Thug in Me

by Karen Williams

  “I don’t know what to say at this point. But we can still keep working on this case, Chance.” That was my lawyer.

  I turned my teary eyes on him. I could hear my heart pumping in my chest. I pulled my lips in and wanted to die right there in that courtroom. I would rather be that cop I was accused of killing, than be me and have this fate laid out to me.

  “Please!” my mama screamed as two police tussled with her. “My son did not do this!”

  She was ignored and refused to walk so she was dragged out.

  “This is some bullshit! Chance! Chance!” That was Calhoun, who was dragged out the courtroom alongside my mother.

  Everything moved slowly for me and I knew this was the start of time moving slow. I also knew that the life that I had carved out for myself was over.

  And just like in the movie American Me the prison guard said, “Nobody talks while I talk. Y’all shut the fuck up.”

  They shipped me from Twin Towers to Delano State Prison.

  All around me all the men talked. I just kept to myself, didn’t make eye contact with anyone, and kept my mouth closed.

  I did the routine just as the other inmates did. I stripped naked, opened my mouth, raised my hands, lifted my balls, spread my butt cheeks wide, crouched down, and coughed. All while having several equally naked men in front of me do the same thing under the watchful eyes of the correction officers supervising us.

  Then we were done. I spent the next four hours waiting in reception for them to find me a cell, after taking all sorts of tests.

  I blocked out everything that was going on around me and those words, twenty years to life replayed over and over in my head. Part of me wished I had done something different but I didn’t know what. I guess I thought this trial would play itself out and they would have to figure out—they would have to—that this person, this murderer, it wasn’t me. But they never did. With all the dudes around me, I tried not to tear up again. But what man wouldn’t break down and cry after hearing they would be spending the rest of their life behind bars for some shit they were no part of? I didn’t even know Ron Jasper and I couldn’t understand why he would get on that stand and lie on me. I had to have been set up plain and simple, by him and Lord knows who else. But why?

  I was told that I could be in reception for a couple months. But it seemed like a matter a days I was sent to my bed. It was probably because of the severity of the crime.

  My cell was on the second tier. I was escorted to my cell by another prison guard.

  The guard didn’t say much, but simply told me that I had the top bunk.

  I stepped inside when the cell door slid open. It closed quickly. I looked around. It was so small. I didn’t know how another man and I were going to be able to share it. There was a shelf on the wall and a thin sheet covered the tiny area the toilet sat in. I turned away and I sat my blanket roll on the top bunk, feeling like every man in there was watching me through the cell bars.

  “Get the fuck away from my bed, nigga, for you get fucked up!”

  I paused and turned around slowly, not knowing if I would have to fight this dude.

  When I made eye contact with him, he surprised me by laughing. “I’m just fucking with you.”

  He stepped closer to me and held out his hand. “What’s happening? They call me Tyson.”

  I didn’t even know if I should even be talking to this dude. I inspected him quickly. He was short, light skin with tats up and down his arms. A torn shirt was wrapped around his head. And while he seemed cool, I didn’t know whether to trust him or not. He could be a murderer. He could be a rapist. Point-blank, I didn’t know the man. So I didn’t plan on getting all friendly with him. But I told him my name.

  “Chance,” I said in a hoarse voice.

  I shook his hand and looked down at the floor.

  “I sleep on the bottom,” he told me.

  I nodded blankly. Then I leaped on the top bunk.

  How was I going to manage to be in here with all these men? Truth be told, I didn’t understand how someone could live day by day in something like this. My situation reminded me of that movie I saw called Hurricane about that man who was falsely accused of murder and in jail for years and years. I never thought the same shit would ever happen to me, not in a million years. This is a corrupt-ass world.

  While all these people are out there killing innocent people, children are getting sexually abused, women are getting raped and beat, and here I am locked up for some shit I didn’t do! I wanted to take my fist and punch it through a fucking wall. Or better yet, punch that DA and the judge for falsely putting me here. The shit they did to me should be illegal. They should be in fucking jail.

  “Man, why you so quiet?”

  I ignored him.

  “Lets go over some rules in here. I mean, if we gonna get along, we gotta establish some rules. Rule number one: I’m not gay so don’t even think about pushing up on me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not gay either.”

  “Do you plan on ever changing the team you play for?”

  He leaned his head over the edge of his bed so I could see him from on top of my bed.

  I shook my head. “Naw.”

  “Rule number two: What’s mine is mine, period. Don’t fuck with my shit.”

  I nodded.

  “Rule number three: Don’t bring no illegal shit in here. That includes dope, pruno, lighters, weapons, and cell phones. I’m scheduled to meet with the committee next year and I’m trying to go home. I done already lost ten years of my life in here so that means I can’t have no dirt on me. I’ve been squeaky clean since I been here and ain’t no celly going to dirty me up.”

  I started to ask him what he did and see if maybe he could give me any type of advice on what I could do about my situation.

  “Oh, and don’t bring no punks in here.”

  “Huh?” I was confused.

  “A gay dude. I do not care how much he look likes a real bitch. Fuck them somewhere else.”

