Authors: Karen Williams

Thug in Me (12 page)

BOOK: Thug in Me

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Chapter 15

Randy was weird. I could not put my finger on what it was, but something just wasn't right about dude. Every damn day he wanted to talk about pussy. Morning, noon, and night. He also tried too hard at shit. But I have to admit, his quest to get juice and extra shit worked. Case in point, Roscoe, who was the dirtiest of all the staff I had ever seen, showed Randy love. He didn't fuck with Randy at all. Whereas when it came to me, he always took opportunities to fuck with me. But it wasn't just that. Randy had so much juice that he would come back to our bunks on a daily with shit. From food to personals, like the good shower gel and good deodorant. Not the shower gel we were issued that was like water and not the deodorant that was issued that caused us to get rashes under our armpits. He even had a CD player and CDs to play. It was all the shit Tyson wanted when he was in here.

“Aye. You want some?”

I didn't want to take nothing from no one in here. But the beef jerky and cookies he was holding out for me to take looked so good I took two cookies and a few pieces of jerky.

As I chewed I wondered who put money on his books for that stuff. He said his family didn't fuck with him and that his friends had their own struggles.

So I asked him, “Who got you that stuff?”

He laughed and chewed on a piece of jerky while standing near my bed.

“The warden. Look, man, he cool as fuck. During rec time, I go and clean out his office and do other shit he wants done.”

I had to give it to him. “Man, you really do have juice.”

He swallowed and chuckled. “I guess I know all the right things to say, man. I have always been able to persuade and win people over.”

I laughed.

“Maybe you can go work for him too. You never know. Maybe he can talk to you about your case. Help you out and shit.”

I swallowed the last piece of jerky. A few days ago I was having a bad night and I told Randy about my situation. At the time, I didn't trust him and didn't even like him. But I had no one else to really talk to. So I vented to him.

“It ain't gonna hurt to try, man.”

I nodded, bit down on a cookie, and savored the taste. It was a Pecan Sandie, my all-time favorite.

“He is cooler than a fan, man. Maybe he can get your appeal approved. He is a powerful man, Chance. Nigga, you better do that shit. Did you know that wardens can overturn verdicts?”

“No, I didn't know that. With all these inmates in here why would he pick me to help him?”

“'Cause I told him about you, that's why.”

I bumped fists with him. “Good looking.”

Maybe he wasn't all that bad, I thought.

Our conversation was cut short when a guard came with mail.

It was from the girl from the church, Deyja and one from Calhoun. Randy put his focus on his snacks and I put mine into the two letters. I scanned through Calhoun's letter first. As usual it talked about the same bullshit: Women, women, and more women. There was no mention about his kids despite the fact that I had written him many times before and asked him how they were. He did encourage me to stay up and promised to put some money on my books. I didn't put my hope into that. That's why when he did put a few bucks, which was not often, I always stocked up on envelopes, paper, and stamps. I never had enough for snacks. He also said that he would come and see me again soon. I rushed through his letter so that I could get to Deyja's.

Hello,

I have to admit this is my first time corresponding with someone in prison and your letter was so interesting to me. Wow. It must be really hard to be somewhere day-to-day that you shouldn't be. And to know this and still nothing can be done about it. How tragic. I am so sorry. I know all about tragedy, so I feel your pain. And nothing can be done at all? You said you feel that you are not the same person you were when you were outâwhy? How have you changed, if you don't mind me asking. Is the change good or is it bad? You are in very harsh environment like you said. It must make the way you feel a lot worse. And believe me, I'm not judging. I leave that up to God and I'm certainly not that. Really no one is. So no one has the right to look down on you. A sin is a sin and most people sin. But again, your pain and frustration comes from the fact that you are innocent. I also wanted to applaud you on your faith in yourself and the fact that you have not given up. I am a true believer that faith can carry you through anything. I know firsthand. If you feel you are really innocent (not to say that you are not) then you should fight until you can't fight anymore. And in the end, even if it doesn't make a difference, it really will because you tried to get out. I'm thinking that has got to feel better than not trying and always wondering if you had tried how it would have panned out. I know this is a clichÃ© but it is one that is really true. There was something interesting you said in your other letter: You said that without hope you would be a dead man. What did you mean by that? And out of curiosity, what were you doing before you got locked up? I know that we said that this stuff will not be mentioned, so I'm sorry if I have offended you by asking. But I have to admit I'm a little curious. You don't have to answer if you don't want to but I sure would like to know. I guess to answer your question about what to tell me, you can tell me whatever you are comfortable telling me.

Here is your passage to read: Jeremiah 17:7

Deyja

I chuckled to myself. She already broke the rules she had clearly set out for me. But I didn't have a problem answering her inquiries.

I wrote back.

Hello, how are you?

What I meant when I said I would be a dead man without hope is this: If I didn't even have a small smidgen that I would get out of here it would make me a dangerous person. I would not care about my own life or the life of others. That is not a good way for any man to be because you wouldn't put any type of constraints on yourself and you would rule, respond, and make decisions with no morals, ethics or humility. I mean, I see it all the time in here. Yeah, I try to stay away but it is in my face. The way I don't want to be. So maybe I give myself hope so I won't turn into a monster in here, something so easy to do. I'm glad you want to know more about me and no, I'm not hitting on you or trying to be fresh. I just would rather talk about the person I was before I came here. And truthfully, to have to talk about jail when I'm here daily can be real boring. Like talking about a job you are at eight hours a day, five days a week, and you hate it. Believe it or not, I graduated from college at the top of my class. I was working for Microsoft, and was in the process of opening up my own business. I also owned my own home before I came to prison and my mother lived with me.

