I HAD BEEN in South Central for over a year when Jr. called to say that Mr. Burns had surfaced yet again. He'd called Jr., threatening to remove me from Becky's unless Jr. gave him the life-insurance money my mother had left us. (How he'd discovered where I was is still a mystery.) Jr. explained to Mr. Burns that even if he wanted to give Mr. Burns the money, he couldn't. The way my momma had the trust set up, no one could touch it but the children-and not till we turned eighteen. But Jr. said he also made it clear to Mr. Burns that even if he could give him the money, he wouldn't. My momma had left that money for me and Larry, and Jr. knew that if Mr. Burns ever got his hands on it there'd be nothing left for us.

"Well then, I'm comin' to get my daughter." Mr. Burns snapped. He said he'd bring legal action to have "his child" returned to him.

"And you know I'll win," he gloated. "I'm the 'biological parent,' remember?"

He told Jr. to be expecting a legal representative to come and get me in a few days. Before Jr. could respond, he slammed down the phone.

Now why he want to fuck wit' me now? I asked myself. I personally hadn't seen or spoken to Mr. Burns since the day he gave us to Diane. And even after Aunt Becky had the mailing address for my Social Security checks changed so that they were sent to her address, neither Mr. Burns or Diane contested or even made a peep. (Though later I learned that during my entire time in South Central, Diane continued to collect foster-care payments for me.) I wasn't physically afraid of Diane anymore. I knew how to fight. And bangin', beatin' up others, and gettin' beat had given me heart. So I knew that if she acted like she was gonna put her hands on me, I'd kick her ass. But still, I didn't want to be bothered with her, her crazy-ass daughter, and the insanity that was constantly present in their house. So we told Aunt Becky I was returning to Lancaster, but in truth, I ran away. I didn't run far. I kept my clothes in Crip Karen's backyard, and at night I slept at different homies' houses, though I spent most of the time at Trish and Rabbit's or at Hoover Rick's, who'd sneak me into his room after his mom went to sleep. I actually preferred this lifestyle-living from pillar to post-complete freedom. I loved being free.

Fly would keep up with where I was and check on me from time to time. But the good thing about being in a gang was that it was like having lots of brothers and sisters. So if Fly wasn't checkin' on me, Dob, Huck, or one of my other homies was.

- My sixteenth birthday was coming up, so I decided to celebrate. Trish, Egg, Hoover Rick, Rabbit, Goofey Grape, Crip Jr., B. Killer, Insane, and I were all hanging out in front of Rick's house. We had a couple of 40s, and fifths of gin, rum, and vodka. Hoover Rick had copped some bo (weed) that was the bomb. It was a very informal party-the girls were sitting on a car that was parked at the curb, while the fellas stood around us. We were all just drinking, smoking, laughing, talking shit, and having a good ol' time. Rick's nephew, Timmy, was running around play-boxing with the homies, screaming "H-o-o-v-e-r!" and tossing up three fingers. He was only seven and had trouble holding up four fingers. So, although he'd hold up three (the sign for Gangsta), he'd hoo-bang Hoover. He was so little and cute.

Later that evening, Fly and Huck came by to check on me. They said they were on their way to ride on some slobs. Fly told me he didn't like me "living in the streets like this." I responded that I had no other choice. He shrugged, as if he understood. Then he did something he'd never done before. He reached into his pocket and took out a twenty-dollar bill. "Happy early birthday, cuzzz," he said as he slipped the money into my hand. He bent over, kissed me on my cheek, and told me to be careful. Then he quickly turned around and started walking away. (I don't know if it was because he was in a hurry or because he didn't want me to see him getting mushy.) Then, Huck stepped up and gave me a big ol' bear hug. He finally let me go, rubbed the top of my head (I hated when he did that), told me to "stay down," and took off running behind Fly.

Man, I loved being loved!

