A name holds power. It’s descriptive and points to a legacy. Most of us aren’t taught that, though. We aren’t given names with meaning or power. We aren’t taught that our very beings are vessels of purpose. My mother named me Queen Trinity Jones. She was seventeen years old when she met my father who was twenty-one at the time. She was an honor-roll student, what you would call a square. My father was a popular drug dealer; they called him Twin because he had a twin brother he loved dearly, but was murdered by OPD after having a shootout with them after a petty robbery. They say they were polar opposites. My uncle was flashy, popular, and always had the latest fashions, while pops was more low-key. My parents met one day when my mother was walking home from high school. My dad and his friends were hanging on the corner when my dad stopped her. The rest, they say, is history. They were joined at the hip. You would never see one without the other. My dad ended up getting them a place once he found out Mom was pregnant with me. They tell me that they were so excited about their baby girl. My mother graduated and waddled across her high school stage to receive her diploma, graduating with honors. They say she was little in stature but strong in spirit. She was determined, and bold. They say my dad was so proud of her, he really loved her, and everyone knew it.
Their apartment was full of baby clothes and toys in preparation of my arrival. My mother’s parents were traditional and extremely religious. They weren’t so hot about pops, or the news of my arrival, but Mom always showed them respect and checked in. My dad’s mother and father were both out in the streets, My father’s brother was the only support system he really had. My dad was proud of his soon-to-be family; he had never had one. MeMau says my dad was a tall handsome man. Deep chocolate skin and waves deep like the ocean. He had an infectious smile with deep dimples, and he was always laughing and cracking jokes. They say I get my smile and dimples from him.
MeMau says even though she didn’t particularly care for pops, she thought it was cute to see him and Mom walking down the street, this big six-foot dude walking with this little five-foot girl, the two of them just smiling and gazing into each other’s eyes. Mom was chocolate brown, but not as deep a shade as pops. She had long curly hair; people always thought she was mixed with something. She blessed me or cursed me, should I say, with her curves, full breasts, large thighs and legs, slim waist, and an extended derriere. While Dad was friendly and welcoming, Mom was quieter, observant. MeMau says she had a strong discernment. Her name was Hadassah; MeMau named her after Queen Esther. My father’s name was Haran. Dad called me his “little queen” so much while I was in the womb that together they decided it would be my name: Queen.
My grandfather told me a story that my mother shared with him once. He said one day, she had just come from shopping in the city. My dad was busy hustling, so he sent her to get some nice things, so she would be occupied until he was through. On her way home, she saw a young girl who looked to be her age sitting at the bus stop. Mom told Grandpa that she couldn’t stop staring at the girl. She was sitting with her head down and appeared to be sleeping. “Excuse me, you good”? The girl raised her head and explained that she came to the BART station to sleep because she was homeless, and when she slept under the overpasses, the men messed with her and stole her things. She looked to be fifteen years old, but what caught my mother’s attention was how beautiful the young girl was. How did she end up here? Mom thought to herself while secretly wondering if she was moving too fast in her own young life. My mom asked her if she could pray for her, and when she asked the young girl her name, she told her it was Trinity.
When I finally came into the world, my parents showered me with nice things. I have pictures of them taking me to Disneyland at age two. I had every tennis shoe you could think of. When were younger we often equate love with “stuff.” The more stuff we have, the more loved we are. We tend to undervalue things like stories, making dinner together, these things have somehow lost their value. The “stuff” has replaced it. Movies, trips, clothes, and dinners are desires that never seem to be satisfied. By the time I was five, my parents began to mature. My father had traded in the streets for a construction business, and my mother was working as a tax preparer. A lot of their old friends were happy, but a few of them were upset they were making all these new changes. My dad bought us a house and every weekend it seemed like they were throwing a barbeque or a party for the old crew. People would come to our house and see all of our nice things and get jealous. My mom knew it; she would tell my dad all the time, but my dad was the people person, the life of the party. He didn’t want anyone to say that he had “changed,” or “forgot where he came from.” “I’m gone always stay loyal to the streets; they made me,” pops would often boast.
One night some guys broke into our new house. They kicked the door in and took all our TVs, stereos, they even took a secret stash my dad had hidden. MeMau says it was like they knew exactly where everything was. They stole his guns and his jewelry, and then they shot my parents. MeMau says I was in my room sleeping. They shot my dad eleven times. She says there had to have been an angel of protection with me because they didn’t even come into my room and I slept the whole night through. She said that morning she got a premonition. She kept calling the house phone and nobody would answer, which wasn’t like Mom. She came over that morning and used her spare key to open the door. She said she knew before she even turned the key. Said the Lord prepared her. When she walked in the house, she just knew. Clothes and dishes were everywhere, all that nice stuff destroyed. When she opened my parents’ bedroom door, she found my father lying over my mother. They had died in each other’s arms. She said I didn’t wake up until she screamed.