Victor Lavalle - Slapboxing with Jesus

— I’ll try.

— Try? David sneered. He stepped out of the doorway quickfast and grabbed Nabisase. Then this motherfucker shut the door, locked it and spoke through it. Now what the fuck you going to try?

My eyes focused on the arms, those sad loose things that had not put up a fight. I got angry with them, then with everything else. I kicked the door. Hard. — Gimme back my fucking sister.

— Write the letter.

I swung the baby bag; the bottle inside popped and popped, leaked all its milk.

— Pops isn’t home, so hit that door all you want. But if you get me mad I’ma hurt this girl.

Defeated, I said, — Then give me some paper. I’ll write it now.

Footsteps leaving, footsteps coming back; some paper slid under the door; a pen in my jeans. I sat, squinted as the bad lights shone down their yellow against the yellow tiles and yellow walls until I got dizzy. Writing, it was done in minutes.

He said, — Read it to me or I’ll throw her out to the street.

He was having fun. I imagined Nabisase going out the window, dying on the ground, her legs snapped, frozen at some strange angle. As big as he was, as frightened as he made me, it wouldn’t have been a question, I’d have been through that door so easy.

I read: —You don’t know how many times I’ve seen you, wanted to take your hand, pull tight and look at your face. You’re so pretty it makes me mad. I want to make you forget his name and what he calls you. You think I don’t really care, but what I want for you is so real.

Three locks clacked as he opened the door, handed me Nabisase, took the letter. His smile was something gentle, like he was the doctor who’d delivered my sister and now, here she is. — That’s the shit, he said.

I held her close and she put one hand on each of my cheeks, a sensation I loved.

David pointed. — You write me some more shit like this. You keep it up and I won’t have to bust your ass.

Me, Grandma and Nabisase went to the Botanical Gardens and parked at some benches. The old lady hadn’t wanted such a large family outing. She bribed me with money to leave the two of them alone. Her English was not the greatest; as she gave me the three dollar bills she said, — You mustn’t be greedy for her.

— With, I corrected. I went near the swings at the top of a hill. A tree had fallen and the way it lay, the branches and leaves came together to form a small alcove, a little cave into which you could slide, avoid overheating in the summer. I sloped toward it and peeked in for people.

David lay on his back; the girl on top of him was Michelle. They kissed heavy, her shirt up, almost off, his pants unbuttoned, hand trying extra-hard to get them down further, get his underwear off. My mouth was open, emitting a soft moan I’d have thought too low to hear over their excitement and the wind and traffic nearby, so when they bolted up, her off and over, sliding down her shirt, him buttoning his jeans, I fell backward, tumbled down the hill. I rolled on my ass and back and shoulders and neck, stopping only once I’d reached flat ground.

Grandma, dressed in blue, turned in my direction. Her friends, also old, who had gathered to witness a grandchild, who had crept from their own benches at all ends of the park, they looked at me as well. I stared up, an eye on Michelle who was tall and blond, whose long hair swung evenly like her brother’s when she ran. She lifted herself over the tall black fence that surrounded the Botanical Gardens. I wondered if she was late for work. Once she was out of sight I scanned left and there he was, resting against a stone smoothed down for sitting, watching me, far enough that David’s eyes were impossible to see, but from his expression I knew that I was fucked.

I wrote a letter. In it I made certain things clear, explained that courting her had just been something to do, there had been no love in it, she had just been something to try and get inside. Rough. Honest. At the bottom I signed David’s name, popped it in an envelope, sealed it and walked warily down to Key Food. Todd was inside, at the gumball machine, trying to fool it with slugs. I waved the missive at him, said, — I’ve got something for your sister.

He nodded. — Michelle keeps everything David gives her.

I didn’t say something, merely walked to register nine, slid it to her between customers. She seemed happy to receive. — This is from David? He didn’t have to send me another one.

Todd and I returned to my block, raced on the sidewalk for an hour, until David appeared like out of nothing, as if me tagging the side of my building, the finish line, had been me rubbing a magic lamp to make my torturer appear like some Arabian djinn.

— What are you on, David asked, dust? Todd, suddenly, was gone.

— No, I said.

He brought his hand down on the back of my neck in the grandest of all red-necks. I fell forward into the wall, wished for my mother to open our window and scream out for me, send me to buy a thousand things, just get me far from here. But she didn’t, not my grandmother either; I pictured them too busy stealing time with Nabisase while I was out, mesmerized by a hiccup while their boy came close to death.

— I knew it was stupid trusting you, he said. Now you fucked my shit all up.

Money dragged me hard by the shirt, I tripped behind him as he took me to the backyard. At the seesaws he spoke again, but his tone, he was begging; he was hurt. — Why’d you have to do that? I wasn’t going to ask for no more letters. You did good. I was even going to pay you some money.

I shrugged.

— Say something! He punched me in the arm.

David wanted me to explain and he wanted me to apologize, but I wasn’t sad for having destroyed his little rap. There was this routine, I knew it: two kids fuck, girl goes pregnant, belly grows, baby’s born, someone goes, Mom or Dad. Kid is left with half a temple for worship; kid is left.

— You get to fuck her? I asked, thinking of her brother, Todd, and the trap he’d laid out for her just a few weeks before.

— Yeah, he said. But it wasn’t even about that anymore. Then David was all over me, punching his knuckles into my thighs, pockmarking me with dead-legs. I fell backward, lay there as he hit. My throbbing was constant, seemed normal, pulsations moved up from my knees like the blood rushing through the spiraling pathways of my veins. From nearby he skipped stones at me. Some jumped off in chaotic motions while others attacked at my hands guarding my face, more tapped my ribs. When he came to me, he was not full with the joy I’d have imagined. He whispered, — It’s nothing more to say to you. Every day I’m going to do this.

When I came home the television was on. I made a show at the door, shutting it forcefully, kicking my sneakers off and into the air, but they sat unperturbed. Mom and Grandma seemed to be in too good a mood to let me spoil it. A long white blanket with ruffled edges lay on the floor in front of them, lousy with trinkets: golden plastic pacifier, a set of chewable oversize plastic keys, an elephant with a wind-up trunk that whistled notes through its tusks. I went to the bathroom, washed the dirt from my face and neck, the sweat; dropped my pants and stared at the purple bruises, which were getting darker. — Where’s Nabisase? I called out.

— Let her sleep, my mother yelled back. She sounded annoyed. She was also pleading.

In our room I sat on the bed and listened to the sounds my sister made as she sucked in quick, shallow breaths. She lay in her crib on her back. Even with eyes closed she looked confused, her lips parted in a little o that made her seem awestruck. I put my finger under her nose, left it there until I felt that warm in-and-out of life against my skin. Leaning on the crib made an aching noise. Every few hundred breaths her chest expanded to twice its size as she pulled in a gasp big enough for me. She moved some when this happened. I stayed, interested in the rubbery twists she managed. Moved my hand, sat it purposefully across her mouth and nose like an insect or animal feeding. I whispered, — I can’t keep you safe.