Thug in Me (13 page)

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Authors: Karen Williams

BOOK: Thug in Me
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Chapter 18
Sickening. That was the best way to describe how I felt as I was being escorted by two guards to my mother's burial at Potter's Field. It was a place for poor people to be buried. I thanked God that was at least done for my mama and she didn't have to be cremated.
Since she had no other family out here except for me, there was no real church service, though. Which I didn't care about . . . I probably wouldn't have been able to handle it.
Damn. I had lost my mama. I avoided looking at the open casket and instead kept staring down at my hands.
Come to find out, in all the time that she hadn't been writing me it was because she was really sick, bedridden actually. And all that time I didn't know. Part of me blamed myself. I figured if I hadn't been in prison and if she weren't stressing over me that she would still be here. So many thoughts ran through my head, I wondered if her death could have been prevented. Would she have gotten better medical care if she wasn't locked away? Did they simply look at her like she was just an inmate? A criminal? Did the person performing the CPR really know what they were doing?
I shook my head, feeling nothing but grief. I just wanted my mom to be here. All I wanted was to have her back. Man . . . I would spend the rest of my life in prison with no problem because I knew she would still be here, alive and well. Now I had nothing and nobody and it killed me.
I closed my eyes as the priest held his Bible and said a prayer for my mother.
 
“Saints of God, come to her aid. Come to meet her, angels of the Lord! Receive her soul and present her to God the most high.
May Christ, who called you, take you to himself, may angels lead you to Abraham's side. Receive her soul and present her to God the most high.
Give her eternal rest, O Lord, and may your light shine upon her forever.
Receive her soul and present her to God, the most high.
Let us pray: We commend our sister, to you, Lord.
Now that she has passed from this life, may she live on in your presence.
In your mercy and love, forgive whatever sins she may have committed through human weakness. We ask this through Christ our Lord.”
 
