Down by Law (14 page)

Whap!
“Who are you talkin' to like that? Huh? I'm tired of telling you to do something and you telling me what you is and ain't gon' do! Now I said get your behind downstairs!” She snatched me out of the chair. “And before you even ask, no you can't come with me! I need a minute to think, so I'm goin' to get me a Pepsi and hang out for a little while. . . .”

 

“Icy? Wassup? You a'ight?”

I sat in the courtyard, on the park bench, my knees pulled into my chest, with my eyes closed, lost in a memory.

“Wassup? What's wrong?”

I opened my eyes and tears slid out from the corners and rolled down my cheeks. K-Rock, who stood in front of me, wiped my tears away and said, “Wassup? What happened to you?”

Despite the left side of my face aching, somehow I managed to smile. “I'm a'ight. I'm good.” I sniffed. “Wassup with you?”

He sat down beside me, dropping his gym bag on the ground. “You lyin' to me now? I thought we were better than that? And evidently, if you out here crying with your lip swollen and busted, then the last thing you are, is a'ight.”

I swallowed, did my best to shake my thoughts and let 'em go. I could feel tears knocking at the backs of my eyes again. “I'm straight. I promise you.”

“You makin' false promises now?” K-Rock looked around the half-empty courtyard, filled only with old junkies, new dealers, and a few dudes sprinkled on the basketball court. “Did somebody out here say somethin' or do somethin' to you?”

I shook my head. The tears were now making their way back to the corners of my eyes and then without warning they fell along the sides of my nose and over my lips.

“Ya man?” K-Rock said, extra hyped. “Yo, what he do? He put his hands on you? Where he at? And you better tell me, 'cause I promise you, he won't touch you again.”

“No. He didn't do nothin' to me.”

“Then tell me! 'Cause I swear to God, seeing you like this is making me mad as hell!”

“It's a lot.” I shrugged. “That's it.”

“What you mean, it's a lot?”

“It just seems like the more time goes on, the worse things get for me.”

“Like what?”

“Like my grandmother threw me out! Told me I had to go and don't ever come back.”

“She threw you out? What? Are you serious?”

“What you think I'ma joke about something like that? Yeah, I'm serious.”

“Why would she do that? You're only sixteen, where does she think you s'pose to go? She didn't mean that. She couldn't've.”

“You think she cares?” I wrinkled my brow. “All that old, fat, and nasty broad cares about is Mr. Bill and Jesus.”

“So this is about Mr. Bill?” He looked taken aback. “Or Jesus?”

“No. This is about Nana never giving a damn. Never talkin' to us. Always talkin' at us. Cussin' us out. Never buyin' us nothin'. Me and Yvette looked like straight dirty girls until Yvette figured out how to boost and not get caught.” I flung the tears that continued to flow down my face.

“Listen.” He draped his arm over my shoulders, pulling me along the side of his chest. “Maybe you should chill with me for a minute and perhaps by the end of the day, your grandmother will have cooled off and you two can talk about it. 'Cause real rap, ain't nothin' out here in these streets and you know that. So you need to make amends and go home.”

“So what you sayin' is that I should beg? I'll sleep outside on this bench first.” I took his arm from around me and sat up straight. “Never. I ain't never speakin' to her again. And she better not ever need nothin' from me! I wouldn't care if she was on fire 'cause I wouldn't even spit on her. And Yvette, I promise you, I'ma kill her. And I put that on everything.”

“Yo, what? Yvette? Wassup with that? That's your girl. Your cousin. Why you trippin' like that? Cousins fight all the time. Y'all need to squash that beef.”

“Psst. Please. She did this to my face and I tried to stomp her until her crackhead lungs collapsed.”

“Crackhead? Yvette?”

“Yeah, Yvette. Dirty-ass Flip been messin' wit' her since we was little. Kamari is his baby and everything.”

“I can't believe that.”

“Believe it. And in a minute she gon' be a straight alleyway broad, turning tricks for a hit. I already see it. And Nana wanna play dumb, 'cause Flip probably stealing and paying her so he and Yvette can get high there and Kamari—” I stopped mid-sentence, my words suddenly caught up in the grip of the iron fist wedged into my throat.

I looked around and the courtyard was filled with more people. Some folks headed to work and a few more dealers taking their place on the concrete.

K-Rock kissed me on my forehead and said, “Look, you can't sit here like this and plus you need some ice on your face. So why don't you come over to my crib?”

I squinted, surprised at his suggestion.

“Don't be looking at me like that. What, you can't hang out with me on my side of town for a while? What else you got to do? Or you tryna stay here and make yourself comfortable on this park bench?”

I chuckled. “You already know the answer to that.”

“Then let's go. And no dissin' the Batmobile, either,” he said, as we walked up on a dark brown Rabbit hatchback, with a black passenger door, and purple tinted windows. If my mouth wasn't so sore I would've fallen out in laughter. Instead my eyes danced in delight.

K-Rock placed the key in the ignition and then looked at me like he could read my thoughts. “Knock it off.” He laughed, as he took off up the street. “I don't have that hustle dough anymore. I'ma college boy and right about now that means I'm—”

“Broke.”

“Saving my money.” He gave me a playful frown. “You tryna play me?”

“Never.”

“I'm just checkin', 'cause see the difference in the money I had then and the money I have now isn't really the amount—it's the risk associated with it. I don't have to wake up in prison, somebody tryna put a gun to my head, or worse, dead.”

