Chapter 8
It turned out that I didn’t spend a week in solitary. Instead, due to a rat biting I ended up with an infection that caused a high fever. I spent nearly two weeks in the infirmary, which was the medical unit.
I was then sent back to my cell.
I figured there was no reason to act fucked up toward Tyson anymore. He wasn’t the reason why I was there, and he didn’t do anything to me.
So when he held out a fist for me to dap, I dapped.
He went over the politics of jail. The dos and the basic don’ts. I listened to what he had to say. I figured for someone who had been in there for ten years he knew what to do to survive.
“Hey man, you fucked dude up for disrespecting you during breakfast,” he said, cracking up laughing.
I gave a small smile. “I did what I had to do. I can’t have everybody else thinking I’m soft and testing me too.”
“Right. Right. I like the way you think. I’m for sure getting out this place.” He was doing push-ups as we talked. I was sitting on my bunk.
“What did you do?”
I paused. I knew that question was coming. Do I tell him or not? Would he look at me differently? Would he be too scared to be in the same cell with me? So instead of telling him I asked, “Man, what did you do?”
“Assault with a deadly weapon.”
“What was the deadly weapon?”
He paused on his push-ups to show me his two fists. “My hands. And I tried to beat the muthafucka to death with them.”
I blew out some air. “Why?”
I thought he was a probably just another gangbanger messing with people for no good reason like my dumbass friend Calhoun, or maybe he was just a reckless fool. But his words surprised me.
He stopped doing his push-ups and sat on the floor.
“Some sick muthafucka took my baby. My baby sister, Mia. He straddled her and forced her to go down on him while he went down on her. Then he penetrated her like she was a woman. He sodomized her.” He shook his head. “There wasn’t much left of my baby sister when that sick muthafucka got through with her. When he was done taking her innocence, he strangled her to death. Every time I think about it, I wanna break out of this bitch and go after his sick, twisted ass again. I was trying to kill that muthafucka! But he got saved by the bell as far as I was concerned. The cops arrested me and his ass is lying in the hospital some fucking where in a coma. She was only six-years-old. She was the only family I had.”
His eyes got watery.
“Why did they call your hands deadly weapons?” I asked curiously.
He stood and bounced around the room, making jabs with his fist. “’cause I was on the U.S. Olympic boxing team, baby!”
He bobbed and weaved in front of me. “How you think I got the name Tyson? I came out the pussy swinging!”
I laughed at the comment but didn’t really believe he was telling the truth about being on the Olympic team.
“Before this shit I was the man, baby!”
“Now what?” I asked, suddenly believing him. We were in prison; why would he lie?
He stopped and stood facing me. “Now nothing. I’m in here. My dream of having a career as a boxer is over.”
I nodded.
“But I ain’t gonna be in here forever. I’m gonna get out this bitch soon.”
I didn’t say anything. I wanted to ask him how he pulled that off. Maybe he didn’t, maybe he had pretty much done all of his time. I told myself this ’cause I didn’t want give myself any type of hope and then it gets shot down. So I was scared to even ask him his opinion about my situation. I didn’t even wanna bring it up.
How I felt didn’t stop him from asking, “What about you, homie? You feel comfortable telling me what you did?”
After what he just admitted to me, how could I not?
“Murder.”
“What? Why the fuck you kill somebody? They say the quiet niggas are the ones you gotta watch out for.”
“I didn’t. The shit don’t make a bit of sense to me. One minute I’m living my life and the next the cops are busting in my house and are beating my ass. Then I’m in jail for murder. The icing on the cake is having a man I never seen before in my life, testify against me and say that I shot an officer I also ain’t never seen before in my life.”
“That is some crazy shit, man.” He sat on his bed while saying, “What’s even crazier is the fact that it has happened to so many men in here.”
I nodded. That gave me hope that someone would believe me. But then his next sentence shot me right back down.
“You know what’s even crazier?” he asked me.
“What?”
“That they are never freed. They end up dying in this bitch. Dying fucking innocent.”
A few hours later, during rec, I thought back to Tyson’s words in the cell: the prison politics. He said in prison the only people you are allowed to congregate with are those that look just like you: black men. If I was ever caught kicking it with a white, Asian or Hispanic, I would be considered a traitor and possibly killed. It went that way for the other races as well. I saw that segregation alive and well here. And it was here on the yard. Hell, I didn’t want see it now but it was my reality.
But to be honest, I kind of wanted to stay separated from all of them and not be associated with anybody. So I tried to keep a low profile and keep myself isolated on the yard. I waved a hand at Tyson, who kept gesturing for me to come over to where he was with the blacks. The dudes that came to the cell and checked me about the corn bread were present in that group. And they kept glaring at me.
I started walking the track by myself, hoping I could clear what was left of my mind. I was surprised that I hadn’t went crazy yet. I missed my mom and Toi. I still had not heard from Toi. I kept telling myself that she was probably dealing with the shock of her man going from being in her face to being behind bars. Because those other thoughts, like maybe she was done with me or moved on to another man, were sure to drive me crazy. I already had enough to worry about. I had to find a way to get myself out of this prison. I had to. That is what was keeping me going: Knowing I needed to come up with some way out.
