Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison (47 page)

Given how Sharon went after that lawyer for me, I'm sure that if she knew what was happening to me, there would have been hell to pay. But it would take many years before I could talk about it with anyone, so for once, I didn't blame Sharon.

"The only problem with that is they probably won't just let it go," Rick said. "Especially not after Bobby fell for it and paid the money. Since he's shown himself as a sucker, they'll think there's more where that came from."

"It's easy to sit back and call the shots, nova', Rick." The anger was boiling up in me, because this was typical of him, and I wasn't so enamored by his wisdom anymore.

"Well, they're also giving him a hard time because of you," he said, matter of factly.

"What do you mean?" I asked, fearing the worst.

We both knew what he meant, so Rick didn't need to say another word.

"Anyway, I need to get going. Belinda has been on the rag lately, and I really need to head out."

"But you just got here," I said. I had planned to talk to him about a lot of things.

"Yeah, but I had to wait out front for over an hour before they brought you out, and the same thing happened with Bobby. I don't want to get stuck in rush hour."

It was already 2:30, and he was a good two hours from home.

"Whatever," I said, disappointed. The fifteen dollars would go a long way in the commissary. "Thanks for the tokens."

"I'm on the prison newspaper," I added, in a quick attempt to win his respect before he left.

Rick nodded. "Well, I'll see you then."

I walked him to the front of the visiting room.

"Tell Belinda I said hello."

"I will." And then, just as the first set of bars started to slide open, Rick turned and hugged me. He had never done that before, and prison was the last place I'd have expected a hug from him-especially after what he'd heard about me being gay.

"Take care of yourself, little brother."

"I'll try," I squeaked out.

As he left me alone, I retreated back inside myself, to the only place where I knew it was safe.

As I came out of the control center and turned down the walkway toward A-unit, I saw Rick was still out in the parking lot, on the other side of the fence. He was leaning against the side of his new van, smoking a cigarette and staring at the ground. He looked lost in thought. I was about to holler to him, but then saw someone get out of his van and walk around to him. Whoever she was, she put her arms around his shoulder and kissed him on the side of his head. Rick kept staring down.

I suddenly knew why his wife Belinda had been "on the rag," but what I didn't know was why he felt he couldn't tell me.

32

Wolf Tickets

I was always afraid of the ball, so when the pitcher threw a curve ball that came at me from the inside I closed my eyes and fell back into the dirt.

"Strike," the umpire yelled, as the kids, and parents in the stands laughed. For once, I was glad my parents weren't there to witness my humiliation.

One time, Igot the courage to step up to the plate and face my fears head on. I leaned back on my right leg, and extended my left, like I had seen aguy do in the majors. No matter what happened, I was notgoing to step back or fall out of the batter's box.

"Give me your best shot," I snarled. When the pitch came over the inside corner of the plate, the umpire yelled, "Strike!"

I smiled like I had hit a homerun, because at least this time, I was still standing in the box. Sure I was scared, but on the outside, I looked strong and confident.

"Look at Timmy!" one of my teammates yelled.

"Yeah, " another said. "Now if we can just get him to swing."

Until we chose our men, Paul and I spent all of our time together. We walked to chow together, we ate together, and when we returned from our job assignments, we hung out in the dayroom and waited for the next count. And whenever we could, we snuck under his bed and had sex together. We talked a great deal about surviving prison and what we would do when we both got out. We never talked about Slide Step again. I think Paul knew better than to bring it up.

"There are queers in Detroit as well," Paul said. "I think I'll stay in the area."

"I think I'd like to get away from my family for a while. I'm not sure they'd ever understand," I explained.

Paul had a ten-year sentence, to my four and half, which meant he had a lot longer to go than I did. "You'll probably go to a Correction Center by the end of next year," he said. "I'll still have another five to go."

"It'll only be four by then," I said, trying to comfort him.

"Yeah, but you'll probably forget all about me."

"I'd never forget you, Paul. Are you crazy?"

He looked up and played with the curls in my hair. We fell asleep in each other's arms and didn't wake until we heard the sound of doors slamming down the hall.

It was count time, and we scrambled to put on our clothes. When we crawled out from Paul's bed, we heard the lock engage in the door. The guard must have pulled the release break at the end of the hall.

"Uh oh," I panicked. "We're fucked."

"Fuck it," Paul said. "We're busted-it's no big deal."

When the guard came around and looked in on us, he shook his head in disgust and continued with his rounds. A few minutes later, he came back and unlocked Paul's door, manually with his key. He didn't say anything as I climbed out and headed up the hall toward my cell. He left me waiting in front my door, before he came back with a pink misconduct report in his hand. He let me inside and then top-locked the door.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Giving you a ticket," he said. "Administrative Segregation until you go to court."

