Mama's Boy

by ReShonda Tate Billingsley

  “I am thinking about this family,” he barked. “I do not want to use Phillip Christiansen. That’s just gonna create more drama. Now, the Black Justice Coalition has top notch people and I. . .”

  Gloria tuned him out. He’d already given her 101 reasons why they should work with the ministers and their attorney. She was tired of hearing it.

  “You work with whomever the hell you want!” she yelled, and headed out the door. “I’m using Phillip Christiansen!”

  She’d driven back to Houston alone, struggling not to let Elton ruin her mood. She and Phillip were scheduled to see Jamal at the jail today and she wanted to be in the best spirits possible when she saw her son.

  Gloria lucked out and found a parking spot right in front of the jail. A thought flashed through her mind. Maybe this was a sign that things were about to turn around. Okay, so maybe lucking out on a parking spot didn’t necessarily mean anything, but she’d take every little blessing that she could.

  Phillip had texted her and told her he was already inside, filling out some paperwork and to just wait in the lobby, which she did. The cold, bare walls of the Harris County Jail turned her stomach. This place was much bigger than the Jasper jail, but it definitely wasn’t better. And it was packed. Sad faces, puffy eyes, and exasperated bodies filled the room of people waiting to see their loved ones.

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Phillip walked out. “Mrs. Jones, you made it.”

  He extended his hand to shake hers, but Gloria couldn’t help it, she pulled him into a hug. He didn’t seem surprised and simply smiled.

  “So, did you get signed in and everything?” Gloria asked. “I’m amazed that you were able to get this meeting so quickly.” Phillip had been on it and had set up a meeting with Jamal. Gloria was just grateful that she could attend.

  “We’re all set. I did have to call in some favors to let you be able to sit in on this meeting. But luckily, I cited a case law about a juvenile who had his case overturned because his initial counsel meeting was without his parents.”

  “Good thing you know your stuff.” She smiled. Not only was this man on top of his job, but he also seemed to care about Jamal’s well-being.

  Phillip gave her a reassuring smile, then motioned for her to follow him back.

  They walked into a small, dusty room that held nothing but a wooden table and four chairs. Phillip pulled out the seat for Gloria. He eased into the chair next to her.

  They sat in silence for about five minutes, Phillip looking over paperwork, she praying incessantly.

  The door clicked and both of them sat up. Tears raced to the front of Gloria’s eyes as a uniformed guard brought her son in. Shackles adorned his wrists and ankles. The orange jumpsuit swallowed his frame. Fear covered his face. There was a bruise under his left eye.

  “Oh, my God. What happened to you?” Gloria asked, jumping up and reaching out to touch his face. He moved his head out of her reach.

  “I’m a’ight. This just ain’t no party in here,” he said with a raspy voice.

  “Did a cop do that to you?” she said.

  “Nah, Ma,” Jamal said, sliding in the chair across from her. “Some dude named Big Earl. But I’m okay, seriously.” He looked at Phillip. “So are you my attorney?”

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about,” Phillip said. “I want to represent you, but before I officially take on any new clients, I like to have a conversation with them and make sure I’m who they want on their team.” Phillip leaned forward on the table. “I need you to be one hundred and fifty percent honest with me, okay? The only way I can help you is if I know everything. Got it?”

  Jamal nodded.

  Phillip took out a pad and pen. “Now, I need you to start from the beginning on what happened that night. Tell me every detail.” He looked over at Gloria. “Does your mother need to step out?”

  Jamal looked at Gloria. She would die if he asked her to leave, but thankfully, he said, “No, she can hear everything because I’ve already told her.”

  Gloria relaxed as Phillip pulled out a small digital audio recorder. “Hope you don’t mind, I’m recording in case I need to refer back to my notes at any point.”

  Jamal nodded as Phillip pressed play. “Now, start from the beginning and don’t leave out a single thing.”