Timmy's mom came outside and made him go in. He didn't want to. He screamed and cried and begged her to let him stay with the big homies five more minutes. But it was after seven P.M. and she wanted to give him a bath, so she insisted he go in. The girls all took turns kissing him, while the boys slapped him five and told him to "stay down." He tried to push us away murmuring "yuck," as if he didn't like to be kissed, but we knew he loved it. And he'd try to look menacingly at the fellas to show he was down. Then, he hoo-banged one last time before turning and running into the house. I loved the feeling of family.

Rabbit and I took the twenty dollars I'd gotten from Fly, copped some lovely, and returned to Rick's where we continued hanging out, smoking lovely, listening to music, and talking shit. We partied as the night went on, just enjoying life and each other when a car slowly rolled up on us. We watched closely as the front and rear passenger windows slid down. A nigga stuck his head out each window and started hoo-bangin': "Sixties! Rollin' Sixties!" while throwin' up their set. Of course we had to hoo-bang back. I hollered, "G-a-n-g-s-t-a!" while the others shouted, "H-o-o-v-e-r! Seven-fo'!"

The 60's started crackin' up laughing as they peeled off.

Although they'd identified themselves as Rollin' 60's, I didn't recognize any of them. "Who was that, cuzzz?" I asked, to no one in particular.

"Dat was No Neck and the Twins," Egg said. "Dem niggas' a be back." He was looking down the street in the direction the car had gone. "And we'll be ready for 'emwhen they do!" he hollered as he turned and ran into the house. A moment later, he returned with a 12-gauge shotgun and a .45 Magnum. He gave the .45 to Insane, while he began examining the gauge-making sure it was loaded and ready.

We stood there for a while, ready and waiting, but they didn't come back. This put us in an awkward situation. In South Central, a bunch of black kids couldn't be standing out in the open-especially with guns-because the po-pos, who get suspicious just by seeing more than two of us in one spot together, would surely stop and search everybody. We had to make a judgment call whether or not to put the guns away. After about twenty minutes with still no sign of the 60's, we figured they weren't comin' back. So Egg took the guns back into the house.

The rest of us went on with my party.

I was sitting on a car parked in front of Rick's house. My back was to the street. Rick was standing in front of me beside a large tree. We had begun discussing whether I should turn myself in and be returned to Lancaster or whether I should continue living from homie to homie. Problem with the latter option was that I was running out of places to stay. Our discussion was turning into an argument as I tried to explain to Rick why Lancaster was not, and would never be, an option.

A few minutes later, as Egg was coming back outside from taking in the guns, the 60's car rounded the corner.

By now, Rick and I were yelling and cussing at each other. All of my attention and energy was focused on trying to make Rick realize my hatred for Lancaster. So I was unprepared and completely taken off guard when I heard a rustling all around me. All of a sudden someone hollered "Duck, cuzzz! Duck!"

The sherm was better than I'd realized because everything appeared to be happening in slow motion.

I turned my head over my right shoulder to see what all the commotion was about.

It was then I realized we were being revisited by the 60's.

I saw the car slowly moving, seemingly inching by. Then, I saw a barrel ever so slowly poke out of the front passenger window.

Then I saw a flash. Actually, it looked more like a bunch of sparks. A sparkly firecracker. The array of sparks started off narrow and seemed to widen as they flew toward me.

I felt a burning in my back on the right side. The force of the blast knocked me past Rick and into the tree beside him. No sooner had I screamed from the pain of my face smashing into the tree, I felt two more ferocious blows SLAM my back. It felt like someone with a huge heated hammer was whacking the shit out of my back-with the force of a lumberjack. One hard whack-bam! And then another. Both blows caused my body to bend awkwardly as both of my arms flung helplessly in the air.

I bounced off the tree and fell to the ground. At first, I didn't know what had happened. I thought I was on fire because my back was burning so badly. Then it hit me. I think I've been shot!

So I started screamin', "I'm shot, cuzzz! I'm shot!"

The group exploded in pandemonium.

Trish started runnin' up and down the middle of the street, screaming, "Cup's been shot! Goddammit, mothafuckas, Cup's been shot!"

Rabbit wasn't runnin'. She was standing over me and shouting from the top of her lungs "Oh, Lord, no! Oh, Lord, no!" over and over and over.