  “Hey, man. I’m said I’m not gay.” I was already tired of hearing his voice when I had so much other shit on my mind.

  “And when you take a shit. You drop one turd, flush and repeat, that way our cell won’t smell like shit. You got any questions for me as far as prison politics?”

  I knew I should have asked to protect myself, but I didn’t.

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “I guess you want to learn the hard way.”

  I shrugged. I didn’t want to learn nothing except that this was a bad dream and that I would wake up from the shit and go back to my normal life. Go to my job, come home, kiss my mama on her cheek, eat some of her good cooking, take my girl shopping, fuck my girl, sleep in my own bed, shit in my own toilet, and do the same thing all over again the next day. That’s all I wanted.

  When it was time for dinner, I followed Tyson as our cell door was mechanically opened. We fell in line with other prisoners. I didn’t really know what to do, so I just copied what Tyson did. I felt eyes all on me as I walked in the line. Although I didn’t put my head down in fear, I made eye contact with no one.

  When we got to what they called the mess hall I picked up my tray and walked the serving line, getting my food. My face remained expressionless and when I did make eye contact with an inmate they would mean mug me, like I had really done something wrong to them.

  “Keep moving,” the guards said.

  As I reached the edge of the serving line, a Hispanic man next to me tapped my tray.

  I was confused as to what he wanted but the Hispanic man next to him said, “He wants your corn bread.”

  I took it off my tray and handed it to him.

  I wasn’t able to sit anywhere near Tyson and for the first time since I had been there and met him I wished that I could, cause he was the only familiar face and if he was next to me it would ease my comfort level somewhat. Growing up in Springdales I was never considered a punk. I knew how to handle my business when it came to
fighting. But I didn’t think I was built to handle this: prison. This shit was probably going to be the end of me.

  I stared down at my tray that consisted of a slim amount of what looked like chili beans, some string beans, and a square of Jell-O and two pieces of bread. It was a far fucking cry from smothered pork chops, oxtail stew, enchiladas, jambalaya, lasagna, and curry chicken my mama used to cook for me

  Damn, I hoped my mama was okay and I hoped she was not sitting, stressing over me. But I knew she probably was. What mother wouldn’t?

  Regardless of what was on the tray, it could have been some lobster. I wasn’t hungry so it wouldn’t have tasted good to me, not with all the stress I was dealing with. The last thing I wanted to do was eat. However, I knew that I had to put on a front with the other prisoners so I picked up my spoon and began to scoop some of the chili beans in my mouth. I didn’t taste them and they felt heavy on my tongue. I chewed a few times and fought the urge to spit the shit back onto the tray. Instead, I attempted to swallow, which was hard when I had a lump in the back of my throat. After a few tries, I was able to get it down. Guards walked back and forth around us while we ate.

  We were not given much time to eat the food. I gave up on the chili and ate the piece of Jell-O.

  That’s when dinner was called, whether you were done or not.

  We all went back to our cells.

  I climbed on top of my bed in silence. Just as I managed to get on top, I almost fell when I saw six black dudes crowd around our cell.

  The tallest one said in a raspy voice, “Get the fuck of that bed, nigga, and come here.”

  I looked down, thinking they were talking about Tyson.

  “You, muthafucka!” He pointed a finger at me.

  I slid off the bed and stood so I was facing him. Like I said, I never considered myself to be a punk but something about six big black niggas in front of my cell had me shook. The main dude had three teardrops that were darkened in and trailed down his face.

  “Aye man. Don’t be giving them fucking Mexicans no food!”

  At first I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then I remembered at dinner how I had given a guy some corn bread on the serving line.

  “I didn’t want it and he asked for it. I didn’t think it was a big deal.” I didn’t even think anyone was paying attention to what I did on the serving line. But I guess they were. That meant I had to watch my every move while I was there.

  “I don’t give a fuck what he asked for! And it is a big deal. You young and dumb but you need to learn the ethics of jail, or you gonna get yourself killed.” He pointed a finger toward the ground while saying, “In here it’s us against them.”

  I nodded my head at what he said. But to be honest, I didn’t have a problem with Hispanics. But I had to be smart and listen to what he was saying. I wasn’t home anymore. I wasn’t free. The rules out there didn’t apply in here.

  “Next time a Mexican or white boy or anybody that ain’t black ask you for something you tell them hell no. And if they got a problem with it you fuck they ass up! We’ll worry about the rest. You ain’t home no more, nigga. Welcome to the muthafucking jungle.”

  I nodded. Hell realized is what I wanted to call it. Maybe hell was even better than this. I couldn’t imagine anything being worse. I had to get out.

  “Take it to your cells!” a guard yelled.

  The dudes all walked away.

  Chapter 7

  Sure enough, the next morning when I was passing through the serving line I was given scrambled eggs, two slices of bread, and some oatmeal.

  A different dude tapped on my tray. He was Hispanic.

  I glanced his way quickly and shook my head. I went to my table, sat down and started eating some of my eggs. Eating was still a struggle for me. But I knew I had to keep face in here.

  I was about to put my spoon in my oatmeal when I paused, seeing the same dude that had asked for my eggs standing over me.

