Episode 10

When the two were through training, Turner sent David to the store at the corner of Drexter to buy ribs for dinner. As David walked down his street, he saw a pretty woman being picked on and whistled at by immature men. Across the street, he saw three young boys throwing rocks into the windows of the already half-destroyed houses. When he passed another house, he could hear a man and a woman screaming and fighting. A police car rode by with an officer eating hamburgers with a man who had robbed the local mall just the week before.

David Johnson had gotten use to all these things happening in his neighborhood, everything from the immature men to the corrupt police force. But now it was beginning to anger him and his hands began to glow slightly. He was so angry that he didn’t notice the others looking at him. When he walked by the immature men, they cowered at his sight and let the girl walk away. The young boys saw David Johnson, dropped the rocks from their hands and immediately ran in the opposite direction.

He was calm by the time he got to the store. The corner store was run by Pat Hunt, a friend of Turner’s. Pat was a short man, with short gray hair and a large pepper black mustache.

“Hey Dave,” Pat said from behind the counter. “How’s Turner?”

“He’s good,” David said. “I won’t be long. Just coming to get some ribs.”

David paid for the ribs, tipped Pat with the change, and left the store. But as David was walking out, he saw the man who was eating with the police officer trying to yank a purse away from an older woman. They both struggled before the thug pushed the woman to the ground and ran off with the purse.

David Johnson raced after him, not even realizing that he had dropped his bag of ribs. The thug was looking inside the purse with a devious smile when he heard David yelling behind him.

The thug pulled a knife from his pocket and stabbed at David. David evaded the weapon, but the thug was able to land a punch that cut David just below his eye. David fired back quickly with a right hand to the body, a cross with the left hand, then finished him with an uppercut.

David’s hands were again glimmering orange when the thug staggered to the ground. David grabbed him by his shirt and was about to punch him again as the thug started ranting.

“Go ahead, hit me!” the thug said smiling with a bruise left cheek. “C’mon, hit me again! I ain't afraid of you."

David Johnson looked into the man’s face. He wanted to punish him. Maybe even send a message to the rest of the gangs in The Box. David took a handful of the man’s hair. And then a small group from the neighborhood gathered around him. They saw David’s hands burning orange with intensity. He was going to hurt the thug very badly. The people in small crowd were too afraid to stop him, but not enough to leave.

David’s fist began to rise above the thug’s head, watching the sweat coming down his face as he began to brace himself. There were small cries coming from the crowd, calling for mercy. David wasn’t listening. His mind was made up.

But just as his fist was about to make impact, a boy with brown dreadlocks suddenly appeared and grabbed David’s arm with his hand. With his other hand, the boy pointed his palm to the sky.

“Give these people peace, Father God,” the boy called out. “Give them all peace.”

The crowd suddenly fell silent. Everyone, including the thug, stopped speaking and quietly walked away. Then David and the boy began to disappear into nothingness.

Episode 9

David Johnson and his grandfather, Turner were training in the large basement of his home in The Box, a mass of empty space that reeked with the stench of hard work. The drops of perspiration on the gray floor made it look as if there had just been a rainstorm. In the far corner was a stack of steel dumbbells, a white jump rope and a pair of black boxing gloves.

David was wearing a white t-shirt, black gym shorts and white tape wrapped around his hands. There was a large red punching bag hanging in between him and Turner. The old man was hugging the bag as David dug his fists into it. Right, Left, Right, Right, Left, Right, Left.

The music was loud and booming. The Greater Hope Community Choir had produced a CD and the two men were listening to praise songs as David Johnson continued his training.

“C'mon son,” Turner Johnson said, “you bedda hit dat bag like God love you. He's been too good! He's worthy to be praised! He is awesome in dis place. It is He who arms you with strength and makes yo way perfect. Now c’mon, son! Hit dat bag like he’s been good to ya!”

David Johnson loved to hear his grandfather’s voice, especially when he was training. Turner always knew just how to get him fired up. They had been in the basement of their house on Drexter Avenue for almost seven straight hours. David was exhausted, but Turner pushed him until he found his second wind. And his third wind. And his one-hundred and twenty-third wind.

“Time!” the old man yelled, observing the small, plastic watch on his wrist. “Dat's good for now.”

David Johnson grabbed the white towel that hung around Turner’s neck and wiped the sweat from his face. Then he sat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall and took a swig of water from the orange bottle that sat next to him.

Turner put on a slow gospel song to cool David down as he watched him unwrap the tap from his hands. Ever since his exhibition match with George Dean, something had change in David Johnson. His wasn’t getting in trouble, his grades were improving and he was talking to Turner about college. He and Turner had been talking about many things, about being man of God, about his mother before he was born, about cooking ribs.

But there was one thing that they never discussed.

David Johnson never told Turner about the burning, about what his hands could do, how they could erupt into fire.

It had started not long after he defeated George Dean. He ignored it as best he could until one day, while he was training by himself at night, his hands began to glow orange by themselves. He hadn’t been sure what to do ever since.