The fellas were trying to get me to keep still. I was rolling from side to side, but never able to completely roll over. All I could think of was an elementary-school safety tip: When on fire, stop, drop and roll. (I felt like I was on fire. I had already dropped-so hell, I was rolling!) The burning was unbearable. My body was writhing in pain.

As Rick was bending over me, trying to help the homies keep me still, drops of blood began to drip onto my face.

Shocked, the homies suddenly stopped wrestling with me, and stared at Rick-wondering where the blood was coming from.

Egg was the first to realize what was happening. " 'Ey, cuzzz, you bleeding," he said.

Rick looked down at himself. His entire shirt was soaked red. His pants were beginning to cling to his body from the release of blood. He'd been shot and didn't even know it. But looking at the blood that now soaked the entire left side of his body, he knew it then-and fainted.

We lay there for what seemed like forever. I suddenly realized that I couldn't move my legs. But I wasn't sure if it was because of getting shot or because of the sherm. Finally, one-time (another name for the cops) came. At first, they didn't want to take us to the hospital.

"Why should we waste time trying to save these guys?" the tall white cop asked the crowd of bangers who'd gathered around their fallen.

My pain was intensifying.

"All y'all do is kill each other," the cop said. "So what's the use, since they'll probably be dead niggas in a year." He stated it so matter-of-factly. Not like he was trying to be mean. Just like he was stating reality.

The pain increased. It was excruciating. I began to feel like I was going to pass out. Before going out, I heard Egg snap, "What the fuck you say?"

I wanted to lift my head and say, "He said we're worthless," but the pain was too great. So, like Rick, I passed out.

- I awoke in the ambulance. Rick was still out. "Where we goin'?" I asked the white guy who was bending over me taking my blood pressure.

"To the hospital," he snapped, as if I were bothering him. Although my back was still on fire, I noticed that I didn't hear any sirens. So I asked the ambulance guy why there was no siren on.

"Isn't this an emergency?" I asked.

"Yeah," he snarled, seemingly angrier than before. "It's just that it's soundproof in here."

"Oh," I said, accepting his explanation. Years later, a medic told me that those things aren't really soundproof. They didn't have the siren on.

We were taken to Morningside Hospital-the only hospital in the hood. Morningside wasn't like a nice, upper-class hospital where the doctor comes out to talk to the family and calmly and quietly informs them of the patient's condition and possible forms of treatment. My interaction with the doctor went like this: he came into my room, looked at me with disgust, and said, "You've been shot with what looks like two guns. X-rays show bullets lodged in between your vertebrae."

He paused and looked at me as if it was time for a question-which was a good thing, because I had one.

"So what's that mean?"

"You may not walk again." He turned and walked out the room, making it clear that there'd be no more questions.

"I might not walk again?" I screamed after him. "I might not walk again? What the fuck do you mean I might not walk again?" But my screaming was in vain. He'd spoken his piece and gone.

I tried to move my legs, but couldn't. Was he right? Or was it just another one of those bad sherm trips?

I lay there sobbing alone. It was then I realized my homies weren't anywhere around. There was no one to help, no one to call out to.

What about God? This came from inside me, from something I called "the Voice."

I'd heard this Voice periodically. During my running-away escapades, it would direct me with things like: Don't get in that car, or Don't go that way, go this way, or Don't go to that party. I never really questioned who the speaker was or why it spoke. I tossed it up to intuition. One thing was apparent though, whenever I didn't listen to it, I regretted it.

Would He listen to me? I asked myself in response to the Voice's suggestion. Hell, I'd hated Him since Momma died and had pretty much ignored Him till now. It wasn't like we were friends or anything. Maybe I could try to talk to Him, ask for a favor or two.

I had a slight memory that there was a special way you had to talk to Him. But what was it? I didn't know. Shit, I didn't know a single Bible verse. How was I going to get through to Him if I didn't know the proper way to do it?

Fuck it, I told myself. Just ask Him, hell.

