Butterfly Bitch!

by Wahida Clark

  In the watery vision, Butterfly could still sense Buffy walking around the cell, and she could hear Fats muzzy screams to Buffy.

  But Butterfly was still stuck in the dream or trance that seemed almost nightmarish. She was in her parent's car, and they were dropping her off at her uncle's house, and she felt like she was ten years old. She couldn't help but feel her father's accusing eyes looking at her with disgust, and if that wasn't hurtful enough, her brother had had the same accusing eyes!

  They were in her father's car, and they were going on vacation, but they were going to leave Butterfly behind because of what she was!

  “I don't want to stay, Momma! I wanna go with you! Why are you gonna leave me behind?” Butterfly was too young to understand, too young to comprehend, that he/she didn't fit into his family's picture of a perfect family. He/she was a freak, an accident that should have never been born to tarnish their family's name, or his father's honor, as his father saw it.

  Butterfly's father looked at him with disgust written in his eyes as Butterfly's brother juggled a football between his hands in the back of the car, impatient to rid himself of his gay brother!

  “You can't come to the political convention with us this year. Wait till next year, I promise,” her mother Sandra said.

  “But, Mama!”

  “Get out the car. We have to go!” Butterfly's father screamed at her. He couldn't take any more of the weakling he had as a son. It made him feel as if he was weak for being Butterfly's father. And all it did was confirm the word’s belching forth from Peyton’s letter: “I hope you kill yourself in there.”

  Butterfly's mother had tears in her eyes, and she was just too afraid of what her husband would think of her if she were to brush the tears from her youngest son's eyes. She hated the fact that Butterfly was gay, and she knew her youngest son would never be accepted by his own family. It was as if he was a stepchild or a foster kid, as if he wasn't flesh of their flesh and blood of their blood.

  It was all the crying Butterfly could do. He was quickly whisked out of the car into his uncle's arms.

  “Bye, baby,” Butterfly's mother, Sandra said. “Be good, Bobby. Bye Kevin.”

  Kevin was Sandra's brother, a pastor of a famous and prosperous church, and he understood that Butterfly would never fit into his family's picturesque frame.

  Kevin waved to the car as they sped off, and for each yard they drove away, a tear had fallen from Butterfly's eyes.

  Butterfly fought to wake from the dream, but she couldn't break the trance! She was still a child, and she was still in the nightmare of the past. She couldn't break free, and she and her uncle floated to her room. Before long, her uncle was naked and bent over her as she felt him thrusting inside her. It felt so wrong and so unfair, but no one cared!

  And as with all the other times that she had been molested, it was as if she wasn't there. Her mind drifted away from the experience, and she had fled to a field of orchards where dozens of enchanting butterflies floated around in the pollen infested pastures. It was so beautiful and breathtaking and Butterfly finally felt free, as if she had wings with pretty patterns of lively colors! Butterfly felt as free as a butterfly and as a butterfly only. And before her dream had faded to total darkness she had seen herself as a teenager dressed in drag for the very first time. And then and only then did she finally feel like a butterfly, as the beautiful woman in the mirror stared back at her. She had found herself.

  Chapter Five

  To The Compound But Of Course

  Butterfly still could feel the sun on her skin where she had been lying in the orchard during her dream, and when she thought she would see more butterflies, she awoke to the alarming sound of the trap on the door having been yanked open.

  “Bobby Moore, get up!” an irritated CO yelled.

  Butterfly had to try harder to pull from her sleep.

  “Bobby More, get up now!” the CO screamed again. He didn't have time for this shit! He had other inmates to wake up, and he didn't want to stand there all day.

  Butterfly turned over in the bed to acknowledge him.

  “What?”

  “You have Team. And Adams, you know I have to cuff you up too. Get up!” the CO yelled.

  “Buffy, get up,” Butterfly said as she shook him.

  “What, gurl? They need to learn how to talk to a lady,” Buffy said, completely frustrated and feeling cranky. “Waking me up with that bullshit! Hold your horses, cracker!” Buffy said to the CO.