I paused and bit the tip of my pencil. Ours didn't come with erasers because men used them as pipes. I didn't know if I should put my mother was in prison. I didn't want anyone thinking less of my mother, so I didn't.

I continued writing.

She has been my biggest support since I have been in here. I have not heard from her so she has me a little worried. She is my best friend really and the strongest woman I have ever met. She raised me alone so I promised her I would make her proud of me. And I did, up until getting thrown in here. In all my years I have never been locked up. That is, until now. At first it hurt like hell for her to see me in a place like this. And for her to be
“Shit.”

I scratched
be
off. I didn't want say that my mother was in jail but once you get comfortable and start it is hard to stop.

“You okay, dawg?” Randy asked, chewing.

“Yeah.” My stomach was grumbling for more snacks. But I didn't ask for any more.

I continued the letter.

Have to go through this is just as hard. I'm her only son. Anyway, that is a little more about me. I had some big plans for myself before I got arrested.

I thought of Toi and the business I was going to open.

But a lot of them are no longer possible . . . I will end the letter here and hope to hear from you soon.

Chance

I then wrote Calhoun's ass a letter. I did a lot of fussing at his ass about the fact that he didn't have his shit together and told him how lucky he was to be free and got on him for not doing anything with his life. I thanked him for the times that he put something on my books and still being there for me. The fact that he thought about me and took time out of his life to write and visit me meant something to me. And he had been doing it all these years. I placed both letters under my mat and I was still wondering why I hadn't heard from my mama.

Chapter 16

It turns out Randy did help me out. The warden called me up to his office one day early as hell.

A guard brought me up there. Once he let us in his office, the guard left. When I walked in I saw the warden was on the phone. I saw Randy walk by in the back room, pushing a cart and he waved at me, all excited.

I chuckled and nodded.

The warden was an older white man. He was short and stocky. He had graying hair, pale skin, and blue eyes.

I wondered if he really would really listen to me talk about my case and if he would be willing to help me.

Once he ended the call he turned to me and inspected me from head to feet.

“Wallace, right?” He had a strong southern accent.

“Yes, sir.”

“Randy said you were good with computers.”

“Yes, sir.”

The next thing I knew, I was organizing files and creating new folders on his computer. For the life of me I couldn't understand why he needed inmates to do this. And for doing this it really only took me a few minutes.

“Okay, I'm done, sir.”

He stood behind me and said, “Good job, Wallace.”

I stood but he stopped me by placing a hand on my shoulder and gently shoving me back down.

“There are a few games on here. You are welcome to find something to do on the computer to occupy yourself and I'll be back.”

“Yes, sir.” He went into the back room I had seen Randy in.

I did everything from playing some games, to surfing the Web, and even saw a little YouTube. On the outs I stayed on the computer more than I watched TV. I checked out some of the old sites I used to frequent: MediaTakeOut, Concrete Loop, and Necole Bitchie. Then I watched a few videos on World Star Hip Hop. I even went on Facebook to look up Toi. I wondered how she looked, if she had gotten married, had kids. But when I tried to log on it said my user name and password were invalid. I figured Toi had probably closed my account because she was the one who opened it.

When was the ending of our relationship going to stop bothering me?

Probably never.

I closed out of the website as the warden came back into the room with Randy.

He got on his speaker and called for the guard that had brought me there to come back.

Once the guard came back and entered the office, the warden ordered, “Take them both to the canteen. Let Wallace get about fifty dollars' worth of items for the work today and give Randy eighty dollars for his work.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said.

We were quickly dismissed.

It's funny how happy it made me to have all the snacks from the canteen. I had beef jerky, some pecan sandies, Top Ramen, some soup, tuna, sardines, and some nuts. I even stocked up on some more paper, stamps and envelopes. Randy and I pigged out to the point that neither one of us had an appetite for dinner. It was crazy how I got all that junk for just doing a little troubleshooting.

I went to sleep with a major stomachache.

Chapter 17

Good moments don't last long.

“Wallace? Wallace! Wake up.”

I rolled over to see one of the guards in my cell standing over me. He tapped me with a baton until I stood to my feet.

It was earlier than they had ever woken me before. And instantly, I knew something was wrong. My stomach twisted in knots. Was I in trouble for something? Maybe they had discovered that I was the one who killed that skinhead.

“Do I need to get dressed?” I asked the guard.

“Naw. All that ain't necessary. Just put your shoes on and come on.”

I stood there in my long johns and put on my shoes.

I was escorted to the supervisor's office. Once I made it inside, he didn't say anything. He just gestured me to come closer with one hand while holding a phone up in his other.

Once I reached him he handed me the phone.

I took a deep breath, while my eyes asked the supervisor who it was.

He was tight-lipped and put his head down.

“Hello?”

“Is this Chance Wallace?”

“Yâ” I cleared my throat. “Yes it is.”

“This is the warden of Valley State Prison. I am calling regarding you mother, “Rasheeda Wallace. At exactly 1:16
A
.
M
. your mother had a stroke. She was rushed to the infirmary and they attempted CPR. It was unsuccessful. An attempt to transport her to the hospital was made. She expired on the way there. Thank you.”

The phone clicked.

I dropped the phone. I replayed her words in my head.
She expired on the way there
.

I felt weak. I slid down to the floor, feeling numb as tears ran down my face.

BOOK: Thug in Me

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