I continued to walk on the track. I kept my distance from the other men walking on it. So when I heard some sets of feet walking behind me, I increased my speed.
They increased theirs also.
I tilted my head to the right slightly, to see who was walking behind me.
Shit. It was two big corn-fed-looking Hispanic dudes.
I closed my eyes briefly. I knew they were going to give me heat for the shit that went down in the mess hall. Some shit that wasn’t my fault. I was just doing what the older dude who came to my cell had told me to do. But the more I thought about it, I knew that I was defending myself. I had a right to do that.
“You think you special, mayata? You trying to be a shot caller? Huh?”
I kept walking.
Another one said, “Mayata, don’t you hear this man talking to you? You better fucking answer.”
“My muthafucking name ain’t mayata.”
I knew what mayata meant. It meant “nigger” in Spanish and I sure as fuck wasn’t responding to that here or nowhere else. And if I got jumped for that shit, hey, I’d just take one for the team.
“We don’t give a fuck what your fucking name is. Just answer the fucking question.”
“No, I don’t think I’m special. And look, I don’t need this shit. I ain’t asked for no shit from none of y’all.”
“Well, you got it.”
Chapter 9
I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever was about to go down. I had no choice. I couldn’t stop them from whatever they had planned. I kept my back to them.
“You should have just given up the oatmeal, homes, and it wouldn’t have been a problem.”
The blow came from nowhere and I found myself dropping to my knees.
More blows came to my head, making me feel lighthea
ded. I was body-slammed and held down by one while the other continued giving me blow after blow.
The ass-kicking they were giving me was similar to the one the police had given me in my house before I had gotten arrested.
My face was in the dust in the track and I was being stomped repeatedly.
I rolled over so that I was on my back and managed to grab one of the feet stomping me and knocked one of them off their balance.
The other dropped to his knees in front of me and attempted to strangle me. I knocked his hands away then I swung with all my might, cracking another one in the jaw. He flew back from the impact.
I stood to my feet weakly, hoping they were done.
But they still came for me.
I squinted my eyes and tried to see them, which was hard ’cause they were kicking up dirt from the scuffling, which was landing right in my eyes, blinding me and making it hard for me to fight both of them back.
Before I could get to my feet, one guy held me down so the other one could fuck me up. He punched me in one of my eyes, making up for the lucky shot I was able to toss the one holding me down over my shoulders. Then I got the other one in his jaw.
Before I could move, a fist was then slammed into my neck. I flew to the ground from the impact.
They took that opportunity to both hold me down.
“Get the fuck off of me!”
My eyes got wide when one of them took out an object that was slim and sharp around the edges. I knew it had to be a shank. He clinched his teeth and aimed it toward my face. I struggled to get my arms free but couldn’t. He took a slice at the side of my face under my right eye. I had never been cut before and the shit hurt like hell.
I bit my bottom lip to keep from crying out as he cut into my skin, leaving an open gash that started bleeding.
“Don’t fuck with us, mayata,” he warned. He spit in my face. Then he pulled the shank back and aimed it toward my chest.
That’s when I heard this loud sound, almost like a siren, and officers yelling for us all to get down.
My arms were released and the dude that cut me slipped away.
I remained on the ground.
I watched as they pulled the two dudes away from me but left me there.
That fight sent me on another trip to the medical unit to treat the cut and the other bruises. The doctor said it would be a permanent scar. It wasn’t that big but it was big enough for people to see and in the shape of a moon.
Tyson was on the toilet. I was surprised they didn’t put me in solitary again. But it was determined that I was attacked.
“Man, they got you again.”
I didn’t say anything. I just got on my bunk and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if they would come for me again.
“All that shit that nigga said about let them deal with the other shit and none of y’all didn’t do shit to help me.”
“Nigga, I couldn’t. You not riding with us. I would have got fucked up if I jumped in.”
I sat up in the bed. “Who is us?” I demanded.
“The blacks. You turned your backs on us on the yard. When you decide to join us that’s when you will get protected, but you keep walking around here like we your enemies. And word is that those southsiders are planning some shit. But then again, they always planning some shit. Remember, if you ever hear them say this sound, sur, it’s on and you better be ready to fight, ’cause them southsiders will be coming for your black ass.”
“Have you been in a riot before?”
He pulled the sheet back, stood a little off the toilet, and pulled up his shirt to show me a long scar across his chest. “Yes, a couple times, and in the last one I almost didn’t make it out.”
“Don’t they try to break it up?” I was referring to the guards and the warden.
“They let us fight for a minute, then they do what they can to contain it. They throw tear gas and eventually move on to firing shots. But they are never able to contain it without calling in outside police. Just remember this: The riots are a double-edged sword. On one hand, if a man is coming for you, you have to protect yourself, but on the other hand you don’t want it to look like you’re a part of it. So get as far away from it as you can. ”
I frowned and placed my hands behind my head.
