18. Corinthians
Corinthians
“She’s got into another fight,” my teacher Mrs. Law told Madea. I’d been sent home earlier today, only for Madea to bring me back after school for a meeting.
“I’m aware,” Madea replied. “I talked to the principal.” She glanced at Mr. Marshall before turning her attention back to Mrs. Law.
Mr. Marshall wasn’t going to say too much of anything.
Typically, he let the teachers handle the meeting about students' behavior. He always said that he wasn’t in the classroom, so he wasn’t getting the full picture, just bits and pieces of two.
“I’m recommending that Corinthians be sent to another school.”
“Why?”
“This is her fourth fight this year,” Mrs. Law explained with a sigh. The way she looked, you would think that she was starting to take these fights personally. “She’s-“
“Corinthians doesn’t start them,” Madea cut in. I never did. “She’s never the aggressor. As a matter of fact, she doesn’t even fight back.”
“Which is the problem, Mrs. DeCorte; they know that she won't fight back. She’s walking around with a black eye and busted lip because they know that. This school isn’t safe for her.”
“She’s fine; her cousins are here.”’
“And they keep getting suspended for taking up for her; that’s not fair to them.
” I never asked them to, but they did anyway.
Madea and Granddaddy said we were always to stick together.
“They are losing out on their education because she won't fight back. She’s allowing herself to be a punching bag. She’s a smart girl-”
“Corinthians.”
“What?” Mrs. Law’s face twisted in confusion.
“You keep saying ‘she’ instead of her name. It’s Corinthians; say her name, stop calling her she,” Madea told Mrs. Law. “Every time we discuss Corinthians, you say she, every conference, every phone call. It’s always she.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Mrs. Law denied with a shake of her head. I noticed it too, since the first day she never said my name. It was always she, her, girl, never my name.
“Of course you don’t,” Madea laughed. “Just know that I’ve noticed it; say her name or don’t say shit.”
“Mrs. DeCorte, we are here to discuss Corinthians future at this school,” Mr. Marshall said, intervening. He’d dealt with Madea enough to know she would cuss Mrs. Law out if she kept making her mad. “As Mrs. Law stated, Corinthians has been involved in multiple fights this year.”
Madea glanced at me before sighing and nodding. “I’m aware, but if she hasn’t done anything to anyone, then I don’t see the point of this conversation.”
“She needs help, professional help,” Mrs. Law replied, then sat back in her seat and crossed her arms.
“Professional help?” Madea repeated with a laugh. “What exactly does that mean, Mrs. Law?”
“Look, I know in our community that’s frowned on, but she needs it, Mrs. DeCorte. She’s young, but she’s been through a lot. Her parents' death affected her more than we realize, and it’s starting to show.”
“She’s in therapy,” Madea replied. I go every Tuesday after school.
I sit in my therapist's office for an hour, saying nothing, just staring out of the window while she works.
She gave up on me talking a long time ago and said there was no reason even to try.
Instead of pushing me, she works on notes or whatever else she needs, and I sit there.
I get to just be, not worry about anything or anyone else.
For an hour once a week, I get to just be quiet, and no one asks me to talk.
“Has been since the day we brought her home from the funeral. All of the kids have been.”
“And each of them expresses their emotions differently. Genesis likes to laugh and be the center of attention. Judge is quiet, Exodus is bossy, Mercy is locked in on basketball, and Psalms knows every plant you set in front of her.”
“I’m well aware of how my grandchildren are handling their grief; it’s only been three years. They're entering a new stage in their lives. Their adjustment is-“
“Corinthians isn’t adjusting,” Mrs. Law interrupted.
I was probably the most adjusted. I’d come to terms with my parents' death before it happened. I prayed for it more nights than I could remember. “She’s quiet; she doesn’t talk.
She’s been in my class since September; it's March, and I have yet to hear her say a word. I asked around before coming to you about this, but no one has heard her say a word in three years.”
“Is she a bad student?” Madea quickly asked her.
I could see she was getting upset. Her left hand tapped against her thigh, and every so often she would move just a little in her seat.
She was trying to control herself, not to cuss out Mrs. Law like she did with every other teacher before her when it came to me and not talking.
Madea and Granddaddy said I would talk when I was ready.
So did my therapist. She said when I had something to say, I would say it. “Well?”
“No.”
