Like It's Normal

By Sarah Lovell

Shiah begins her life as a confused girl who is trying to find her way. Her life begins with a mix of distrust, trauma and dramatic events that changed her view of the world forever. Follow her as she experiences Heaven, Hell, and everything in between.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Jun 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781642376739

Book preview

LIKE ITS

NORMAL

SARAH T LOVELL

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Like It’s Normal

Published by Gatekeeper Press

2167 Stringtown Rd, Suite 109

Columbus, OH 43123-2989

www.GatekeeperPress.com

Copyright © 2019 by Sarah Lovell

All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

ISBN (paperback): 9781642376722

eISBN: 9781642376739

Printed in the United States of America

Sitting in a solitary state, her left leg propped up on the window sill and her right leg outstretched to the floor to keep her from toppling over, she pressed her cheek up against the glass so she could feel its coldness. The feeling kept her from floating away completely. As she stared out into a world she knew didn’t understand her, she allowed her jaw to drop slightly. This was as relaxed as she ever got. Here in her room, alone. This was her time. These were the moments when she was able to drift off into her other world, the world that everyone else called a simple trance. They didn’t know, nor would they ever understand, the solace she found here.

Just as lonely as she could be, this was the way to describe little Shiah. She was ten years old, with hazel-green eyes, frizzy black hair, and a long, tall body. She was a beautiful mix of Italian and black, with skin like milk and caramel mixed together. Her black friends called her light bright, damn near white. Most like something they had learned at home to describe anyone who was lighter than they were. Her white friends didn’t call her anything but Shiah, and even though people were always asking her what she was, white, black, or Cape Verdean, she didn’t know enough about herself to even give them an answer.

What are you? they would ask.

She had never really thought about being black, white, or anything else, and the only time she did think about it was when someone asked her. Even then, she didn’t have an answer for them, and she really didn’t care either way. Why did anyone care what she was? She could never understand why anyone would be concerned about that. She was a girl, and that was all she thought mattered.

As far back as she could remember, she’d felt out of place. There was always this nagging feeling that made her feel separate from everyone, even her own family. She was convinced that the reason she felt this way was that she must have been adopted, but she was never able to share this feeling with her mother.

Her mother, Janice, was a serious woman, in her early thirties, with beautiful blue eyes, and sandy colored hair. Janice was very busy with college and her job. She loved her daughter, but was not very affectionate toward her, and sometimes Shiah even felt as if she were a burden to the woman. Janice yelled at Shiah often, and had limited patience with her. She never knew what she was doing wrong, but felt like no matter what, she couldn’t ever make her mother happy.

Shiah didn’t think her thinking this way, and she didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings, so she would secretly search through her Janice’s things when no one was home, hoping to find the adoption papers that she was sure existed somewhere.

Her secret search would usually take place on a day when she’d pretended to be sick, and stayed home from school, or on a Sunday when her mother was at church and she wanted to stay home. Her mother’s bedroom was in the front of the house, and there was a huge picture window on the side of the room facing the driveway, so she could see if her mother was coming up the driveway. The last thing she needed was to get caught, and have to explain why she was doing something that probably wouldn’t make sense to anyone but herself.

With the curtains half closed, she’d creep into the room and make her way over to the set of drawers she knew her mother kept paperwork in. Sitting on the floor, but listening intently to the outside for any movement in the driveway, she started looking through everything. Her heart was beating so hard inside her chest, she could hardly hear herself think.

Despite her desperation, she never seemed to find anything, and also never seemed to have enough time to look through everything. Her mother always came back too soon, and all she ever found were bills and other boring stuff that had nothing to do with her.

Not finding the proof she needed to confirm her suspicions didn’t stop her from having them. It was a feeling that wouldn’t go away. She just couldn’t shake it, no matter how hard she tried.

It may have been the questions about her nationality that made her start to look at herself as anything other than just who she had always thought she was, and to finally see a difference between her and the rest of her family. She had started to look at everyone else she was related to, and realized that she was the only one with her kind of frizzy, kinky hair. She also noticed that her skin was a little darker than the rest of them, her lips were fuller, and her butt was definitely bigger and rounder than everyone else’s.