  “They said I'm going to Team. What's that?”

  “Don't worry. It's your counselors, so you might be going to the compound today.”

  Butterfly was handcuffed through the trap in the cell door and taken to a room where her counselors were. One was a fat white lady with a short hairstyle, and the other was a buff white guy who looked as if he had chewing tobacco in his mouth.

  “Mr. Moore,” the buff man whose name was Scandal said.

  “Miss,” Butterfly said as a normal response when referred to as a man.

  “We have room on the compound, and we're going to let you out, but the Captain sent us down here to browbeat you on our strict policy against any sexual activity between inmates. If you think that's going to be a problem you should let us know now.”

  “No, it won't be a problem,” Butterfly said, sounding surly.

  “You don't sound too sure,” Ms. Mires said with a marked attitude. Ms. Mires was, of course, the rotund and amorphous-shaped lady with the short hair, and it took everything in Butterfly’s power not to quack like a duck in response to how Ms. Mires looked and spoke.

  “I'm sure!” Butterfly resolved to say as she rolled her eyes.

  “There's no need to get angry with us; we're just doing our job.”

  Sure, Butterfly thought. That’s if being an asshole is your job. “I'm not angry at you. I'm just tired of everybody making a big deal out of who I am,” Butterfly exclaimed to Ms. Mires.

  “This is jail! You do what we say and what we want. You're going to be assigned to Unit 2A, and you better be on your best behavior. If you have any further questions, they'll have to wait until your initial team or open house every day during mainline.”

  My God, Butterfly thought, you have to be a rocket scientist to be an inmate—initial team, open house, mainline. But she was too pissed off to ask the two people in front of her what any of it meant, especially considering it was their job to be assholes!

  “Bye,” Butterfly said smugly.

  The COs took Butterfly back to her cell to pack her things. On the way, they passed a closet where inmates were getting their hair cut. The barber, Atwater, who cut their hair, met eyes with Butterfly, and they held each other's gaze until she passed the door. When she returned back to her cell, Buffy was brushing her teeth.

  “Gurl, you was on some weird shit last night, let me tell you. You got in the bed with me and curled up and you was holding ya hands against your ears. I thought I was going to have to press the panic button.”

  “Just had a bad trip,” Butterfly said.

  “What unit are you going to?” Buffy asked.

  “I think they said 2A.”

  “Damn, they're sending you over there with Bad Breath Britney. She's okay. She'll steal ya man as fast as you can blink your eyes. So watch her. And make sure all my property got packed out. I'll be out in three weeks or more.”

  “There was this guy out there cutting hair. Who's that?”

  Buffy had to think for a second, and then he knew instantly. “Atwater? He act like he's all that. He's the Assistant Grand Sheik of the Moors, with his bourgeois ass. Why? Did he say something to you?”

  “No, I was just asking.”

  The COs had returned to get Butterfly. And after asking if she was ready, they popped the trap to put them in handcuffs.

  Buffy hugged Butterfly before they were placed in handcuffs. “Give me a hug because I won't see you for a few weeks. But you be careful out there. And I forgot to tell you last night, but
don’t even think about messing around with Sosa if you don’t want a race riot on your hands.”

  Butterfly looked frightened. She didn't know what awaited her, and she was scared shitless.

  When Butterfly walked out the SHU, her eyes had to adjust to the bright and gleaming sun. It was sunny and hot and her mind, body, and bones felt relaxed in the sunrays, despite the fact she was trembling with fear.

  She had to carry the little belongings she had, and she walked with about six other inmates who had been released with her. And all eyes were on her because she was the only irresistible gay amongst the guys who surrounded her.

  They walked down the compound, which seemed like, if she had to compare it to anything, a college campus. The whole compound was outside with buildings, and corrugated barb-wire toppled the gates that surrounded the prison. You couldn't see the trees on the outside of the prison for the buildings that were in different portions of the prison.