“Boy, that's life.”

“It don't have to be. It's a whole world out here and er'body ain't tryna get drug money or be a stick-up artist.”

“Everybody got a hustle. It's just a matter of the one you choose. You trying to go to school, for what? To hustle for somebody else? To take the dough they think you should have? I mean, I'm not exactly knocking this college thing. I'm just saying that if you make more money on the block, then I don't see the need to leave.”

“Icy, you gotta stop thinking like that. It's a lot out here and just because you go to a nine to five everyday doesn't mean you can't get what you want.” K-Rock pulled into a small driveway that sat alongside a red brick house with black shutters and a screened-in porch.

“You live here?” I looked around at the tree-lined street, the flowers in the front yards, and the freshly manicured lawns.

“Yeah.” He got out the car and opened my door. “Now come in, let me introduce you to my father and stepmother.”

My eyes grew wide. “This is where you're from or did you just move here? And father and stepmother? Where's your real mother? And I can't meet them, looking like this. You can't be serious!”

“Would you relax? Chill. One thing at a time. My father and stepmother raised me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, when I was two, I got shot by a stray bullet.”

I gasped.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Popped in the chest, a few inches from my heart. I could've died. It scared my dad, and since my mother couldn't afford to move, I went to live with him and I been here ever since.”

“So how did you get to Da Bricks?”

“My mother lives around the corner. I used to spend weekends with her and on one of those weekends, I met Face. We became friends and you know the rest. Now are we gon' sit out here in the car while you interview me or are you gon' come in the house?”

“I can't go in your house looking like this. I don't want your parents thinking I'm some sort of ghetto-hood-skeezer or somethin'.”

K-Rock pulled in and pushed out a deep breath. “Look, after I introduce you to my parents, when and if they ask you what happened, just tell them you were hanging out at the gym with me, you were playing around with the boxing bag, when it swung back and hit you in the face. They won't ask any more questions after that.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

I followed K-Rock, and the moment we walked into his house, his parents, who were sitting on a black leather couch talking, both stopped and looked over at me. His father cracked a half a smile and his stepmother looked at me with concern. “What happened to you, baby?” she asked before K-Rock could even introduce me.

“Umm.” I hesitated.

“She was hanging out with me at the gym and the boxing bag swung back—”

“Say no more,” his father said. “That has happened to me one too many times.”

“Told you,” K-Rock mumbled. “Anyway, Ma, Dad, this is Isis. A friend of mine. These are my parents.”

“Nice to meet you, Isis,” his stepmother said. “But I think you better let Ke'Ron take you into the kitchen and give you some ice for your face.”

“Thank you.” I looked over at K-Rock. “Come on,
Ke'Ron
. I need some ice please.”

He laughed, as we headed into the kitchen. He dumped a tray of ice cubes into a plastic bag and handed it to me, and then we settled in his room, which was located in the basement. It was cool though. There was a full-size bed, a small green leather couch, and a floor-model TV, and on the walls were wood shelves that held boxing medallions and tons of trophies.

“How long have you been boxing?” I asked, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

“Since I was nine.” He turned the television on and
Sanford and Son
filled the screen.

“That's amazing. So you must love it.”

“It's cool.”

“You know what I've always wanted to do? And don't laugh.” I pointed a finger at him.

“What?”

“Ice-skate.” I pinched the ends of my T-shirt and swayed from side to side. “I used to love imagining that I was on the ice, skating, and dancing effortlessly in my tutu.”

“Word? Have you ever ice-skated?”

“No. Daddy promised to take me, but it never happened.”

“I'll take you.”

“For real?” I squealed.

“Yeah. When I come back home for Thanksgiving, I'll come scoop you and we'll go ice-skating.”

“That would be so dope.”

“Yeah, it would be.” He stared at me and I knew a million things were on his mind.

“Whatchu thinking?” I asked him.

“About I wish your life was different.”

I shrugged. “These are the breaks.”

“It can change though. You gotta believe that life can be different. That it's okay to dream about more than gettin' money in the streets.”

“K-Rock—excuse me, Ke'Ron—please. Don't turn into a just-say-no commercial on me. I'm really not in the mood for you to sweat me like that.”

“You need to learn to listen sometime.”

“And I don't wanna hear that either. It's only ten o'clock in the morning and already I've had a long day. I don't know where I'ma live. I don't have no money. Nothing. Therefore, this whole ‘life is what you make it, all you gotta do is believe it' nonsense is that last thing I wanna hear. So, save the lectures please.”

“I'm not lecturing you. I'm tryna save you.”

“But I don't need you to be Superman, Clark Kent. I already have a man.”

“Oh, word.” I can tell by how he said that I'd pissed him off. “Where your man at now? 'Cause I don't see him. And you worried about Yvette getting turned out—from where I'm sitting you better make sure your man don't end up trying to be your pimp.”

I felt like he'd just drop-kicked me. “What? I can't believe you just said that to me! What, you think you better than me, 'cause you living out here in the suburbs and all you cut out to do is play hood? Here I thought you was a real dude and all this time you looking down on me!”

“Don't come at me like that. Hood is the last thing I play. You already seen me in the street so don't test me. And look down on you? You my people. My little sister—”

“If I hear that again I'ma scream!”

He continued, as if he hadn't heard a word that I said. “And you know I wouldn't never look down on you!”

“All I know is what I see.”