I kept my eyes closed as he read this, praying alongside him. I prayed that my mother was in heaven and she didn't have to be in any more pain. I prayed that God would protect her.
I opened my eyes when a throat cleared.
The priest held out a hand for me to come to the open casket. “Please,” he said.
I didn't want to. My eyes had avoided looking at the casket for the longest. To see my mama in there . . . I couldn't. But to say good-bye to her the right way—I knew that I had to.
I took a step forward, but then stopped.
I shook my head at the priest. “Never mind.”
“This will be your only chance, young man.”
I took a deep breath and wiped the side of my face on my right shoulder.
I nodded.
The priest held a hand out to me with a soft smile.
I stumbled, taking the steps forward. Not just because of the shackles but because of what was in front of me.
In his other hand were some flowers. They were bright yellow. My mama loved flowers. The real ones. I would always grab some when I went to the grocery store. It was funny that in that moment, I remembered the things about my mother that were so small to me before. I remembered her rich laugh, how when she smiled—man, I couldn't remember the last time I had seen her do that—but when she did, her eyes got all shiny. Her hands were always soft; her heart always was too. I always felt that she was just too soft for this harsh-ass world. But I always figured with me in her life, she would be okay. I was my mother's protection . . . her shield. I, against my will, had stopped being that when I got locked up.
I looked at her face and thought about the love my mama had shown me through the years. It didn't come out of toy or department stores, it all came from her heart.
I leaned over and pressed my face to hers. She felt so cold. I kissed both of her cheeks. I then stared at her face for as long as I could before breaking down.
I dropped to my knees, wrapped my arms around the casket, and sobbed silently. I cried like a baby and couldn't do anything about the ache in my chest.
That's when both guards grabbed me. They pulled me a few feet away from the casket.
I watched the casket being closed and slowly, slowly, my mama was lowered into the ground.
Dear Chance,
You have gone through so much these past few years. I'm so sorry about your mother dying. Sometimes life can be so cruel. But understand that God gives you nothing you can't bear and this too will pass. I'm not going to say that it won't be hard—it will. And it will always be on your heart. Trust me, I know. But I can promise you that as more time goes by, the pain will get less and less. Continue to pray for your mother. And I will continue to pray for you. Have you given up hope on your case? Chance, I hope not. I don't care what they say, you have to keep trying. You have to do it for yourself. I tried to make the oxtails the way that you instructed in your last letter. It was for a church gathering. You know, the way you said your mom used to make them with the tomato sauce, garlic cloves, and Worcestershire sauce. Chance, they came out so good. Everyone liked them. So I know your mom had some serious cooking skills. LOL. I wish things were different for you. You don't deserve to be there. You should be out in the world living your life to full capacity. But I have a feeling that something will give and you will be able to soon. Smile. Well, I have to get back to work. I will be writing you soon. Please stay positive, happy. Chance, just be.
Try to read the Psalms this week,
Deyja
Dear Deyja,
Thanks for still taking the time out of your schedule to write me. I can't say it enough but I really look forward to your letters. As far as my mother, her death sits heavily on me. It hurts like hell. But you are right. As each day passes, it gets a little better. Not completely, but better. I don't think I will ever be able to get past it completely. One thing I noticed when you write me is that you always make a statement about tragedy or loss. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind telling me what you were implying? I hope I'm not being too nosy. I have to admit that your letters are so special to me. Your words have a deep impact on my life right now. Not just the fact that you write me but what you write. You have joy around you and I could use some of it. Your letters help me get through days here. They make me blush and sometimes laugh. I read them over and over again like I'm watching my favorite movie. So they liked the oxtails? Yep. My mom was the best cook. How were they to you? Sure wish I could have tasted them. Sorry. I'm doing too much . . . I'll end the letter here. I can't wait to hear from you again,
Chance
I smiled a little. In the past couple months, Deyja's letters went from once a month to several letters in a week, almost as if she was writing me every day. That's what it felt like.
I don't know why she felt so inclined to write me so much. It could be that she had taken a liking to me or she felt sorry for me. It could be that she felt bad that my mother had passed. And although she said she wouldn't discuss any of her info, she had managed to tell me where she was from and what type of work she did: real estate. I would sit and read her letters over and over again. She had even slipped up on the envelope and gave me her last name; it was Sims. Deyja Sims. Humph.
After my mother's funeral I was sent back to my
home.
Once there, pretty much every night I said that same prayer the priest had said the day my mama was buried. Yep, home . . .
That's pretty much what I called the prison because I never thought I'd be able to call any other place home again.
It had been exactly three months since my mother had passed.
My therapy during those months were the letters I received from Deyja. And of course my boy Calhoun was still coming to see me. It is hard to describe it, but something about Deyja's words always pushed me to not do something I had planned on doing the moment I found out my mama had died: kill myself. I mean, at that point, losing her made me feel like I had lost everything and I didn't want to exist anymore. I didn't think there was an important enough reason for me to still reside on this earth, period. But her letters kept telling me that I could get past this and that things would get better. However, when Deyja would write me, she would always mention something about God having a plan for me and didn't I want to wait around and see what that plan was.
Right after my mother died, the prison actually had me on suicide watch for two months. That's where I met Lewis. He had been with the department for five years and came straight out of college. He hated the job but he had three kids and a mortgage to pay and with the economy being so bad, people losing their jobs left and right—one of those people was his wife—he didn't want to gamble and quit, hoping to find something that just wasn't out there. He told me in those five years he had been attacked by inmates, under investigation, suspended with no pay for defending himself, and even been stabbed, almost dying. The job had put a strain on his relationship with his kids and his wife. His wife was always worried that he wouldn't come home and when he did, he was so worn out mentally by the job that all he did was sleep. He said the job had him in a severe depression. It was the first time I realized that prison didn't just feel like prison for the inmates. The thing I liked about Lewis was that he wasn't corrupt like the other prison guards here. He always told me that the way he came in is the way he would always stay, despite what went on.
“I didn't come here to be dirty,” he always told me. One thing I was going to miss was talking to him. I even confessed to him about my case. He would always tell me that information was power and there were always loopholes to get things to go in my favor.
Chapter 19
I had been back in normal population and off suicide watch for a week. Calhoun had come to visit me. When I made it to the visiting room I was so happy to see a familiar face today.
“Whats up, my nigga?” He was standing near a table with his arms out, a big smile on his face and his head tilted to one side.
I chuckled and gave him a bear hug. We were the same height and weight but I was a more buffed than he was.
“Hey.”
We both sat down.
He studied me and said, “Aye. Man I'm still tripping off the fact that your mother is gone. I'm sorry.”
“It's cool.”
“You a strong-ass nigga, Chance. First you lose your boy in here and then your mom. If I lost my mother I don't know what I would do.”
I nodded, not really wanting to talk about it. It was something that was still keeping me up at night. I changed the subject. “So what's going on with you? You been giving any thought to anything I said in my letters?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I give it thought. But at the end of the day I gotta be me, you know? So I do me. Chance, you should know by now that that shit is never going to change.”
I chuckled. “Same old Calhoun. Hardheaded as ever.”
“Yep.” He cracked up laughing.
“You're going to have to one day, you know.”
“One day what?”
“Grow up.”
“I'll do that shit when I die. But aye. On to you. How you holding up in here?”
“I'm all right.”
“Keeping yourself clean and shit?”
“Yep. I keep out of nonsense as best I can. Tyson taught me that.”
“Right. Right. Funny thing is, I'm free and I can't keep myself out of bullshit. You would think that after two strikes I would. But you right, Chance. I'm so fucking hardheaded. My mama tells me that to this day. She ain't gave up on me. But my daddy. Seems like he has.”
“Parents never give up on you, boy. How are your mom and dad anyway?” I asked. Deep down I always felt Calhoun was lucky for having the type of parents that he had. They were successful and supportive of him. And he treated them so bad. He continued to take them for granted. I had secretly wished that his father was my father.
“They all right. Mom's still a damn homemaker, cooking meals for twenty people and shit, baking pies cause she don't know what else to do with her time. My dad still doing the same type of work.”
He tossed a hand. “But I didn't come here to talk about their ass. You know what I'm going to work on for you?”
“What?”
“Finding some lonely bitch to marry you so you can get conjugal visits.”
Just then Deyja came to mind. I started to tell him about her but I figured he would probably laugh at me for having feelings for a woman I had never seen before who was only writing me.
So instead I laughed and said, “Yeah, and how the fuck you going to do that?”
“Just wait and see. You don't have any requirements, do you?”
I played along with him. “Nigga, do I look like it? I'm locked up. All I see is dick and balls all day long.”
“Okay, well, let me be the jailhouse matchmaker. I could make a killing doing that shit.”
The thought of having sex with another woman made me super-hard in my prison garb. But I knew Calhoun was just bullshitting. Any women he came in contact with, no matter how she looked, he was going for.
We chopped it up some more about the good old days and what was going on nowadays.
He stayed for the whole visit and promised to put twenty bucks of my books.
“All right, I'll be back in a couple weeks, Chance. Stay up.”
I stood and gave him another hug. When he pulled away he had tears in his eyes. I saw his shoulders shake a little too. It made me feel good to know that I could still count on my boy to be there for me.
 