Since she never found any hidden papers in her mother’s things, eventually she gave up her search for her real family. Everyone in her family told her that they loved her, but she couldn’t absorb it, take it in, or receive it.

When she asked about her biological father, her mother told her that he used to hit her a lot, and that he also used to abuse her verbally, calling her worthless, and a fucking bitch all the time. Once, when she was pregnant, she’d been throwing up over and over, and he was leaving with one of his friends. She begged him not to leave.

Fuck you, bitch, was all he said to her, and walked out the door.

He was also a drug addict, and brought home other addicts. Janice told Shiah the story of a night when she walked into the bathroom and found him with a needle in his arm. She tried many times to help him, but he didn’t want her help, and was more hateful to her than he was to anyone. They lived in California, and her Mom was in college at the time. She had sustained a beating by Shiah’s father one weekend, and showed up to one of her classes with a black eye. The professor in the class noticed the bruising, and made a call to Shiah’s grandfather back in their home state. Her grandfather immediately got on a plane and came to get them, brought them back home with him, and they never looked back.

Her mother said that after they moved away, her father had never even looked for them, and his family didn’t either. That was why she hadn’t had a dad in the beginning of her life.

Shiah always wondered why he didn’t love her enough to see her or talk to her. It made her feel so lonely and rejected. Why didn’t he write her letters or send any birthday cards? Maybe he just didn’t like her. Didn’t he want to see her grow up, go to college like her mom, and maybe walk her down the aisle one day?

Wasn’t that what dads did? They loved their baby girls with all their hearts. They protected them from all things scary and evil. Not this father.

Kneeling next to her bed, with her hands folded tightly together, she would pray, Dear, God. Please bring me a dad. I really need a dad. Sometimes she would say her prayer through tears.

Not having a father left its mark. All the kids at school had dads, and she hated the way she felt watching the other kids with their moms and dads, seeing those families all together. Some of them would even ask her, How come you don’t have a Dad?

It felt like someone kicked her directly in the stomach when they asked that. She missed something she had never had. Was that even possible?

Time passed, and although she thought a lot about the man she never knew, she stopped crying about it, and. this ghost became an afterthought while remaining an ache in her young soul.

All of a sudden, she began to notice that her mother was spending time with someone. His name was Stan and he came over sometimes to visit. He was over six feet tall, with really black hair and giant blue eyes. His voice was deep and he always seemed so gentle when he spoke. He was so nice, and seemed really interested in her mother. He looked at her in a way that Shiah had never seen before. He was giving her mom gifts and one Christmas, even bought Shiah a bike that he had put together himself. She liked when he came around. She could see that he was good, and he made her mom happy.

One night, Stan and Janice sat Shiah down and said they wanted to have a talk with her. Shiah, I love your mother and you very much," Stan said to her.

Shiah crinkled up her nose and looked at him. What was he talking about? She knew that already.

Honey, what Stan is saying is that he has asked Mummy to marry him.

Shiah’s heart skipped in her chest about a hundred times. I also love you too and I want to adopt you. I want to be your father, Stan said

This made Shiah begin to cry. The joy she felt after waiting so long for a father was overwhelming, and now she realized that her dream was coming true.

Stan and Janice were married on a beautiful Spring day, and Shiah was the flower girl. She cried tears of joy all day, and danced with her new dad at the reception. He towered over her, so she stood on his feet when they danced. He loved her already, and promised to take care of her and protect her. She was finally happy.

Even after they were married, and she grew up having a wonderful father in her life, Shiah did miss the father who wasn’t there. Even though she was a very loved child, she still felt angry almost all the time. Everything seemed to get her upset. Sometimes even when good things happened, she wasn’t able to handle it. She would get this twisting feeling in her belly, and it would be hard for her to breathe. This was not normal for a little girl, although constantly feeling out of place was something that she had begun to get used to.

Her parents worked hard to support her, and her mother was also still going to college, so while Janice went to work and classes, Shiah attended a day care center. Even though she tried to make friends, she had a very hard time with it.

There was this one girl in particular who seemed to hate her. Her name was Rachel. No matter how nice she tried to be to this girl, the girl didn’t like her. Not only did she not like Shiah, but she said the meanest things to her. Rachel was so vicious to