and I would get the hell out of here.
"I don't wanna hear that mess again, I'm tired of it Janelle, I'm tired of all of this. Do you think I wanna yell at you like this all the time." I don't know. My dad seems to love to talk, he'll talk about anything for any amount of time. Movies, tv shows, how hard he had to work to work at the luxary grocery store. I get this from him, when I'm in one of those zones I can talk for hours which is why we used to actually have good conversations, but that stopped when middle school ended.
"I'll do better, I won't talk anymore," I whine taking a step back. If I stay away from mom then maybe I could actually make some progress. But I've been saying that since I was nine years old.
"No!" dad plops on his bed and puts his head in his hands. Yes this is different this isn't anger, I think he's actually sad for me. Sad he can't change me. "Janelle, you're going to grow up to be crazy is that what you want? You're little nieces and cousins are going to have to watch over you like Ms. Jubilee, and your mom and I aren't going to be there." His voice finally has lost it's anger, and as I keep clenching and un -clenching my fist he does a routine of sighing and letting out small huffs. These things make me think he's like me, and this is where I get it from.
I take another step back and I'm almost on my way out the door. "I'm going to be fine dad, i'm going to be fine," I say. The words get caught in my mouth and I can't help, but repeat them. "I'm going to be fine dad, I'm going to be fine."
He stops looking at his pitiful loafers and we lock eyes. "I don't know why you can't be like Kim, I don't know where I went wrong with you, I gave you everything only for you to be some sad teenager who acts like she's on drugs. Heck maybe that's what will fix you drugs." I wouldn't really mind that. Too bad that's not his final idea. He keeps on talking, and from the dining room I can tell mom is going to keep on drinking. "You're not normal, Janelle, and it's draining our lives."
I'm struggling to say, "I know," but those words are probably never going to come out of my mouth. Not during this conversation, in this bland room, and on this sad winter night. "I'm normal," is what I decide to mumble. I can't really tell if it's a lie or something I'm trying to convince myself, maybe it's both. I need to be normal, how else will I be able to become a singer and marry and have kids. Preferably one, just one daughter. I have to be normal.
My dad seems to catch the words I said, and they bring back the harsh anger in his eyes. "If you were normal then you would have friends at school, and you wouldn't be spending your free time locking yourself in the car and singing, yes we hear you, it's the only good thing about you." Well there was a compliment in there somewhere.
Still with his small compliment my eyes spill tears and like my all of my emotions I can't control the tears. "I hate you," I yell and go back into the closet to listen to my mom complain about me over another glass.
Present day Third POV
Janelle or Ms. Price played with her fingers as she walked along the street with very nice white houses. All nicer and more modern than the three bedroom she lived in in the valley. While most of her days she was transitioning from a manic to depressed state she was very basic or alkaline this morning even though she was about to do something that scared her. After looking at the grand houses where she could almost look through and see the family she stopped at her destination. A very modern nice house that had more of a domestic vibe than the others. The Daniels house. She gazed up at the house for a few seconds, and thinking of her older daughter and the pain she had already passed on to her she walked to the door way in her black pantsuit.
After pressing the doorbell once she could hear shuffles on the other side and a bit of sweat hit her forehead as she thought about the words she was going to say. She didn't know the words she needed to say, but she had an idea.
As she got lost in her thoughts the door swung open, and Rose stood in front of her in her long shawl and black beads. Her face lacking all the stress that Janelle carried even though they were the same age.
"Janelle nice to see you, I was just about to text you and see if you were still coming," Rose said in her usual calming tone.
Janelle who wasn't much of a talker took in a breath, and said, "Thank you for having me."
Rose invited Janelle in and after talking about all the basic normal greeting stuff mothers Rose called upstairs to Ziyah who was the real reason Janelle was standing in her house looking at Rose's glowing skin with envy. The same envy that was in Daya's eyes when she looked at Vicki or the girl Ziyah kissed last year. Genetics are funny that way.
Ziyah came down the steps and immediately he wanted to go back up seeing Janelle. Or to him the woman who burned his girlfriend, and must've had some deep shit going on inside her head.
Rose could sense the tension, but something about Janelle's energy told her she was in a different kind of mood. Rose was still going to sage the shit out of her place after she left, but she would at least wait 5 minutes.
"I'll be in the backyard if you need me," Rose said walking over there after sharing a ressuring glance with her son. One that said, give her a chance.
"Hi, Mrs. Price," Ziyah said a bit uneasily once he reached the bottom of the steps.
"Hi umm Ziyah, I'm sorry I know this is weird and all, but uhh," her voice trailed off still not sure what to say to the boy her daughter gave her heart to.
Giving her time to complete her sentence Ziyah gestured to the couch and as awkwardly as possible they both sat on the sofa. Ziyah was a good distance away from Janelle waiting for her to speak again and get this meeting over with. Especially as he thought about his last words with the women.
"Ziyah I'm sorry for what I said last time we saw each other, and I do think you're good enough for my daughter, I just wish she would've met you later in life," Janelle spoke honestly.
Ziyah wanted to go off on the women, but he could tell she wasn't all the way there so he hid his emotions like he always did with people. Instead he said, "With all do respect, why?" He really wanted to say, If Daya met me later than now she would've had nowhere to go when you threw her out.
Janelle played with her fingers some more. "Because she's going to need someone later on when things get harder and she needs more life experience to actually contribute to a relationship." Janelle didn't really believer her own words, and she honestly didn't how to make things better or be a normal mother. Janelle took a deep breath. "I love my daughter and I want her to be happy, but I just don't want her to have her heart broken, because she's not normal, and some may think she's this normal teen, but she's not. She's this amazing person who gets up and writes at 6 in the morning but in the dark because she doesn't want to wake everyone else, and I just don't want her to fall in love and turn out, to turn out... like me." And finally Janelle said the words she'd be holding in in her gut.
"That won't happen," Ziyah responded completely sure, but still digesting Janelle's words. Him and Daya could break up, but he would make sure she didn't turn out like her mother.
After a moment of staring at each other again Janelle thought of one more thing she wanted to cover on this visit. Ziyah bea her to it though.
"Do you want to see the portrait I made of her," he said.
Janelle nodded and Ziyah went upstairs to his room where he came back with the portrait he drew of Daya holding it tightly before showing to Mrs. Price. Janelle stood and looked at the portrait of her oldest daughter with a smile on her face. It was like Daya's spirit was with the room even though it was really at her dad's house oblivious to the meeting of her boyfriend and mom. Seeing the detailed portrait next to the boy she doubted being enough for Daya brought tears to her eyes that she held back. Someone spent hours painting my child. She thought getting a big house with a husband was what would tell her she did something right in her life, but she was wrong it was his portrait that Ziyah held that told her even if she mentally fucked Daya up she was still going to have a better life than her with or without Ziyah.
"You're a good painter," she said. Those were the last words Janelle said before saying her goodbyes and getting in her car where she stared at her phone screen where a picture of her pregnant with Daya was lit up.