Love,
Natasha
January 7, 1994
Yeah, I’m bummed and down about Ma. My heart is real heavy right now, Natasha. Don’t feel like writing much, but I wanted to say thank you for your concern. If they grant my furlough, I might see you at the funeral.
February 11, 1994
Antonio, I would say Happy Birthday, but I’m pretty sure you’re not exactly thinking about that right now. I hope you like these books. I read them in a class I took. It was good to see you. It’s been what—almost two years now since we were face to face? Although I guess you couldn’t call you standing a hundred feet away with two police officers at your side as face to face, but you know what I mean. I was trying to catch your eye the whole time, from the moment I saw the police car pull up and you get out. I swear I thought it was going to rain, but your mother kept them clouds from breaking and ruining her home-going. She probably didn’t want anyone to think she was crying for herself, so we wouldn’t cry for her.
I hardly recognized you, you’ve gotten so buff. Laniece was like, “Damn, Antonio got cock diesel! You lucky he didn’t look like that back in the day cause I might of had to hit that.” I told her, “You wouldn’t have had a chance.” But you still got them nice cheekbones, those big soft pretty lips like a girl’s. Your eyes just look a little darker. When you did finally look at me, for that one brief moment, when you walked up to put that pink rose on your mother’s casket, I felt a shot of electricity go up through me. Almost like God was speaking to me right at that second. If you asked me what He was saying, I couldn’t even tell you. Maybe He was trying to tell me that I’ve been extremely blessed that my life turned out the way it has, that I was that one in a million who could make it out of the shit we had to go through, that I’m “better than blessed” as Grandma used to say all the time. Or maybe He wasn’t speaking to me at all and it was just my imagination, or just me remembering how much I used to love you. I wish you could have stayed, I hate that they had to carry you away as soon as she was lowered in the grave and not a minute after. But I’ll change the subject because I know you might not want to think about it.
I finally picked a major. Or “declared” my concentration as they say here. They have to make everything sound much more complicated than it is at this school. I’m going to major in “Law, Letters, and Society.” Now, I know that’s a little bit fancy sounding, but I really think I want to be a lawyer. There’s no such thing as a prelaw major, but at least with this concentration I can study def philosophers and writers and geniuses and stuff to try to figure out how the world really works. I don’t know if it’s because of me knowing you or what, but I decided to take a class last quarter called “The American Justice System: Its Intellectual and Creative Debates.” We got to read a lot of people. These books are from that class; I thought you might find them interesting. Remember that woman Angela Davis I told you about? We also read her. We read the Autobiography of Malcolm X, which you already know about. We read this play called Short Eyes by this Rican from New York named Miguel Pinero. We read this French guy named Michel Foucault, who wrote this book called Discipline and Punish that you should really read. I’m sure that Ms. Harris or Mohammed knows about it, and could find it for you. It was all about these medieval forms of punishment and how they compare to today. Do you know that if you would have been convicted of murder four hundred years ago, they could have sentenced you to “drawing and quartering”? That’s a fancy way of saying that they tie each of your arms and legs up to a different horse, and then the horses run and pull in different directions—fighting against each other—until your ass is ripped apart. And before they do all that, they dig these sharp things called pincers into your legs and stick these hot irons in the wounds. I guess a dime upstate don’t sound so bad compared to that, huh? Okay, I know that was a bad joke and I’m sorry. I just wish there was something—anything—I could do or say to make you see the positive side of things, the beauty and joy of the life you’ll experience once you make it back to the outside. I guess I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m here and you’re there. I hope you do realize that there is light at the end of the tunnel. I hope you know you can survive anything.
Love,
Baby Girl
March 1, 1994
Sorry I took so long to write back but I couldn’t think of nothing to say. I’ll start with thanks for coming out to my mom’s funeral. You really didn’t have to do that and it really meant a lot to see you there. They wanted to deny me a furlough cause some motherfucker escaped a few weeks ago, so they got us on lock hard. I didn’t write you back cause nothing could go in or come out of here for a long time. But I had a few people on my side to fight for me. It was good seeing everybody, even though nobody could touch me. I thought I would be embarrassed, showing up at my mother’s funeral in handcuffs, but I really didn’t give no fuck. I still felt like a free man cause I was around people who cared about me and love me and want me home. Being back at home for a minute and seeing people that I know love me made me wanna make it through this shit even more. I’m just sorry I had to see them under those circumstances. First time Black’s shorty see her godfather, he’s a prisoner. But that’s alright. I’m gonna make it up to her when I get out. I’m gonna spoil her like she my own.