So I did. I looked up at the ceiling. I don't know why. I'd heard He lived in heaven and that heaven was "up there," so I looked up and began to speak.

"Look here, I know you don't know me. It's not like we be kickin' it or anything. But if you can hear me I could really use some help down here."

Now the tears began to fall.

"I ain't been the best person, but I s'pose I ain't been the worst neither. Besides, most of the shit I been in you could've stopped. But that's neither here nor there. I didn't come to lay blame. Like I said befo', I need some help. So here goes. Doctors say I may not walk again. And if I can't walk, I can't run. And if I can't run, I'll be stuck in Lancaster, and if you can see down here like they say you can, you know what life is like in Lancaster."

Now I was sobbing. But through the snot runnin' out my nose and the tears streaming down my face, I continued.

"If I'm ever stuck in Lancaster, I'll kill myself."

I paused for a moment to cry and think about how to continue. Then I realized that nobody does something for nothing. Why would God be any different? I had to think of something to offer him. I thought for a moment longer, and then it came to me. I continued my conversation: "Now, don't get me wrong, I ain't the type to expect somethin' for nothin'. So I'll make you a deal. If you let me walk out of here, I'll quit bangin'. I swear I will. I swear it."

A nurse walked in, startling me. "Who were you talking to?" she asked.

"None of your fuckin' business!" is what I wanted to say. But as I got ready to open my mouth, I remembered that seconds ago, I'd made a deal with God-a deal He might renege on if I cussed someone out so quickly. So I kept quiet.

The nurse seemed unaffected by my silence. "I'm going to give you something for pain," she said.

I wasn't in any pain. But that wasn't important. I asked her what it was she was giving me.

"Morphine," she replied.

I'd never heard of it before going into the hospital, but since I'd been there, they'd been giving it to me intermittently. And I loved it.

A few moments later, as I drifted off to sleep, I hoped that God would keep His end of the bargain-and wondered how the fuck I was going to keep mine.

19.

RICK AND I were the only ones shot that night. We each got hit by two guns: a sawed-off 12 gauge and a .22. I got nine pellets from the gauge and two bullets from the .22-all of which hit me in the back. Rick got one bullet from the .22 and thirty pellets from the gauge sprayed up and down the left side of his body. The doctor said it didn't make sense to operate on either of us. He never explained why. He did say that if Rick "stayed stable" he could leave in a few days. Me? Well, we'd have to "wait and see."

During the next few days, the hospital was inundated with Gangstas and Hoovers visiting. To keep them from having to roam from room to room, we decided we should all hang in one room. I wasn't supposed to get out of bed (I was never told why). So the homies would roll my bed, IV bottle and pole, and all the accompanying gadgets into Rick's room or, when the nurses began complaining about their moving me, they hung out in mine. But no matter whose room we were in, we got high. I couldn't feel my legs; but I didn't know if my paralysis was due to the gunshots, the numerous never-ending shots of painkillers the hospital kept giving me, or all of the dope the homies kept bringing me. The homies brought plenty of liquor and lots of bo. They refused to bring me any sherm, though-said they were "watchin' out for my health." The good thing was that between the hospital's pain drugs and the homies' street drugs, I stayed high and happy.

Every day was like a party. But the party didn't last long. The other patients and nurses started complaining about the many visitors, the noise, and the continual smell of "marijuana and alcohol" coming from my room. So they limited my visitors to six a day.

The night after getting shot, Egg, Insane, and several 74 Hoovers rode on the 60's in retaliation for Rick. A few nights later, Fly, Sodici (pronounced "soda-k"), Hunchie, and Huck rode for me. Rumor had it that folks were killed during both rides. But none of those hit were the ones who'd shot us. That didn't matter, though. As long as we got some of those mothafuckas I was happy.

A week or so after being in the hospital, I began to have feeling in my legs. The doctor called it "a miracle." I couldn't tell if he was being facetious or not. But there was no physical therapy, no exercising. Nothing. The doctor said I didn't need any of that kind of stuff and that I should just be glad that my legs worked. I took his word for it. I was just happy that God seemed to be keeping His part of the bargain.