“Is her work complete and meeting expectations?” Madea asked.
“She’s beyond her peers.”
“Then leave it alone, Mrs. Law,” Madea told her. “I’m aware that Corinthians not speaking can be hard. I’ve never said it wasn’t, but I can't just make her speak.”
Mrs. Law looked at me. Her dark eyes took me in, and for a moment I saw the disgust in her eyes. “It’s disturbing to have her in my class and never hear her voice.”
Madea let out a small laugh, stood, then signaled for me to stand.
She took my hand, adjusted her purse on her shoulder with her free hand, then looked at Mrs. Law.
“You are disturbed by the fact you haven’t heard her voice in 6, almost 7, months, but I haven’t heard my granddaughters' voice in three years. I’m not disturbed by that, Mrs. Law; I’m heartbroken.
The last time I heard her voice was the day we buried her parents.
So not only did I bury my children and their spouses, but I lost the sound of my baby’s voice. ”
“Mrs. DeCorte-“
“I’ll be requesting that Corinthians be transferred from your class for the remainder of the year,” Madea said, looking at Mr. Marshall, who nodded, and then we walked out of the classroom.
I lowered my head as we walked out of the building.
Madea stopped walking, and I felt her hand go under my chin.
“Lift your head. Never let a bitch see you with it down.” She lifted my head to look at her.
“I don’t care what they say, do, or how they feel.
You will talk when you’re ready.” She let go of my face, and we left the building.
There was no conversation on the car ride home, only music.
Madea sang along to every song that came on the radio, and I stared out the window.
When we pulled into the driveway, Krude and Exodus were playing in the yard while Judge sat on the steps reading and Mercy dribbled her basketball near him.
The garage door was open, and Granddaddy was working on his car while Psalms sat at the workbench potting a plant.
“I meant what I said,” Madea said, shutting off the car. “Fuck them.”
“Get out of that car, Mary,” Granddaddy called out as he worked on his car. “I already know you caused some hell at that school.”
She rolled her eyes, then opened her door and got out of the car. “I did not,” she laughed and shut her door. I did the same.
“Yeah, I bet you didn’t,” he replied. “Corinthians, come on and talk to your granddaddy.” I walked over to the garage and sat on the small stool next to Psalms. She looked over at me, smiled, then went back to doing whatever she did with her plants.
Even though she was working, she rested her head against my shoulder.
“Alright, so I want to talk to you about something.” He stopped working on his car, wiped his hands on his towel that he kept in his back pocket, then looked over at Madea.
“Me and your grandmama been talking about this for a minute, but I think it’s time. ”
“Time for what, Granddaddy?” Psalms asked as she continued to work.
“For y’all to learn how to fight,” he answered.
I looked up at him, confused, and instantly got sad.
That was the same thing Daddy said to us before we went to meet Robert.
I felt Psalms’ body tense, and she stopped moving.
“I know y’all daddy had y’all in boxing, but I don’t think that shit was worth a damn.
” He adjusted his pants then looked over at my cousins.
“Ay, come on over here right fast.” Everyone stopped what they were doing and ran over to Granddaddy.
“As I was saying, it’s time for y’all to learn to defend yourself. ”
“Granddaddy, we can fight,” Exodus said, crossing his arms. “You know that.”
“Is this because them kids picking on Corinthians?” Mercy asked. “Because if it is, then don’t worry about it because I plan to make my rounds in Turner Row.”
“Don’t go down to TR trying to fight anybody just yet,” Granddaddy chuckled and shook his head. “And nah, this just ain’t about them bad-ass kids bothering Corinthians. It’s about y’all being able to protect yourselves and, if need be, handle any situation y’all in.”
“What you mean?” Krude asked, his head tilted to the side, and he smirked. “You gonna let me get some nunchucks so I can pop them in the head?” He pretended he had a pair and moved his hands around his body. “I’m ready, OG; I've been practicing for this my entire life.”
“Of course you have, Krude,” he replied, nodding. “But this is just a little more intense.”
“How intense?” Exodus slowly asked.
Granddaddy wiped his hands over his mouth, then glanced at Madea, who hadn’t said anything. “What y’all know about my past?” he finally asked. “Besides the fact that I’m a preacher?”
“You killed people,” Exodus answered with a shrug. “Folks from TR, from what I heard. You became a preacher because you liked to be the last person they saw before they died.”