He'd written me up for being for two-in-a-room. It carried up to five days in detention. When you were placed on AD-SEG, you were kept locked in your cell until your hearing, which they had to give you within forty-eight hours.

Two things immediately crossed my mind. One, the hearing officer said that if he saw me again, he was going to take a look at my good time. And two, Sherry said I couldn't get any tickets. Did this mean I'd lose my job?

Outside the hearing room, I waited in the same chairs that were used by inmates who waited for the infirmary. Black Diamond was sitting at the end of row.

"How you doing," I said, smiling. I felt guilty because I had been avoiding her.

"Well if it isn't Sleeping Beauty," Black Diamond said. She smiled.

"I guess you heard, huh?"

"I keep trying to tell you, girl. Ain't no secrets in here."

"What can I say," I said. "I guess I'm a slow learner."

"You'll be all right. You've already done half the max they can give you."

"I don't know about that," I said. "He threatened to look at my good time."

Black Diamond nodded, but no further reassurances came.

Just then, one of the convicts who always seemed to be making jokes about Black Diamond, walked up and sat down next to her. He leaned over and said to her a seductive voice, "How you doing, baby?"

"All right," Black Diamond answered, hesitantly.

"You know you're a fine motherfucker, right?"

Black Diamond nodded. "Uh-huh."

They looked at each other a moment, and then they both got up and crossed the hall. Black Diamond gave me a sly look as she closed the broom closet door.

I stared after them for a long time, thinking how this might be the only place in the world, where in that moment, Black Diamond was seen as a fine motherfucker. It was probably the only place where she could have such an active sex life.

I didn't know whether to be happy or sad for her.

It didn't seem right that I should be fired from my job for just one ticket, but Sherry had warned me ahead of time. I had screwed up, just like the guys on the paper said I would. I was going to miss everyone. We spent a lot of time in that newsroom talking about everything from prison gossip to urban politics. Josh and Spaulding usually had the most to say, but Sherry was active in a lot of our conversations. I was going to miss her more than anyone.

One conversation that stuck out with me most was when we talked about Judge Geraldine Bledsoe Ford of Detroit's Recorders Court.

"That sister is fierce," Lee had said. "She'd send a motherfucker, I mean, she'd send a brother away for nine hundred and ninety-nine years if she had that many pennies left in her coffee can."

"Yes," Sherry said, "but did you know that her grandfather was a slave?"

"Say what?"

"That's right. And her father was a sharecropper, but that didn't stop either one of them from getting a college education. I'll bet you didn't know that."

"Well, you'd think she'd cut the brothers some slack," 0. J. said.

Sherry said, "I think she has."

"How can you say that?" I asked.

Everyone looked over at me. I usually didn't have much to add, so I normally just sat there and listened.'Yeah," 0. J. said, "How can you say that?

She's the meanest judge in the state."

"Well, I don't know about all of that," Sherry said, "but she is the first African American woman to become a judge in the state and sometimes holding one accountable and demanding nothing less than full responsibility is the best you can do for them, even if it doesn't look like it at the time." Sherry didn't care if her opinion might be unpopular with us-she always spoke her mind.

As I was about to go inside the hearing room for my ticket, the outside door at the end of the hall swung open and Josh came in with the cold. He saw me sitting there and said, "Good, I'm glad I caught you before you went in." He came up and handed me a piece of paper. "Here you go, Squeeze. I think this will help."

"What is it?"

"Policy Memorandum 1977-2," he said. "It lists all of the non-bondable offenses that you can be locked up for pending a disciplinary hearing."

"Yeah?"

"Well, two-in-a-room is not one of them," he said. "Which means the only way they can lock you up pending a hearing is if the shift commander determined that your ongoing freedom was a threat to the security and good order of the institution."

"Well maybe he did."

"Does it say so on your ticket?"

I looked at the report. It didn't mention this.

"Your due process has been violated," he said. "They have to throw it out, pursuant to Wolff v. McDonald." Josh grinned. Maybe all his years in the prison law library was finally paying off.

I looked up not knowing if I should trust him. It sounded too good to be true.

"You owe me one," he said.

"I'd say you owe me already." I handed him back the citations.

"Maybe you're right," he said, "but take it anyway. It should help."

When I went inside I handed the policy directive to the hearing officer, who read it, studied it for a moment and then picked up the phone. Whoever he called didn't answer, so he hung up and started writing. He put a check in the box marked Dismissed.