  Out of nowhere, he stuck his finger in my oatmeal.

  “What the fuck you doing?” I demanded.

  The man made a tsk sound.

  All eyes were now on him and I. Before I could make another move the dude rushed me. I flew from the metal bench from the impact and to the floor. The man got on top of me and started throwing punches. I used all the strength that I had and managed to flip him onto his back. I straddled him with my body and socked him square in the jaw. He grunted and tried to throw another punch. I ducked.

  He used that as an opportunity to get me off of him.

  Once he had me off of him, we both rushed to our feet. I had one fist balled and the other wide open waiting to catch one of his fists and crack him with my free hand.

  I did just that, grasping his wrist and cracking him square in his face again.

  There was cheering going on around the mess hall.

  That’s when I zeroed in on the officers who were yelling for us to stop and drop to the floor.

  But if the other man wasn’t going to stop, then I wasn’t.

  And he wasn’t.

  Even though he had no wins with me. And he knew it.

  I was grabbing every punch and giving him one every time. His face was bloody and he was stumbling around and shaking his head weakly.

  I knew I had to do this.

  And if they got a problem with it you fuck they ass up!

  Somebody grabbed me by the back of my shirt. It knocked me off balance and I fell to the floor. At first I thought it was one of the guards but it was an Hispanic inmate. The dude I was fighting spit in my face. The saliva splattered in my eye, making me temporarily blind for the moment.

  That’s when I felt his nails rake down my face. It started stinging.

  Blood trickled in my eye.

  I was blinking rapidly to get my eyesight back. But I still wasn’t going to let this dude beat me.

  I grabbed him by his neck and continued to work on him like my life depended on it.

  I punched him over and over again, taking all the aggression I had inside of me out on him for fucking with me.

  I gave him fist after fist after fist, breathing rapidly as I did until all he could do was lay in a heap, breathing hard.

  That’s when the guards finally grabbed us both and led us away.

  The hole was even smaller than my actual cell. I didn’t really care, though.

  I was in that room all day until they let me out for an hour of exercise and that hour felt like five minutes. But even then, I was still in an enclosed space that looked like a cage.

  Shortly after rec, I was sent back to solitary and a guard came to my door.

  He stepped in the room and closed the door.

  “You know who I am?”

  “No.”

  I had seen him before. He was a stocky black dude with a bald cut. He had to be about six-feet-four. He was dark-skinned with a hawk’s nose. His two front teeth were gold.

  “I’m Roscoe. When we one-on-one you can call me Roscoe. When we with the other inmates and my peers, you call me sir. And today is your lucky day.”

  “Oh yeah? How is that?” I didn’t have anymore more lucky days. I knew that as sure as the sun was shining.

  His voice was husky. “Listen up,” he told me. “You supposed to stay in here for a week for that shit you pulled in the mess hall.”

  What shit did I pull? I was attacked. But I didn’t bother telling him this. I doubt he gave a damn.

  “I can get you out today along with some money on your books.”

  I couldn’t care less about having money on my books. And I also figured that whatever he wanted me to do it wouldn’t be anything legal, else why would he come to solitary to tell me? Why would he need to speak to me in private?

  My silence prompted him to continue. But I wished that he wouldn’t.

  “I can drop it by here and when you get released back into regular pop, you can sell it in here for me.”

  “Sell what?”

  “Dope.”
<
br />   “You serious?”

  “You stupid muthafucka! I read your file. You know how long you gonna be in here? For life. It’s best you make some friends while you in here. And it’s best you make friends with me.”

  It sounded like a threat more than anything.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Nigga, you shot a cop. The fact that you didn’t get the death sentence is only ’cause you shot a black cop.”

  “I ain’t killed nobody.”

  “Yeah? You probably didn’t. But it don’t matter. You gonna pay like you did. You know how many niggas are in here for some shit they didn’t do? You know how long? All they fucking life. And you can forget about that appeal bullshit. It takes them forever to even respond and when they do it is denied. I done seen it happen enough to know. So fuck that keep-hope-alive. This is it for you. The only alive you gonna see is behind these fucking walls. You might as well make the best of it. And this is the best place to sling. I make a killing in here, man. Niggas in here depressed and shit about being away from their family. Niggas wondering who fucking their girl. They can’t fuck. The only release they get is looking at the female guards and jacking off or fucking these punks in here. Then they gotta deal with how that shit makes them feel. Their form of therapy is getting high. So you need to go on and get on my team, dawg.”

  Deep down in the core of me, that shit he said was exactly how I felt. I did feel my life was over and whatever life I fucking had left, I felt like I was going to be spending it here. But I wasn’t going to do a muthafucking thing for his crooked ass.

  “I’m not slinging your shit.”

  “Come again?”

  “You heard—”

  Suddenly he took his baton and slammed it into my stomach.

  I couldn’t breathe for a minute. I fell onto my side and resisted the urge of fucking him up. It was just me and him in there anyway.

  But I didn’t. I just stayed on my side and inhaled a ragged breath.

  “You stupid muthafucka. You just fucked up. Now! You on my bad side.”

  He left the room, closed and locked it back.