Page 74 of 4 Corinthians

“Thank you,” I said, looking down at him. The same feeling of protectiveness I felt for Corinthians I felt for Judah.

“You’re welcome,” Psalms said.

I gently traced my finger down Judah's cheek, being mindful of how delicate his skin was, then turned and walked away.

Corinthians had a baby, a little boy; his name was Judah, and we shared the same birthday, April 4th.

Corinthians

“Ihave to shower,” Psalms said, coming into my room. I opened my eyes to see her standing over me with Judah in her arms. She was tired, I could tell, but she was pushing through it. For the sake of the baby.

“Okay.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at him.

“Cori-“

“No,” I said, rolling over. “Take him with you.”

“He’s your baby!” she fussed. “He’s six months old, and you haven’t held him. You won't even look at him. Nothing.”

“I can't,” I told her.

“You can't or you won't?” she challenged. “Because I see you when you don’t think I am watching. I hear you when you hear him cry, or the first time you heard him laugh. I've been here for six months waiting for you to realize you can do this.”

“Let it go, Psalms,” I said, shaking my head. “Take him in the bathroom with you.”

“No.” She pulled my sheets back, and I felt her climb into my bed. “This is your baby, Cori; look at him.”

“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head. “Take him with you.”

“Cori-“

“Take him with you!” I yelled and moved away from her.

She sighed, then I felt her get out of bed. The only reason I knew she left was that she slammed the door shut behind her. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Judah was six months old. I’d been a mother for six months yet had never touched my own child. After having him and refusing to hold him after the labor shakes stopped, Madea said I just needed more time. As a precaution, Psalms offered to move in with me to make sure I wasn’t developing postpartum and, if I was, to make sure I got all the help I could get.

My cousins took turns staying with me when Psalms was at work. I was never alone. Judah was never alone. He had someone looking after him every second of every day. No one questioned why I couldn’t connect with my baby, at least not to my face. I heard them talking to each other. I heard their fears, the what-ifs, the questions of whether I was mentally stable and whether the therapy was working. I wanted to tell them that I was fine, that my fear when it came to parenting was that the father of my child was my childhood abuser and rapist. That no matter how hard I tried to get away, I was reminded that he was always in control.

I was stuck holding on to a secret to the chest because if I didn’t, they would all be in danger. And I couldn’t be responsible for anyone else's death.

The door opened again, and Psalms pushed a toy bouncer into the room using her feet. “I’m not doing this shit anymore, Cori,” she fussed, placing Judah into the bouncer. His back was to me, and he immediately started hitting the toys on the bouncer. “I’m going to shower. He’s eaten and changed. He will play for about ten minutes, then want to go to sleep. He had a good day at daycare. Ms. L said he’s almost completely rolling over.”

“Psalms!” I jumped up from the bed. “No, do not leave him in here.” I grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving the room.

“Look, I get that you are going through whatever you are going through, but I need to shower, Cori,” she said, looking at me. Her eyes filled with tears, and she moved my hand off her wrist. “I need a minute. One for me, with no interruptions because I’m drowning too.” A single tear fell from her eyes. “I love you and will follow you to the ends of the earth, but right now I need you to be the big sister again. I need you to help me, and I know you can't because something is going on in here.” She tapped the side of my head.

I stepped back and took a good look at my sister. To someone who didn’t know her or know the things she’d been through, she looked fine, but I knew better. Her eyes were sad; worry and fear danced in them like when she was younger. She’d lost weight, not a lot but enough to make me notice. The side of her face was swollen and she had a fading bruise around her throat.

“Bug, what’s going on?” I asked. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I need you to be okay, Cori,” she replied. Her voice was soft, but I could hear the fear in it. “I need you to be okay, so I don’t have to be.” She shook her head. “I can't do this alone. I tried, but I’m tired.”

I didn’t say anything, just pulled her into a hug and held her tight. Psalms broke down then; her tears soaked my shirt, and she screamed into my chest. “Okay, Bug, I got you.” I rubbed her back. “I got you.”

“I’m sorry, Cori,” she sobbed. “I tried to be a good girl. I tried.”

Hours later, Psalms slept peacefully in my bed. She’d cried so hard that Judah started to cry. She got herself together, got him to sleep, and then climbed into my bed, put her head in my lap, and slept. Judah lay next to her; every so often, he would make a noise or move.

I bowed my head and did something I hadn’t done in years.