  Butterfly walked down the walkway, amazed at how big the prison seemed.

  Other inmates ogled her, and she heard all types of stuff: “Damn baby, you need help with that?” and “Just what we need: more fags on the compound.” Someone sighed.

  Butterfly knew that she had to be strong, despite her harrowing fears, because she had already felt the negativity coming from so many guys as they stared at her, as if she could change who she was! She walked to the unit, and when she had finally gotten inside, everybody there, which were 120 or more men, got up to look at her. She didn't know if to feel like a star or a fly on a wall. But she noticed immediately that Sosa was in the same unit, which was very reassuring.

  The CO came out of his office. “Who are you?”

  “Bobby Moore.”

  “You're assigned to cell #208 on the top range. Let me know immediately if you need a pillow or a mat.”

  Butterfly waited to see if the CO had anything else to say.

  “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” he answered curtly.

  Butterfly looked over at Sosa, who was sitting at one of the tables that was in the unit. He was sitting with three other Mexicans, and he didn’t hide when he winked at Butterfly and gave a welcoming smile.

  Butterfly smiled back and almost tripped over her bed roll as she picked it up and headed to her cell. When she got there, she noticed the cell was smaller than the cell in the SHU and lacked a shower, but had everything else like the SHU cell, in addition to lockers.

  There were pictures of her cellmate with his family on the bulletin board. Her cellmate was white and most definitely gay.

  After she arranged her bed, she was startled to see Sosa standing at the door looking at her with a genuine smile on his face. But whatever fear she felt went away immediately as she heard him say, “Morena deliciosa, you are all mine.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh as he entered the cell. She said, “And what makes you so sure I’m yours?”

  He sat on the toilet as Butterfly put the finishing touches on her bed. “I was hoping and praying that you would come to this unit. And here you are. It’s a sign for me, you know?”

  She turned and noticed he had a commissary bag full of stuff. She squinted as a smile spread across her face.

  “Sosa, I don’t want to cause no problems. I’ve been told about some racial stuff, and I don’t want to be in the middle of it, so there’s no way I can take anything from you.” Butterfly didn’t know what made her say what she said next. “But I do think you are so adorable!” What she said was ironic because it was discouraging and encouraging.

  “Listen, morena deliciosa, I got these things because I want you to have them. What they say?” He searched his mind for the limited English words he had. “No strings attached.” Sosa got up and gave Butterfly the bag that fell to the floor because of how full it was. He smiled as he held Butterfly’s gaze until they both walked out of the cell, and he was about to leave until they both turned to somebody speaking to Butterfly.

  “Home girl, what's up?”

  Butterfly was on guard at the unfamiliar short, acne-faced guy who approached her carrying another commissary bag of goods in his hands. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, but she couldn't really tell his age. This guy who Butterfly had never met, walked up to Sosa as he set the bag down on the ground and said, “Sosa, you know how this or any place is run. You know the rules, man. She’s from DC, and you respect it or get your people ready.”

  Sosa stood tall and bristled under the affront. “Fraze, when I left a year ago, I didn’t even know you had a voice without Black, E, and Berry with you.”

  It was clear Fraze didn’t want to start anything right here, so he held up the bag to Sosa. “This bag here is from Black.”

  Sosa waved him off, seeing that he didn’t want any drama. So he looked at Butterfly as he said, “I’ll see you later, Morena, but don’t forget what I told you on the bus.”

  Butterfly was momentarily speechless because this was the time she needed his guidance and protection, and here he was walking away to leave her with whatever his name was.

  “Fraze,” he said to Butterfly as if reading her mind. “Black told the homies that you were here, and he gave me this to give to you. It's a care package.”

  “What's this for?” Butterfly asked, somewhat defensive.

  “Nothing,” Fraze said. “Nothing at all. Whenever a homie from DC comes in, we give them something: zoom zooms and wham whams, and a radio. We's DC, and we gotta look out for each other. If you wanna catch up with Black, he works in the barbershop. He'll be there tonight after count.”