About my mother, I guess all I can say is that I have to keep telling myself she didn’t pass because of me. I know everything I put her through over the last few years was a strain. I made her tired. I wore her down. Trevon recognize his part in that too. He finally told me, I’m bout to do right big bro. I’m gonna do it for Ma, I’m going to be a man for Tyler. They probably gonna go stay with one of my uncles down South, which is a good thing. Get the hell out of Dodge for a while. See the world. Go places. Get out of your environment so you won’t feel trapped by it. Wake up and hear some birds for a change. Walk on grass and not on concrete all the time. Open your front door in the morning and stand out on the porch in your boxers and breathe some fresh, wet morning air. That’s the type of shit they need right now. That’ll get they mind off things.
That means I won’t have nobody to visit me for a while, which is alright. One thing I really been working on is getting the fuck out of here. Remember when that reporter came here and interviewed me for that documentary? Some big-time civil rights group saw the tape, and they came here talking about they want to take up my case. For free! So this group hooked me up with a new lawyer, this guy from the ACLU who been working on getting my plea overturned. He said that most of the time, that shit don’t happen, but because I was so young there might be a chance. With my good behavior and my work and school record and Ms. Harris recommendation, I should get it. It’s just a bunch of shit you gotta go through, a hearing and everything. I have to make a statement in front of a room full of people after my lawyers argue my case. He bought me a new suit cause I’ve grown out of the only one I had, that one you and Ma bought me when I first got sent up. I’m confident I’ll get it. I gotta believe in myself like you told me. Then I’m getting out of here and getting a good job. I’m gonna go get my brothers and take care of them and be a family again, just like Ma and Daddy would have wanted. I got my own cell now—I done graduated as they say. Benito finished his time. Mohammed’s gone his lawyer got him approved for transfer to a work-release program.
I feel like I’ve really grown up in here over the last few years. I thought a lot about what you wrote me about Trevon, about him saying he felt like a puppet on a string. That’s all we really are in this life, although we try to fool ourselves into thinking that we’re more. It’s a higher power controlling the strings. We don’t make the moves we want to make. And some of us, like me and you, get our strings cut when we least expect it. Some of us, like you, get new strings. Some like me just gotta make do and get through the best way we can. But this life ain’t up to us. It’s only so much we can do. You think if I had my way, I’d be 21-years-old and in here? You think I’d be without a mother or a father
, missing my little brothers growing up? But that’s the hand I was dealt. Some of us get better hands than others, and I’m glad you’re playing your cards right. It sounds like you’re gonna do really good in college and I know you’d be a good lawyer.
How’s the hubby? Maybe it’s none of my business, but you know I had to ask. Just wanna make sure he doing you right, that’s all. Just wanted to make sure he treating you like the woman you are.
Thanks again for coming to my mother’s services.
Love,
Antonio
PS. I did look at you, for more than a brief moment. I tried to catch your eyes too, but I guess we were just never able to connect at the same time.
March 22, 1994
I’m going to keep this letter short because I’m actually going through my finals study week now and I don’t have a lot of time. First, I don’t mind you asking about me and my boyfriend. There’s nothing really to ask about. He told me he wanted to do his “twenty-one-year-old thing,” whatever that means. I was like cool, cause I’m handling my business and I’m not about to be crying over nobody. Plus, he really hates the school anyway and isn’t doing too well. He’s probably going to transfer. So that’s the end of that. As far as school, I’m taking the maximum number of classes allowed each semester so I can get the hell out of here a little early. I mean, what’s the point of spending money you don’t have to?
It seems to me like you have things all figured out. I’m happy for you and I hope you get parole so you can get on with your life and start realizing your potential, which you haven’t even begun to do yet. Right now, I’m taking this English class and learning about these American poets called transcendentalists. People like Walt Whitman, Ralph Waldo Emerson. We didn’t learn shit about them back in high school. Well anyway, what these people believed is that the human soul and spirit had the power to mentally and spiritually rise above its circumstances, that the only limitations placed on human beings were placed by the human mind itself. I mean, these guys lived in the woods and shit and just concentrated on nature and spirituality and uplifting the mental. That’s how they felt men (and women, too, I guess) should live their lives. I guess I been a transcendentalist before I even knew the word existed, cause I always felt deep down inside like I had the power to go beyond my environment. Maybe it’s time you started feeling the same way.
