First Lessons

         “You got to get your knife back quick boy!” J.C.'s left hand darted forwarded, grabbing the boy’s wrist, the movement so fast his son hadn’t seen it coming and the grip so tight it cut off the feeling in the boy's right hand the fingers instantly going stiff.
         “Man got yo’ blade hand - man got yo’ blade,” J.C. continued, "Man got yo’ blade, man got you.” He lifted the boy’s hand high until the stick it held pointed straight up, the youth almost on his toes now, right side fully exposed.
         “You dead boy. You hear me?” J.C. jabbed at the boy’s stomach with his stick, the blow swift and jarring just below the breast plate. “Dead!” Now his lower stomach where his appendix was. “Dead!” He spun the boy around, enveloping his face in the crook of his left arm as he jabbed at his right kidney, “Dead!” His left elbow jerked up, raising Lil Charles chin skyward, exposing his neck before dragging the length of his “blade” slowly across it before pushing him roughly away. “Dead! Just that quick. Just that quick and you dead fo’ different ways!” He watched the boy rub at the places he had been struck. Saw the eyes when he finally looked up at him shiny with tears that were there but had yet to fall. Saw the shadow of a resentful frown on the young face and noticed how tightly the boy now held his own “blade” because that’s what it was. It wasn’t no stick! He had to always remember that. It was a killing weapon. “You hear what I’m telling you boy?" J.C. leaned down, towering over him. “You hear me?” The boy nodded. “I look deaf to you? Huh? What I told you ‘bout that?” He pointed to the boy with his “blade”, I take the time to ask you a question, then damnit, you better make the time to answer. Y'hear me?”
         “Yes suh,” the boy nodded. “Yes suh, I hear ya.”
         “Alright then,” J.C. stepped back, before beckoning the boy forward. “Let’s go again.”