  28

  * * *

  * * *

  Jamal Jones couldn’t understand how anyone would want to live in a small town. As soon as he turned eighteen and/or got a little money in his pocket, he was going to put Jasper, Texas, as far in his rearview mirror as humanly possible.

  “Yo man, why you so quiet?”

  He looked up at his friend Dix, who was leaned up against his ’79 Impala. They were in the parking lot of the Stop-n-Shop, the only convenience store in town that stayed open 24 hours.

  “Hello? Am I speaking English?” Dix asked when Jamal didn’t reply.

  Jamal waved him off as he texted Shante, a girl from nearby Beaumont that he’d met at a football game last week.

  “You know he’s stressed out,” his other friend, Brian, or Squeaky as they called him, said. “His pops probably givin’ him a hard time again.”

  Dix shook his head as he shadowboxed, something he could always be found doing. He had dreams of being the next Floyd Mayweather, though he had never taken one boxing lesson in his life. “Man, if I was you, me and yo pops would be coming to blows, preacher or not.”

  “Yeah, Dix is right,” Squeaky said. “Yo pops be for real trippin’.”

  Jamal couldn’t argue with that. Ever since he hit thirteen, he and his father had butted heads. If it wasn’t for his mother, he probably would’ve run away a long time ago.

  “Why your old man be trippin’ like that, though?” Dix asked the question he always asked. “He supposed to be a man of God.”

  Jamal shrugged. Like always, he didn’t have an answer for his friend. “Just strict. And you know me and rules . . .”

  Squeaky laughed as he reached in the car and pulled a beer out from the backseat. He didn’t bother offering Dix one because Dix didn’t think “an athlete in training” should drink. Squeaky didn’t offer Jamal a beer, either, because Jamal hated the taste of beer and never indulged.

  “Shoot, for real, it’s like you allergic to rules, bruh,” Squeaky said as he popped the top on his beer and took a sip.

  Dix shook his head as he laughed as well. “I mean I ain’t never met somebody as smart as you but refuses to go to school.”

  Jamal finished his text, then looked up at his friends. “It just ain’t for me.” He wanted to say neither is hanging out in the parking lot of a neighborhood convenience store, but since this was what his friends did dang near twenty-four/seven, he didn’t want to insult anybody. They’d get real salty if he told them the truth; he really didn’t care for hanging out with them anymore. He didn’t know if he’d outgrown his boys or what, but hanging for the sake of hanging just no longer interested him. He wanted more out of life.

  His mother tried to tell him that if he would commit himself to school, he could easily win a scholarship somewhere. She called him gifted, a genius, because he could skip school all year long and then show up for the final exam and ace it. He’d already tested at amazing levels. He’d also gotten interest from nearby colleges for his wrestling skills. Being on the wrestling team at Jasper High School was the one thing he did enjoy. But after his last suspension for skipping school, he’d been cut from the team. His father told him constantly that he was just going to let all of his talent go to waste. Jamal didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. All he did know was that he wanted out of Jasper, Texas. He hated being a preacher’s son and if he was really being honest, he hated his dad. Once he made it out of this town he’d send for his mom to come visit him, but that’s all he’d ever want from Jasper.

  “No
hanga out!” The high-pitched sound of the Korean store owner broke up their conversation. “I tell you ova an ova, no hanga out!”

  “Hang, dude. There’s no ‘a’ at the end of it,” Dix said, laughing.

  “You rude! You rude! You motha should teach you betta!” the shop owner said, wagging a finger in their direction. Even though they always came to this store, none of them had ever bothered to learn the man’s name.

  “Oh, you wanna talk about my mama?” Dix said, advancing toward him.

  “Leave, leave now. It one in the morning. You should be home!” the store owner shouted as he scurried back into the store.

  “And you need to be on dese nuts!” Dix yelled, grabbing his crotch.

  “I don’t know why he keep tryna run us off. It ain’t like he got nobody coming into this busted-ass store anyway,” Squeaky said.

