High Tea

High Tea

High Tea

K. Cimone

Khia Moon Smith

Copyright © 2022 by K. Cimone

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Printing, 2022

Leila, Micah, and Mason

My heartbeats outside of my chest.

My reasons.

My why.

My loves.

Everything I do is for you.  You are my motivation and my fuel.  You keep me going.

I love you forever and always, times infinity.

Contents

Dedication

INTRODUCTION

1 THE MOTHER LOAD

2 HOUSTON BOUND…AND UNBOUND

3 SIS, PUT DOWN THE KOOL-AID!

4 BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP

5 2002

6 2003

7 GUARD YOUR GRILL, GIRL!

8 SECRETS AND LIES

9 THE CROWN LIFE

10 I...DO?

11 P IS FOR PEDOPHILE

12 LIFE

13 I CHOOSE ME

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

To know me is to love me, and that means ALL of me—including this chip on my shoulder that I so begrudgingly refer to as Bebe. Our relationship isn’t the best—actually, it’s the worst! This chip isn’t one that I would tag as a grudge or a grievance. Its more along the lines of disappointment that has slowly morphed into a chip of disdain—all due to her behavior over the years.

If you haven’t guessed it by now, Bebe is my mother. She and I didn’t have a relationship as I was going through my formative years.  As I grew older, the decline grew even more steep. Now, in adulthood, I’m able to see just how much of a negative impact she has had in my decisions and in my life in general. I’m not saying that I blame her for everything bad that has happened to me…but I am saying that I do blame her for a good bit of it. Not to say that I don’t take ownership for my own personal decisions in life—because I most definitely do. I’m a firm believer that there is always a root cause for a person’s actions. That cause doesn’t excuse a person from the consequences of their choices, but it most definitely can be an influence or the reason for their decision to take said action. Learning the root cause can shed light and help immensely in fixing whatever unacknowledged problems there may be.

People that only know of me or who just may not be that close to me usually think of me as harsh, somewhat brash when it comes to the subject of my maternal unit.  I'm often seen as super protective and overanalytical.  But again, to truly know me and my why is to know everything, and up until now, that just wasn’t something that I was ready to let everyone in on--including those who I have been good friends with for years. Letting everyone in on this aspect of my life has been a bit taboo for me. Really, there are only five people in what I like to refer to as my inner circle who had any glimpse of the tragedy that is my familial life…and even they were shielded from a lot of the madness. Until now.

I don’t know if it was a subconscious fear of judgement, of ridicule, or just plain old embarrassment, but it wasn’t until just recently that I’ve gotten to the point of not really caring anymore about whatever people decide to rush to. Either way, it’s time to let go of all of this baggage I’ve been carrying around for decades in the form of a façade, and spill the tea. I’ve been screaming and preaching about self-care, and here I am dragging such heavy weights behind me in an attempt to protect others—others who didn’t give a damn about protecting me and mine. This project has been my own private therapy session. It has allowed me to let go of what I’ve kept locked away for so long, and step into the sunlight. Welcome to my mental and emotional enema.

1

THE MOTHER LOAD

It's all about finding the calm in the chaos

-Donna Karan

Alright, so from the top, here it goes…a little history/background on the reason—well, part of the reason—I am the way that I am. Let me start by saying that my relationship with my maternal unit hasn’t always been as sour as it is today. It truly has been an accumulation of events over the years that has taken us to this place. With each mishap, poor decision, argument, etc., I lost more and more patience and sympathy for this woman.

My maternal unit had me when she was 20yrs old. She was a single mother—but not in the way that we see and view single mothers as nowadays. My biological dad was definitely not the absentee type. He was very much present and still is to this day. In fact, our relationship grew stronger and stronger as I got older, and she got out of the way. But back when I was younger, he was as only as involved as she would allow him to be. Yeah, one of those baby mamas.

I remember one time—I had to be about four—I was with my dad and went to visit his side of the family. I was at my Granny’s, where two of my aunts also lived—one of them was just a teenager still. I spent the night with them which was always so much fun. To everyone, I was like their own little baby doll. Well, with this particular visit, while I was at my Granny’s, it began to rain so hard that it flooded badly, and fast. I remember this also happened to be around the time that my dad was supposed to take me back home. Well, the apartment complex that my Granny lived in and the roads around it were completely flooded and impassable, and there was no chance my dad’s Corvette was going to make it through the water. So, he wrapped be back up in his giant raincoat so I wouldn’t get soaked and we ran back upstairs to my Granny’s apartment and called my maternal unit. The telephone conversation that took place between the two of them, and then with myself, was when I got my first taste of just how irrational and how much of a pill this woman was. While I don’t remember our conversation verbatim, I do remember her saying that I wasn’t going back ever again. I remember hearing my dad’s end of the conversation and him trying to explain that he couldn’t drive through the flood waters and that it wasn’t safe. Whatever else was said between her and my dad must have been something horrible because the next thing that I can definitely recall was one of my aunts pulling me into her room and walk-in closet (she had soooo many of the most beautiful clothes!) and with tears in her eyes, telling me how much she loved me and if we were never able to see each other again, that she wanted me to know that I would always be her baby and that she would always love me no matter what. This whole incident was a lot to try and process—especially at my young age.

Fast forward to the time where I’m about 5yrs old. By this time, she had now been married for maybe two years to her first husband—who to this day, I still adore as a second father. I consider him as much my father as my biological dad. He was already playing the stepdad role, but he stepped up and filled in extra during the times the maternal unit would push my biological father away. Of course, she doesn’t get along great with my stepdad at all anymore. But that’s her pattern—anyone who makes sense and calls her out on her crap becomes an enemy. Go figure. Anyhow…

Now, we are living in California and I’m a big sister to my little brother, who is about five and a half years my junior. I loved living our lives in California. I can still remember exactly where we lived and places we would frequent (thanks Google Maps!). This is where a lot of my friendships and memories were made. It’s just that some of them were sprinkled with not so hot memories and questionable friendships. How so, you ask? Well, buckle up…

Take this lady named Marilyn. She was a neighbor that lived in an upstairs unit across the courtyard from our unit. I haven’t the slightest idea what Bebe was thinking with what she allowed to happen with this lady. In hindsight, Marilyn was definitely an unstable character. I remember her being super nice and imaginative—but now I know that at minimum, she was dealing with some unchecked battles mentally and/or emotionally. She had to be in her mid-50s, and she lived alone…with a house full of dolls and bears. Can we say creepy?! She would invite me over to play dress up and have tea parties with her in her apartment—and Bebe would allow it! I remember times when she would stand on her part of the balcony outside of her apartment—wrapped in nothing but a bedsheet fashioned into something like a tube dress—and nothing else. With her tube-sheet