4. Corinthians
Corinthians
“What happened to your hand?” My cousin Mercy asked as she dribbled her basketball.
Her daddy made her practice every day, no matter what.
He said she would be the first woman in the NBA.
Her dark eyes were focused on my hand; the bandage was starting to itch, but I didn’t take it off.
I didn’t like the look of the scar that was forming.
“Is that one of the things that happened when you got jumped?”
“Yeah,” I said, putting my hand behind my back.
That was the story my daddy told everyone I got jumped by some older girls at the park one day.
When my family was ready to ride out, my daddy said he would take care of it.
That night, he got in his car, drove around the local projects called Turner Row, and shot at a group of people.
No one thought twice about it. He was a DeCorte; if he was making moves, it was for a reason.
No one besides me, Bug, and our mama knew he was lying, and he expected it to stay that way.
“I still can't believe they did that to you,” Mercy said, shaking her head. “I’m glad Uncle Ruben got them.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled in response. I wasn’t trying to have the same conversations again. The less I talked about it, the better; that way, I didn’t have to remember what I lied about.
The sound of the front door opening and slamming shut made me look up.
Our other cousin, Judge, stood by the door, a science book in his hand and a mug on his face.
He glared at me, his brow going up as he pushed his big glasses back up his nose.
“Krude is in there singing,” he sighed. “I’m tired of listening to the Lion King soundtrack. ”
“I thought he broke that tape,” Mercy said with a laugh.
“Madea bought him another one,” he mumbled as he stomped down the steps and walked past us. “All I keep hearing is him singing. My ears hurt.”
Even though I didn’t want to laugh, I did.
Judge was a grumpy old man, or at least that’s what Madea called him.
He always complained about Krude, but he never let anyone else say anything negative about him.
They were opposites: Judge serious, Krude silly.
But they were always together; if you saw one, everyone knew that the other wasn’t too far behind.
“I heard he asked Madea for a fanny pack for his birthday,” Mercy said as she went back to dribbling. “His mama is going to get it for him.”
“You think so?” Judge asked with renewed interest. I shrugged, and Mercy nodded.
“I’m going to save my money just in case she doesn’t.
” Judge pulled out a small notebook and pen from his back pocket, wrote something down, and then put them away.
“I have fifty dollars saved up already. That should cover it, but just in case it doesn’t, I’ll save up a little bit more. ”
“How did you get fifty dollars?” Mercy asked.
“I beat up the Kilmore brothers,” Judge answered with a smile.
“Why?”
“One of them was messing with a girl on the bus the other day. She said he was being mean to her, pulled her hair, and said some stuff she didn’t like.
” He shrugged his shoulders, then gave a rare smile.
“One of the girls came to me on the playground with a bunch of money and said she would pay me to beat one of them up, so I did it.”
“That’s why you got detention?” Mercy asked, surprised, and Judge nodded. “What did your parents say?”
“My mama was mad; she said I shouldn’t be fighting, and at first, my daddy was too until he saw the Kilmore boy.
After that, he got me ice cream.” He pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“Your daddy was there, Corinthians. He said my daddy needs to get me into some clubs or a boxing ring. Your daddy said he had a place in mind.”
“Tell them you don’t want to do it,” I quickly said, shaking my head. The bobs in my hair clicked against each other as I moved. “Judge, tell them you don’t want to go.”
“Why not?” He pushed his glasses up again. “I’m good at it. Not as good as Cross or Exodus, but I’m not the worst one in the family.” Cross and Exodus were the best fighters. He looked at the door and smirked. “The worst fighter is Psalms.”
“Psalms is not the worst!” I jumped up and stomped my foot. “She’s a little kid; she’s just learning.”
“All she does is cry,” Judge said, shaking his head. “I know you love your little sister, but you have to admit it. She’s not the best. Maybe fighting isn’t for her. She likes dirt and flowers. Maybe she is too girly to fight.”
“She doesn’t need to fight,” I told him. “She has me, and I’ll fight for her.”
“You can't fight all her battles, Corinthians,” he dismissively said. “She’s going to have to fight for herself eventually. You won't always be around to protect her.”