With love,
Natasha
PS. The last time I saw your mother, I had just stopped by on a whim. She looked good, like I said, so I made sure I told her cause I wanted to keep her spirits up. She just kept saying, “Honey, I look good, but I got secrets. I got secrets tearing me up inside.” Maybe she was hurting about something you didn’t even know about. Maybe it wasn’t you who broke her heart.
January 22, 1995
Natasha, I’m so nervous right now I don’t know what to do. I know it’s been a long time since we spoke, but I guess you was the only person I could think of to write and tell how I feel. I’m going to be up for parole soon, like within the next thirty days. This is it, baby. This is my chance to get out of here and get back on the outside. Ms. Harris said that she was gonna recommend me to get parole, and so was the supervisor of my work program. I already worked out in my head what I was gonna say. My lawyer had me write everything down and we been practicing almost every day, how I’m gonna say it word for word. But I don’t need any practice. I could speak from my heart and tell it like it is. They gonna ask me do I feel sorry about what I did. I’m going to let them know that they have no idea how truly sorry I am for what I did and what I put everybody through. I’m going to tell them that five years up here wasn’t my greatest punishment. My greatest punishment was looking in the mirror every day and living with what I did, knowing that I left my mother without a husband, even though he wasn’t no good for her, but he was still her husband and I didn’t have a right. I’m gonna let them know how much I hurt my family, and how I had to sit and stare at the ceilings and walls and think about that shit every day. I’m gonna tell them that if I could ever go back and change that night, I would have never come home, I would have never took that piece from Black’s cousin, I would have never put a knife at my father’s throat and said I hate you and let the blade sink into his skin. I would have never wrote out a plan to kill him in my notebook at school. I would have put my arms around him instead. I would have put my arms around him and said, Daddy I need you I love you I need you to love me too. I would have held him tight and my whole family tight together and I would have never let go until the fighting and cursing and arguing and money problems and shit stopped. Instead, I blew everything up. I ruined my brothers’ lives, I killed my mother. I almost ruined yours, but you were wise enough to cut me loose. I’m going to beg them for another chance, another stab at my life. I don’t want to let anyone down anymore. Keep your fingers crossed. Pray they let me out of here.
Love,
Antonio
PS. I’m going to try real hard to do that transcendentalist shit from now on. I’m going to go in there with my head up proud, I know I can be better than my environment. I’m going to set my mind free. I’m no longer going to feel like a damn puppet. I’m going to control the strings from now on.
Wish me luck,
Antonio
February 7, 1995
Hey Antonio,
I remembered your birthday is coming up so here’s a card to say hi. I heard from Laneice that you got parole. Congratulations, baby, I always knew you could do it. I knew you wouldn’t be behind bars for life. Remember when you went in and you thought it was all over? Well, now it really is all over. See, you made it through. I wish I could make the homecoming party Black’s throwing for you, but unfortunately, I can’t. I’m trying to graduate early, so I have to take finals for five classes in March. But have fun, enjoy yourself, and I’ll see you around. I guess.
Love,
Natasha
July 11, 1995
I don’t even know why I’m writing this cause you probably won’t respond, but I was wondering if you wanted to get together and go out to dinner or something? I know you graduated from college and everything. Congratulations. I don’t know if you’re in New York or not, but if you are I really want to see you. Nothing serious, just get together for old times’ sake. I’m staying with my uncle on 159th Street. You remember the apartment we used to come to every now and again when we wanted to be alone? He got me a job as a porter in these buildings on Convent. It’s shitty, but I’m making enough ends to have some pocket change. It’s off the books, so I don’t have to worry about Uncle Sam scraping me. Soon as I got out, I went back to the block to check out whose there now, who been sent up, who’s been a casualty of the streets. Same old same old. Black’s laying low, got a side gig running for some Rican in the Bronx cause he got laid off from the MTA. He asked me if I wanted in. I told him I’d keep his game on the DL, but I ain’t trying to have no part in it. The temptation to start slinging was there, but I’m trying to walk the straight and narrow. I just got out the joint so the last thing I want to do is deal with baseheads all day. For a while I didn’t even leave my uncle’s spot cause whenever I went outside, it felt like the streets was watching and calling my name. Right now, all I wanna do is be an example for my brothers. Trevon is at a community college down in VA now, and I can’t let my fuckups affect him. When I get my own apartment, Tyler and Trevon are coming back to stay with me. So, shout out to a nigga when you get a chance. Let me know how you doing and if you want to get together sometime.
Upstate Page 16