Tyson flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Look, I hate these prison politics just as much as you do. Matter a’ fact, I acted just like you did when I first got here. I was pissed off that I was even in this bitch and said fuck the world. Eventually I had to realize that I couldn’t make it in here alone. I came here when I was twenty. And now I’m thirty years old. And I feel like I may be getting a year older every year, but my mentality in a sense has never caught up with how old I am because I have no real living to show for the amount of time I’ve been on this earth because ten years of my living has been in here. Dawg, this is a fucked-up place to be. You’re in the other version of hell. That’s some crazy shit. Your life is always going to be a struggle while you’re in here. I mean, that’s if you want to stay alive.”
Maybe dying wasn’t a bad alternative to being in here, I thought.
He continued. “But following the prison politics is what kept me alive. You can’t be a loner here. You’re gonna have to pick a side. That’s how it is. This shit is more like a game and the same common sense you use on the streets you gotta use in here. Where you from?”
“I’m no thug. I have never gangbanged but I lived in the Springdales.”
“Fuck gangbanging I never gangbanged either. I don’t care if you ain’t never gangbanged. I ain’t talking about that. It’s about having thug in you.”
He took a deep breath. “Put it like this. If you grew up in the projects and you made it out, you’re a thug. If your mama raised you alone and you made something of yourself, you a thug. It’s not about gangbanging or going around robbing people. It’s about knowing how to survive with the bare minimum. It’s always about having an edge to you that gets you out of bullshit. Being able to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. Making something out of nothing, man. And if you repressed that thug in you, you better let that shit come back out ’cause it’s that thug in you that’s going to keep you alive in here.”
Before I could say anything else a guard came to our cell with a slip of paper and told me I had a visit.
Man, nothing felt better than seeing my mama’s smiling face and being able to hug and touch her hands. It gave me a type of comfort that I really needed. That was the first time I had cracked a smile since I had been in this mess. It was good seeing Calhoun too, who was sitting next to my mama.
“What’s up!” He stood and hugged me. I hugged him back.
When we both pulled away he said, “I’m gonna give y’all some privacy.” He went and sat at a table over from us.
I then hugged my mother tightly and sat down across from her. “Hey Mama.”
“Hey baby. I—”
“Before you get into it, don’t bother. Whatever you told me and didn’t tell me. Whatever you kept from me all those years, I know you had a good reason for it. I’m not mad at you, Mama. I love you.”
Her shoulders shook and her eyes were watery. I could tell she was trying to save face and not cry in front of me. I was trying to do the same.
“How you holding up in here?”
“Good.”
But even as I said this I watched her eyes pass over all the bruises on my face and even the cut that was under my eye.
She had her hands over her mouth. She took them away from her face and asked, “Who cut you, Chance?”
I shook my head. “Mama, don’t worry about it. My focus is on getting out of here if I can. Any news on the lawyer?”
“Well, I spoke to Richard Brown. He agreed to still work the case but he needs more money, Chance.”
“How much?”
“He asked for fifteen thousand up front.”
“Damn,” I mumbled. “That’s a lot of money. Why so much?
”
“Well, he said something ’bout this case going to take up a lot of his time because it is going to be hard to prove you are innocent, and if he is able to get you off he wants to be assured that he gets paid for his work.”
“I have six Gs in savings, that’s it. I don’t know of another way to get some money.” I knew my mama didn’t have it. Neither did Toi. I wasn’t going to even bother and ask Calhoun. In that moment I regretted always shelling out dough to Toi for her rent and bills. For the Gucci and Louis Vuitton bags, the vacations and last-minute getaways, the expensive jewelry I had bought her just because. If I hadn’t done all these things I would have more money saved.
So I had to make a decision quickly to get the money.
“You can put the house up for sale.”
I shook my head. “No, Mama. Then where you gonna live? I rest a little better knowing you got a roof over your head somewhere safe.”
“Chance, if getting you out of here meant that I had to sleep in a cardboard box, I would.”
“No, Mama.”
“Listen. I can go get a room somewhere. Don’t worry about me. We have to get you out of here. You don’t belong in here. I already spoke to someone. And you know I don’t like doing things without letting you know firsthand, but Toi agreed that selling the house was the best choice to make.”
Just the mention of her name made my heart speed up. I had so many questions to ask my mama about her. Was she okay? Did she mention me? Did she still love me? Why no contact? Instead I asked, “Toi? Mama, how is she doing?”
“She said she is a little shaken up with all of this. But she is being so helpful with the paperwork, since she is better with this stuff than me. She agreed to be your power of attorney. You should be getting the papers in the mail soon. Just sign them and mail them back. She told me to give you her love and apologized for not coming to court and to visit you. But that girl has really been handling business.”
Relief flooded through me. I gave a half smile. So my baby did still love me. ’Cause I was starting to wonder if she still did because I was now locked up and couldn’t be much of a man to her and couldn’t do much for her like I used to do. I mean, I was her superman before I got locked up. And I didn’t have a problem with it because she was my woman. But to know the she was out there fighting for her man restored so much faith in me.
Thug in Me Page 5