Paper (2) Nina

It's Nina. Like the number nine with an a. No one ever gets it right. They always say Neena. Of course they would. Who would think nine a? My father was an artist and named me after his grandfather. You thought I was going to say his mother or grandmother or some woman, but no. I'm not sober right now so maybe this will be weird. I don't know.

Wednesday is beach day. That's where I am. Every Wednesday I see my therapist and then I drive out to the beach. I never get out of the car though. I park on PCH and Sunset and sit in my car with a quesadilla from my favorite taco truck and a six pack of wine coolers. I know right. Who drinks wine coolers anymore? I do. Apple. I sit here on Wednesdays and I eat Mexican food and eat snacks and smoke a joint. I watch the waves. I lean the seat back. Sometimes I listen to music. Sometimes a podcast. Today it's Oprah interviewing Whoopi Goldberg. You know Whoopi has a daughter and a grandchild? How didn't I know that?

I don't exactly see my therapist these days. Haven't for months since the shut down. We talk on the phone now. She calls at two and we talk as I'm driving out here. No more Oprah. Ice Cube time. I like Oprah though. Know what I like about Oprah? All the time she's been in the public eye she ain't been parading a slew of bitches in front of us. She keeps her circle small. There's been what? Gail. Um...Gail. Stedman. And Gail. I feel that. "First you was down with the AK and now I see you on the video with Michelle..." Get it Cube. I learned that lesson way too late. Why I'm in therapy now. I was the ugly girl in school. They used to call ugly girls mudducks. 'Member that? I was a mudduck. I wasn't ugly ugly. I just wasn't cute cute. I was a below average looking girl trying to be cute and trying to fit in with the cute girls and get the cute boys to like me. That's what made me mudduck. I didn't know my place. I told my best friend, Reese that Malcolm touched my booty in the 100 hall before first period and she musta told somebody because it got back to him. On the bus after school he mushed my face real hard and yelled for everybody to hear "Don't nobody wanna touch yo flat ass booty! Big nose ass ho!" What could I say?

Shit! Shit! Shit! My daddy is gone. He's dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Last thing I said to him was that he was dead to me. You believe that? Believe I could say something like that to my own father? I loved my father. More than I ever loved anyone in this world. One time in Mrs. Hampton's Sunday school class when I was a little girl she said "Always remember to put Jesus first. Jesus comes before anybody." I raised my hand and said "My daddy comes first. Jesus can come second if he want to." He's gone now. You know how I found out? On Instagram. His wife posted his picture and tagged me. Ain't that some shit? Ain't it?