  They sat around and laughed and talked for a few minutes and then a police car came rolling up.

  “Oh snap!” Squeaky said. He tossed his beer can to the side.

  They watched as the lone officer pulled his patrol car to a stop, then got out and came over to them.

  “Yeah, we got a call about some loitering,” he said.

  “We didn’t call about anyone loitering,” Dix said, stifling a laugh.

  Squeaky leaned in and looked at his name tag. “Yes, Officer Keith Wilkins. We didn’t make any calls but if we see anyone loitering, we’ll definitely let you know.”

  “Oh, so you want to play games, huh?” the officer said.

  “Nah, I gave up games at ten,” Dix casually replied.

  The officer took a step toward Dix. “Look you little smart-mouth punk, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but—” The officer’s radio, which was attached on his shoulder, crackled, then dispatch said, “All units on alert. Armed robbery of Jake’s Liquor on Tafferty. Black male suspect remains at large.”

  Officer Wilkins pushed Dix against the car. “You fit the description. Did you rob that liquor store?”

  “Man,” Dix said, his nostrils flaring in anger, “we ain’t doin’ nothin’ and y’all always harassin’ us. Racist pigs.”

  “Y’all punks always doing something,” the officer said as he pushed Dix again. “Put your hands on the hood!”

  Jamal took his cell phone out and began recording.

  “You getting this, bruh? You getting this police brutality?” Dix yelled as the officer snatched him around and kicked his legs to spread them.

  “Naw, you wanna be a Billy badass?” Officer Wilkins said as he patted Dix down. When he didn’t find anything, he pushed Dix again. “Matter of fact, you know what? I think I need to haul all you in for that liquor store robbery.”

  “We ain’t robbed nothin’!” Squeaky shouted. “We’re law-abiding citizens. Why don’t you go to the other side of the tracks and get those dudes smokin’ meth?”

  “I can’t because I’m over here arresting you,” Officer Wilkins said, moving in Squeaky’s direction.

  “Arresting me for what?” Squeaky asked as Officer Wilkins slammed him against the car next.

  “For loitering, or suspicion of robbery. Or for being a pain in my ass. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Seriously?” Squeaky said.

  Officer Wilkins ignored Squeaky’s protests as he jerked his arms behind his back.

  “Police brutality!” Squeaky yelled.

  Jamal held his Samsung Galaxy phone out, continuously recording everything. He didn’t say a word as he zoomed the camera in.

  “Get it all! Get all this police brutality on tape!” Squeaky yelled as he squirmed to try and keep the officer from putting handcuffs on him.

  Officer Wilkins finally noticed Jamal. He stopped and stared at the camera. “Are you recording me?”

  “Yep. I know my rights. I’m not violating any laws. I have a right to film.” Jamal continued recording. “As long as I’m not interfering in your arrest, I have a legal right to film.” Jamal turned the camera around to his face. “You see how they treat us? If you’re young and black in America, you’re guilty until proven innocent.”

  Officer Wilkins released Squeaky as he took a few steps toward Jamal. “I said, get that camera off me.”

  Before Jamal could respond the officer raced over and knocked the phone out of his hand. The phone tumbled into the grass.

  “Hey! You can’t do that!” Jamal said.

  “I just did.”

  “Look, I ain’t did nothin’ wrong!”

  The officer reached for Jamal, but he jumped out of the way.

  “You can’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything. I’m going home.”

  Jamal turned to retrieve his phone and leave when the officer grabbed his arm, spun him around, and flung him to the ground.

  “You little piece of—”

  “Get off of me!” Jamal screamed.

  He kept hearing his mother’s voice. It’s a police officer, calm down.

  While he heard her voice, he saw his father’s face. He saw the last time his father beat him, for skipping school. Jamal had promised that was the last time any man hit him.

  “Get off of me!” Jamal screamed again. “Get off me!”