  “Catch up with him for what?” Butterfly was still apprehensive.

  “Check this out, champ. A lot of fools are gonna be hounding you around here. Black is good protection. Everybody respects his gangsta; keep that in mind. So swing by and say what's up to him. And now is a good time to start looking for a job before they put you in the kitchen or CMS.”

  “I ain’t working for nobody in the kitchen or whatever CMS is.”

  “Chill out, home girl. Tomorrow, all you have to do is talk to Ms. Mires and tell her to hold down on giving you a job assignment until you find the job you want. Because, trust me, they'll stick you wherever they want. But I gotta run to make a phone call before everybody comes back on recall. I'll holler at you later.”

  Shit, Butterfly thought, some more language I don’t understand. But if her memory served her right, Buffy explained that recall meant when everybody had to return to their units in order to be counted at 4:00 p.m. And whatever he said about CMS had something to do with Compound Maintenance Services, which she read on a wall outside the officer’s office upon entering the unit. She knew for a fact that she wasn’t working for anybody. Lucky enough, her modeling agent had cut her a check for her last gigs, totaling a whopping $6,000, of which, in DC jail, she had only spent $600. She was cool on funds. Butterfly dragged the care package in the cell and tried her best to fit two commissary bags full of commissary into her 4X3 locker. She was hoping to God Sosa wouldn’t put any money on her inmate account, and people would stop bringing her bags of commissary. It all extremely frightened her.

  Chapter Six

  Gay Bash

  Atwater Has His Wife In The Palm Of His Hand Atwater wore his prison garbs, which were the same as everybody else's, either a khaki suit or sweat pants. But due to the unexpected heat outside, he had on shorts and a wife-beater. He was speaking with his wife in the telephone room, and he hated the fact that whenever somebody else spoke in the room, there was an echo that bounced off the walls and made it hard for him to hear his wife over the phone.

  “What? Stop worrying and calm down. Tyler should be over there to speak to you in a second. Everything's under control,” he said to his wife Shonda. She didn't fit the description of a woman riding out with her man while he was incarcerated. She was very attractive; no matter the fact that she was in her early 40s and had two children who were twenty-one and eighteen with Atwater before he was arrested eighteen yea
rs ago. At the beginning of his bit, things were a little rocky. But eventually he started to listen to the older guys around him, who gave him advice on how to get his wife back like he had her on the streets. And most of the advice consisted of him being understanding that he wasn’t there with her anymore.

  “I don't like Tyler coming over here. He ain’t ya friend, and I hate when you regard him as one. If he was ya friend, you wouldn't be in jail—he would.”

  Atwater heard the attitude in her voice. “What I tell you about speaking reckless over this horn? That's too much information. Baby, to be with a boss you have to think bossy without letting your emotions cloud your judgment. So boss up.”

  “Mace”—She called him by his first name—”I don't want to hear that or anything about the Prophet Noble Drew Ali. I'm the one out here with these kids. I've raised them all by myself.”

  That took Atwater by surprise. “I'm going to act as if I didn't even hear that. No—matter of fact, I'm going to address it, so we won't ever have to cross this bridge again.

  “When I met you, you didn't have dreams and aspirations. All you wanted to be was a housewife. Everything about going to school to become an accountant was my idea.” Atwater could hear Shonda slamming pots and pans down in the background, but he continued. “It was an idea within a bigger idea. Remember when the kids were young and I suggested that we put them in private school and I paid the tuition? Yes, I know you remember. Everything up till this point we've done together. I know you're stressing, but I got ya, baby.”

  Shonda sighed, and at that moment, she didn't even know why she had been mad in the first place. She wasn't mad at him, per se—she was simply mad at the fact that she was tired of waiting for him to come home.

  “I didn't mean to say that. I'm sorry.”

  “Don't worry about it.” Atwater understood her to the tee. “I know you're just anxious to get me home.”