The Last Black Unicorn(14)

My auntie Gina, she taught me how to dance. We would dance together, but that was so I could dance with her at weddings and make her look good. Having a little girl copying her moves. But I don’t think it was because she loved me or liked to spend time with me or dance with me. That was just to make her shine.

My auntie Mary, she would do my hair. She would sing songs with me and stuff, but that was because she was rehearsing for her own thing. She’d be like, “Now, you do backups.”

Now that I think about it, she was teaching me about music and performing, but really that was her getting ready for her own shit. It wasn’t about me. It was about her looking good.

I didn’t get much from my family, so I tried to be a gangbanger. But they wouldn’t let me gangbang.

When I was a foster kid, I would have to walk through the gang hoods to get to the bus stop. I used to try to holla at all of them. I wanted to be in the gang, because I felt like then I’d be a part of something.

And I’d have me a man. Every gangbanger girl got a gangbanger boyfriend. You had somebody, that’s what I wanted.

But it didn’t work out like that. I couldn’t get into the gang.

Gangbanger: “You too cute. You gonna be something one day. You can come and kick it, but you can’t gangbang with us. If you want a drink or something, you can have a drink.”

Tiffany: “I don’t drink.”

Gangbanger: “You don’t even drink! Take your ass to school, bitch. Get the fuck up off the block.”

Tiffany: “Let me hit the weed.”

Gangbanger: “Your ass can’t hit no weed. You don’t know how to smoke, bitch. Go take your ass home and go read one of those heavy-ass books you got in your backpack.”

They could cuss me out all the time, but I didn’t mind. I just wanted to be a part of something, you know?

And the cool part was, I got to party with them, but didn’t have to do all the terrible shit you have to do to be in a gang. Best of both worlds. Not a lot of shit went my way when I was young, but that did.





Grandma


Like I said, my grandma eventually got custody of me and my siblings when I was fourteen. I was still in the system, because even though my grandmother got custody of me, she wanted to get paid. So we had to go to court and stuff. And the social worker came and checked on us every month and everything. We were with our grandmother, but we were still state property.

Even though my grandmother was my legal guardian, she didn’t want to teach me to drive.

Grandma: “I don’t want to be responsible if you kill somebody. I’m not signing any paperwork.”

I took the driver’s ed class in school, and I did good.

I needed to be able to drive, because at that time I was making money as a hype woman for Bar Mitzvahs, and most of those were out where there wasn’t many bus routes. So I had to get my social worker and a judge to sign that paperwork, for me to be able to get my driver’s license.

I had the money to pay for the driving class and all of that, because of the Bar Mitzvahs. I remember my grandma was like:

Grandma: “Oh you think you just so smart, huh? You just figuring out ways around everything, huh? You think you so smart.”

Tiffany: “Grandma, I’m going to be somebody. I’m going to be something, and I know I’ve got to have a car to do it.”

Grandma: “You got that right, you do.”

I never understood my grandma. She would be so encouraging sometimes, and so mean at other times. I’d be like, I don’t know who this bitch is. I don’t know if she here to help me or she here to hurt me.

When I was eighteen, she put me out. She wasn’t getting paid for me anymore, so she just put me out. I was just homeless.





Daddy


My first real memory of my daddy is when I was three and he head-butted my mom.

She was wearing one of those all-white jumpers like the girls had in the eighties, those sexy jumpers that women used to wear. I don’t know why they were fighting, but I remember being on the couch and screaming loud and stuff and seeing blood. He head-butted my mom, and beat his own head, and blood was pouring down his face and her nose, and her white jumper was just covered with blood, all over.

Not too long ago, I asked my mom about this:

Tiffany: “Was that a dream that I had, that Dad head-butted you and your nose was bleeding?”

Mom: “No, you remember that?”

Tiffany: “Why was y’all fighting?”

Mom: “Because I threw hot water on him.”

Tiffany: “Why did you throw hot water on him?”

Mom: “Because he came in the house at two in the morning, and he didn’t give me the $300 he was supposed to give me, so I went in his wallet and I took the money. And then I found another woman’s number, and I called the number, talked to the lady, and then I boiled some water and threw it on him.”

Tiffany: “You threw boiling water on him?”

Mom: “His skin wasn’t burnt, I just wanted to get him to wake up.”

My dad even admitted this when we briefly reunited.

Dad: “Yeah that happened. She stole my money, so I beat her ass.”

I thought it was some crazy dream I’d had. I remember screaming so hard, till I couldn’t scream anymore, you know like when a baby screams himself out?