  “I’m gonna teach you little punks a lesson!” the officer yelled.

  From the sideline, both Dix and Squeaky continued yelling as well.

  “Shoot that racist pig!”

  “You gon’ die tonight, cop!”

  The words of his friends rang in his ears as Jamal struggled with the officer, whose rage was rising by the minute. At one point their eyes met, and Jamal knew, this officer was not going to let him live. As Officer Wilkins reached for his service revolver, every wrestling move Jamal had ever mastered kicked in. He managed to flip the officer over. All he was trying to do was get away before this man killed him. But the cop was no weakling. He grasped his revolver and as his fingers moved toward the trigger, Jamal summoned all his strength to wrestle it away.

  They fought over the gun until one single shot penetrated the night air.

  The sound of the gunfire was followed by silence, then Squeaky yelled “Let’s get out of here!” and he and Dix took off running. Jamal wasn’t mad at them, because he always knew those two were some “everybody for themselves” type of dudes. But Jamal couldn’t think about them now. He hadn’t meant to shoot the officer. As he saw the puddle of blood forming, he knew that he’d done just that.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Jamal looked up and saw the shop owner peering through the darkness and then Jamal did the only thing he knew how to do. He ran like hell.

  . . .

  Both Gloria and Phillip sat riveted as Jamal wrapped up his story. Tears ran down Gloria’s face. Jamal buried his face in his hands and sobbed. “I didn’t mean to do it. I didn’t mean to do it.”

  Gloria wanted desperately to hold him, but the glare of the guard stopped her. She did, however, take his hands as Phillip said, “I believe you, son. Now, we just need to get a jury to believe you, too.”

  29

  * * *

  * * *

  Gloria couldn’t believe that she had been reduced to spying on her husband. But if she hadn’t, there is no way she would have known what he was planning. Even listening now, she would have never believed it if she hadn’t stumbled into the church sanctuary and been able to duck out of the way in time to hear.

  “My wife is concerned that the Black Justice Coalition is really only about uplifting their own cause,” Elton said.

  “Of course we are,” Rev. Clayborn replied. “And part of our cause is bringing justice to young black men who have been wronged. And our brother Jamal has been wronged. This is a town of deep-seated racism and we want to bring the fact that nothing has changed directly to the for
efront.”

  Gloria couldn’t believe Elton was even still talking to these men. They’d dang near incited a riot at a protest march, they’d spouted their cause and all the change they could do, yet not one time had any of them asked how Jamal was doing. She didn’t trust these men, and the fact that her husband was even entertaining them was another crack in his already shaky foundation.

  “H-how much money will my church get?” Elton asked.

  “Well, our donations have already begun flowing in. We’ll allocate a percentage for your family and church,” Rev. Clayborn said.

  “So, what exactly will you need me to do?” Elton said.

  Rev. Clayborn smiled. “Well, we need to get our attorney down so he can get moving on the case. Then we have planned a full media campaign. CNN, MSNBC, Fox, local media, even The View and The Talk. We plan to hit all of the media outlets, including the morning shows. We will need you and your wife by our side supporting our efforts,” he said.

  The Muhammad man spoke up. “Reverend, the one thing we can’t have is us being extremely vocal and then you all coming back saying you don’t support our cause. So we need to make sure we’re all in accord.”

  Elton didn’t say anything, just shifted his body like he was unsure what to do. Gloria willed her husband to do the right thing. Give her a tiny reason to believe in him again. Yet he said nothing.

  Rev. Clayborn’s voice got stern. “You do support our cause, don’t you?”

  “Well . . .” Elton began.

  “Let me be very clear, Reverend Jones,” Rev. Clayborn continued. “You said yourself that your church is struggling. The Black Justice Coalition is prepared to give a donation of twenty thousand dollars to the Mount Sinai Church to, shall we say, defray any costs incurred with our usage of your facility. We can call it an advance on our donations.”