“Yes, I will,” I said, nodding. “I will always protect her because she’s my little sister. Maybe you don’t understand what that’s like because you don’t have a brother or sister; none of you do, but I do. Bug is mine to protect, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“You can't even protect yourself,” he said, pointing to my hand. “Your daddy had to go find who beat you up.” Judge shrugged and looked around. He wasn’t normally this mean, but he was always this blunt.
His face morphed from bored to concerned.
“Maybe you need more time practicing.” He nodded, then sighed.
“Fine, I’ll go get Krude, and we can practice. ”
“I didn’t ask you to get Krude,” I said as he passed me.
“You didn’t have to; I told you I was,” Judge replied as he went up the steps and to the front door.
“He needs to get away from the TV anyway; they say it destroys brain cells, and Krude needs all of his.” He opened the door and went inside without closing it.
“Krude! Stop singing, sounding like a hyena from Pride Rock, and come outside. Corinthians can’t really fight, so we need to show her some stuff. ”
Krude's singing stopped immediately, and he came running to the door. “Corinthians, you can't fight?” he asked with a concerned look. His face twisted in confusion. “Is that why you got beat up, and your hand is cut? That knocked the lessons out of your brain?”
“I know how to fight,” I told him.
Judge came to stand next to him. “I don’t think she does,” Judge declared. “We have to teach her everything over again.”
“Works for me,” Krude said, shrugging. “I saw some moves on TV that I want to try out anyway. On WWE, one of them jumped off the ropes, wrapped his legs around another guy's neck, and squeezed until they tapped out. Corinthians is small enough that she could do that and survive.”
“And if she doesn’t, we can practice our first aid; I’m pretty sure I’m strong enough to do chest compressions now,” Judge offered.
“You got a pen on you?” Krude asked Judge.
Judge dug into his pocket, pulled out the pen he'd used earlier, and handed it to him. “Here,” he said. “Why do you need it?”
“Cross told me this morning, while we were eating breakfast, that she watched a TV show and they used a pen to open someone’s airway. I want to see if she can do it,” he answered, then turned and walked away. “Cross!”
“You know that special place Uncle JD went to with the padded walls and that man who was wearing a pirate hat made out of foil?” Judge asked, and we nodded. “I think Krude is going to end up there, too.” Judge shook his head. “I’ll visit him.”
“Me too,” Mercy laughed. “I liked it there. It was calming.”
“The asylum was calming?” Judge asked, and Mercy nodded. “You’ll be there with him, too.”
The door opened again, and Psalms walked out. She’d been quiet ever since I came home beat up. She sat next to me, rested her head on my shoulder, and twisted her fingers.
“You want to go to the park?” I asked her.
I know my cousins wanted to practice fighting, but I didn’t need to.
I spent all my free time sparring, with Robert and Logan watching.
As soon as I got home from school, Daddy took me to a practice center, which was really the basement of someone’s house.
The only reason I wasn’t there now was that Madea insisted that all her grandchildren come to her house for a few hours.
Daddy tried to argue, but she said either Psalms and I were dropped off, or she came and got us.
“Yes,” Psalms softly answered and nodded her head.
“The park?” Mercy perked up. “I want to go.”
“Okay.” Psalms and I stood, and Mercy ran up the stairs.
“Madea, can we walk to the park?” she yelled through the screen door. We weren’t allowed to leave the yard without permission. The only one who was brave enough to do it was our oldest cousin, Exodus, and he got a whooping every time.
Madea appeared in the doorway with a book in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Her dark eyes scanned us before she smiled and nodded. “Who’s all going?” she asked, then took a sip of her water.
“Just the girls,” Mercy answered with a shrug. “Krude will probably stay and watch The Lion King again, and you know Judge has a book.”
“The boys go too,” Madea replied. “From here on out, you all go, or no one goes. Never leave each other's backs.”
“Is this because Corinthians got beat up?” Mercy asked, and the confusion was evident in her voice.
The smile on Madea’s face dropped, and she narrowed her eyes. “Mercy, do you want to go to the park or not?” she asked her. “Because right now I can think of a million things you can be doing instead. Like going to the church and cleaning the pews.”
“My eyes will be locked on Corinthians,” Mercy said, stepping back.
“I thought that was what you would say,” Madea said, nodding. “Now you and Judge go on in there and get your other cousins and straighten up that backyard while I talk to Corinthians.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison and ran around back.