Fear not for I am with you
— Isaiah 41:10 (KJV)
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” The kids in the crowd began to chant. I wondered what all the shouting was about. Meanwhile, one of the older kids whispered in my best friend Maya’s ear. Maya shook her head, then wandered a short distance away before the other kids pulled her back toward the crowd.
At first, I walked fast along the sidewalk toward home, toting my bag of thrift-shop church shoes, because the chanting had nothing to do with me. However, as the crowd closed in and began to surround me, I realized they’d chosen me as the prime candidate for this fight. Why?
“You better hit her!” Maya’s brother shouted. An evil grin streaked across his face as he stared at me. “If you don’t hit her, Maya, I’m going to hit you.”
My throat tightened. My heart beat faster than a university drumline. Still, I wondered why he would say that. Why were they pushing her to fight me? I didn’t want to fight my friend. We’d been friends a long time. She played on my block and I played on hers. Normally, this wasn’t what a nine-year-old should be facing. I should be excited — tomorrow was my birthday.
Then, to my shock, Maya struck me. Suddenly, confusion swarmed us both. By the softness of the blow I could tell she was afraid. I stared into her eyes. This was not the Maya I knew. So, I turned my cheek and walked away. I didn’t wait to be used like a guinea pig. My feet slapped the ground as I picked up speed to escape the melee the crowd craved. My ears rang with the chants that followed. Before long, I was swamped by big mouths who wanted the fight to happen.
“You’re my little sister, Maya,” her brother barked, chest stuck out. “You want to be part of the gang and be hard like your brother? Then fight Tracy.”
I hadn’t realized this was a gang-recruitment stunt for Maya. Apparently, she hadn’t either — not until now.
A fist shoved me hard in the back. My shoulders tightened. Angry faces surrounded me, some laughing. Maya hadn’t done anything to deserve this, and neither had I. Instead, it was peer pressure — boredom dressed up as excitement. I wanted to hit Maya back, give her a two-piece combo, then drag her down the street by her sandy-brown hair. Yet, something inside me wouldn’t let me.
I looked at her big brother, twice our size and a known gang member. He narrowed his eyes as if to say, “If you hit my little sister back, I’ll smash your face in.”
Maya blinked, rubbed her forehead, and looked at her brother. I sensed she was as confused as I was. After a moment, she struck my face. I blocked with my left arm.
“You better hit her back, Tracy!” my niece Fatima snapped from within the crowd. I glanced at her; her nostrils flared. She was older than me — the oldest child of my sister Brenda. Fatima didn’t want to see me lose. She was a fighter herself and would have knocked Maya out in the first round if it had been her fight.
Wham! Pain shot through my face. Maya’s expression filled with regret as we exchanged looks. I wanted to cry — not from the pain but from the emotional sting of my friend betraying me. Just yesterday, we’d played Pac-Man together, eaten chips, and split three packs of Now and Later. Even so, I refused to give them the satisfaction. I inhaled and choked back my tears.
Maya looked at her brother and he nodded, giving her the go-ahead. My adrenaline pumped like an automatic air pump. My arm flew up to block another blow, but it was too late.
Bam! Another sharp pain hit my head. My muscles quivered. I was so mad at her.
“Fight back, Tracy!” Fatima cried, lips curled in disgust. I met her eyes. I didn’t want to disappoint her, but the butterflies in my stomach were flipping because Maya’s brother — now like a hungry wolf — wanted to eat me alive if I swung back. Meanwhile, his evil grin spread wider at the sight of my watery eyes. That was exactly how he wanted me — afraid. He showed no empathy as he shouted terrible things.
I burst through the crowd, feet pounding the pavement. All I could think about was making it home, where I would be safe. A pair of hands shoved into my back and I stumbled. Immediately, heat rushed through me as I wrapped the church-shoes bag handle around my hand. I spun.
Whop! I hit Maya in the center of the face. Her scream tore through the air. I froze as thick crimson rolled down her forehead. My heart raced like a herd of horses. I couldn’t believe I’d hit her that hard. I hadn’t meant to hurt her. Her brother was going to beat me — I knew it — but I didn’t care anymore. Finally, I was done being afraid.
Her brother’s eyes flamed red as he lunged toward me. Fear gripped my body. My feet felt like cinder blocks. I couldn’t move. Older guys in the crowd blocked him from attacking. He shouted profanities, then shoved Maya toward me to force her to hit again.
She swung and connected with my head. I threw my arms up to block, but the pounding didn’t stop. I blocked and screamed and blocked and screamed as if someone were trying to kill me. The hits hurt, but I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to think I was hurt so she’d stop hitting me. Unfortunately, my plan failed. At last, Fatima leapt between us and split us apart.
Smack! Maya’s brother slapped Fatima with an open hand. Fatima clutched her left eye and gasped, “Oh my God.” Her eye swelled like a small water balloon.
Maya’s brother stood there like the monster he was. “Don’t touch my sister!” he barked.
“I rebuke you in the name of Jesus!” I shouted.
“Forget you and your Jesus,” he snarled.
Fatima had taken the hit I’d feared. My heart sank. Tears blurred my vision as I thought about the trauma. In the end, I couldn’t believe my friend had allowed this. How could she let others talk her into fighting just to erase their boredom?
Fatima and I walked home with our heads low, sad at what had happened. I didn’t like Maya anymore for what she’d done. And I hated her big brother for what he’d done to my niece and for what he’d said about my God. Years later, his gang-banging days ended. As a result, I learned that my God always fights for me. The battle is not mine; it’s the Lord’s.