Several days later, I turned sixteen. My homies helped me celebrate it by bringing in weed, booze, and cupcakes. Egg sneaked lil Timmy in who gave me a big hug and a cupcake.

"I'm so glad you didn't die, Cup," he said in his soft, small voice as he reached over the bed and gave me his hug. I could tell he was trying not to cry, trying to be "hard" like the older homies. Only seven years old and already he was learning how to hide fear and sadness.

"Me too, lil cuzzz," I replied, trying just as hard to not let a tear fall.

Our party was cut short when a social worker showed up to see me. I'd learned to distrust and dislike the people in her profession, so when she gave me her name, I didn't even bother remembering it. She didn't seem to care that she was crashing my birthday party. She casually told me that they were having trouble finding some place to put me-like that was supposed to be a big surprise. What was a surprise is that someone (she didn't say who) thought it best that I not remain in Los Angeles County. Diane was willing to take me and had room, so that's where I would go.

At first I started to protest, but then I remembered my part of the bargain with God. Could this be my way out? I knew I wouldn't be able to just walk away from the Gangstas. I knew things. I'd seen things. I'd done things. But if I was taken away against my will, well then it wouldn't be runnin' out on the set, now would it?

When Fly came to see me the next day, I told him of the decision to return me to Lancaster. He said that, though he knew how much I hated going back, he preferred that I do rather than living from homie to homie, or out in the streets.

"You think the homies will come after me?" I asked. "Or get me for runnin' out on the set?"

"Gurl, ain't no body gon' fuck wit' you," he snapped. "Not unless they come through me first. Besides, they know it ain't your choice. And it ain't like you gon' snitch or anything like that, right? RIGHT?"

"Naw, cuzzz. I don't know shit, I ain't seen shit, so I can't tell shit!"

We both started crackin' up laughing. He stood there for a long time in silence. We both knew that our special relationship had come to an end. "Damn, lil cuzzz," he stated sadly, "seems like yesterday you was just arrivin', and soon, you'll be leavin'." He sat down as we began to reminiscence about our time together.

"Remember that time I almost got hit by that car?" he asked with a chuckle.

I did. We'd been coming home from a party. On our way, we ran into Diamond who told us that some of the homies had blasted on some Pirus who were now ridin' through the hood in payback. We'd stopped at a phone booth, called the boys at home, and told them to take the customary action when a rival gang was riding: turn off all the lights and get down on the floor.

After making sure the boys knew what to do, Fly and I began to make our way home-dodging behind trees and parked cars, staying away from streetlights and running through red lights, not wasting time waiting for the green ones. We were one block from the house. We'd started to dash across the middle of the street, when a car came roaring around the corner. It was dark and we were dressed in all blue, so the driver didn't see us. When he did, it was almost too late. He had to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting us. Seeing the car and hearing the screech, Fly, who was in front of me by a few feet, stuck out his arm as if to stop the car. Actually, he used his arm to help himself hop onto the hood as the car came at him. I stopped and screamed-just knowing they'd killed him. But Fly rolled over the hood and onto the ground, got up, and shouted, "Come on, cuzzz!" as he began running again. Damn, he was fast.

I stopped to look at the car, wondering if the occupants would emerge with shotguns to finish us off. But all I saw was a lil old black man and woman. They were scared shitless. The man rolled down his window and nervously asked, "Is he all right?" Before I could respond, another car came speeding around the corner.

Now that might be Bloods! I told myself.

I couldn't take time to answer the old man. I had to get going. I took off after Fly, leaving the old man sitting there still shaking.

We'd never discussed that night till now.

"That lil old man was scared shitless," I said as we both cracked up laughing.

We sat there for a while and continued reminiscing about how we'd fought together, hoo-rode together, stolen together, and gotten high together. About how we'd sit up for hours during the night talking about our moms and how much we missed them. Soon, we both got sorrowfully quiet. Our silence was broken when Rick came into my room to smoke a joint Egg had left with him. I told him that I'd be leaving soon. He looked sad, but said he understood.