 
The next day the warden had called me to work but I had declined. I followed the normal routine on the prison. And in my downtime, I slept. At night when I felt no one could hear me I grieved over my mother's death. I was still unable to get it out of my head.
I remember how Calhoun and I felt when Paul passed away. When he died, it hurt me a lot but as more time passed and I got more hugs, back pats, and kisses from my mom, I was able to get past it. I couldn't get past her, though. Yeah, I would always tell Deyja that I was better and in a way, when I was corresponding with her I did feel better, but I really wasn't healed and probably never would be.
I was reflecting on this when I heard, “Wallace. You need to come with me to see the warden.”
I looked at the guard standing by my cell and nodded. I quickly hopped off my bunk and put on my shoes.
I guess I couldn't hide from the warden for too long. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. He would probably give me some work to keep me busy. I figured if I did something with my time like Deyja said, I would keep my mind off my mother's death and keep me less depressed than I already was about being there.
The guard simply escorted me to the office. When we made it there, he knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
I opened the door and took a few steps inside. “Sir, you wanted to see me?”
The guard stood behind me.
He nodded and waved a hand excusing him. “Come in and have a seat.”
As I walked in further, the guard left.
I sat down across from the warden.
For a long time he just stared at me.
From the corner of my eye I saw Randy walk by in a back room that had the door open.
“Have you ever seen anything like this before, Chance?”
He turned the computer screen toward me.
Instantly my eyes got buck as I watched two men getting it on, on his computer screen.
I shook my head and looked away quickly, hoping this dude wasn't about to do what I thought he was about to do.
 
 
“Wow, boy it looks like you've seen a ghost!”
“Naw.” I wanted to check him on calling me a boy but didn't. The word
boy
always had a racial connotation as far as I was concerned when it was said to a black child, black teenager or black man.
I put my head down instead.
“Chance, have you ever had anal sex before?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you ever plan on having anal sex?”
“Only with a woman.”
“Do you see any women in here?” He had his arms spread wide.
I shook my head. “No, sir.”
“It's the best. And when you are the receiver and the man is giving it to you right . . . it is the best orgasm I have ever had in my life.” He sat back in his chair.
I was at a loss for words.
He stared at me. “I think you are very handsome, Chance. If you are willing, I will add two hundred dollars to your books.”
“What?”
He chuckled. “Don't worry, boy. You get on my team I'll make sure you are well taken care of.”
I was frozen. I didn't know what to tell this man. What I wanted to tell him he didn't want to hear and that was
fuck no!
I was cool on his proposition.
“Boy,” he called. “Get on out here.”
That's when Randy came from out of the back room.
My eyes narrowed. What did he expect was going to happen? That I was going to let him and Randy take my asshole?
“Is everything ready?” he asked Randy.
Randy nodded and refused to look at me.
“Take him back there. It's his first time. Get it started and I will be in shortly.”
“Huh?” I stood to my feet.
“Come on, Chance,” Randy said.
“
Come on, Chance
what?”
I looked from Randy to the warden then back to Randy. “Randy, you a part of this sick shit?” I demanded.
“It ain't sick. It's what the warden said to do,” he said, chewing the side of his mouth like a little fucking kid.
That's why this fool was always talking about pussy and shit. He wasn't into pussy. “Man, fuck you and him.”
I turned to walk toward the door.
“Grab him, take him to the back room, and get him undressed!” the warden ordered.
As soon as I felt a finger touch my shoulder, I spun around and cracked Randy in the jaw. “You punk muthafucka! You got me caught up in this shit?” I raged.
The panic button was pressed and the alarm sounded. I didn't give a fuck.
“Touch me again!” I threatened, towering over him as he lay on the floor near the warden's feet.
That's when three guards came in the room.
The warden simply pointed. That was all it took and they were all on me. Every region of my body was assaulted by them as they commenced to whipping my ass.
I bit my lips at all the pain, knowing I couldn't beat them. I didn't even bother to try. But I stopped the warden from whatever his plans were for me.
Fists and boots were used to put me back in my place. Randy snuck back into the room he had emerged from earlier.
I buried in my forearms. The guards continued fucking me up until the warden said, “Take him to lockup. I don't want him out until next week!”

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