I needed to stop reading that letter. I did. All it did was heighten my anger.
They had my mama in jail like she was a fucking convict.
I took a deep breath.
“You good, Chance?”
I nodded at Tyson.
But I was far from good. My situation was getting worse and worse.
After the incident with my mother being arrested, I was given another charge that added five more years to my time.
“I know it's hard, man. I'm not going to bullshit you. So if you want to talk, I'm here. But I'm not going to press you to if you don't want to. My mother is dead. But if she was alive and something like that happened to her, I probably would have killed somebody.”
I believed him. At first, when he told me the story about being on the Olympic team, I didn't believe him. But after seeing him whip ass I knew he was telling the truth.
Still I didn't respond. Tyson was the only friend I had in the whole prison. I was now accepted with the blacks but to me it was like I accepted them. I didn't trust any of them. I only trusted Tyson and I didn't want to take my frustration out of him.
“Who do you think did that shit, man? Threatened her?”
I shrugged. “Could be anybody.” Truth was, I didn't want to think about who did it. Not knowing would stop me from going after them. The image of the guards manhandling my mama popped in my head again. I wiped away a tear that escaped before anyone could see it. “One more day for me and I'm out this bitch, man!”
I tried to offer a smile but I couldn't bring myself to. Not just because of what was going on with my mother, but because by the next morning Tyson was getting out. Now we could safely discuss it. I was losing my only friend in there. Seems like time was going by so damn fast. But then again, why did I care whether time sped up? I was spending the rest of my life in there. The sinking feeling hit me again about my situation.
To clear my mind I started asking Tyson questions. “What's the first thing you going to do when you get out?”
His head snapped back and he narrowed his eyes. “You need to ask, nigga? The fuck you think? I'm going to get knee-deep in some gushy, mushy pussy.”
He crouched down low with the words
gushy, mushy pussy
.
I was lying back on my bed while he stood near me doing dips.
Sex was something I didn't think about anymore. Jacking off with fee fees or fucking the punks were the only ways to bust a nut in here. Tyson and I always reverted to the fee fees, which was getting a sock or a torn-up rag or even a latex glove, putting it over our dicks and jacking off.
“Man, I can't wait.” He crouched down and came back up.
“I know.”
“Then I'm gonna go to my favorite restaurant and eat. You know how long I been wanting to get into some of Roscoe's fried chicken and waffles?”
I chuckled.
“And man, I gotta have some of M and M's oxtails and rice with some corn bread, dawg.”
I smiled, thinking of my mother. She cooked so good she could have opened up her own soul food restaurant. “My mom use to make the best oxtails.”
He paused for a moment, regretting, I think, bringing oxtails up. 'Cause it got me all depressed all over again.
“What else you plan on doing?” I asked, trying to shake it.
“I always wanted to go to Magic City!”
“It ain't out here.”
“I know! I plan on taking a trip to Atlanta. For me, the sky's the limit. God gave me a second chance. I feel like I should take the time to really start living now.”
“You should.”
“I'm gonna see what's left of my career too. Maybe I can coach kids or something.”
I nodded.
He wiped the sweat off his brow and continued exercising.
“Maybe.” I wasn't giving him a lot of conversation back.
He could tell. So he tried to cheer me up.
He made a fist and swung on me hard but only hitting me softly in my arm. “How about you, Chance? When they finally let your ass up out of here, what's the first thing you plan on doing?”
I didn't comment.
He studied me before saying, “Man, what I always tell you?”
My mom's face flashed before me again. I shook my head as if to block her image out.
Then the guards announced that we could go outside for rec.
I needed some air. “You wanna go out?” I asked him. “I need some air.”
He shook his head. “I'm cool in here. I'm going to wash up and take a nap.”
I rose from my bed and stood at my cell door for them to unlock it. I didn't want to go outside but the conversation was just getting me depressed.
Chapter 13
All was normal on the yard. I sat near a bunch of blacks and reflected on my situation. I tried to keep in mind what Tyson said. I wished I embodied the strength and hope that he did and I was going to miss the fuck out of him when he got released. I wondered how I would be ten years from now. Would I be full of positive energy, like Tyson? Or would I just be a bitter man, angry at the world for being done wrong. Who knows? I knew life would move on without me like I never even existed. Sometimes I didn't even want to exist. I was in my own thoughts and I almost missed a Hispanic dude toss his bola ball and yell at the top of his lungs,
“Sur!”
Tyson told me what it meant before. It was the southsiders' call. And whenever it yelled out all south-side gangs had to get up and fight. So they did.
And it was on.
The southsiders rushed us!
Next thing I knew all the blacks were fighting.
First it was the southsiders against all the blacks, but then others took the opportunity to get their enemies.
The whole yard was fighting despite the warning given by several guards for us to drop and the loud alarm.
Two dudes came after me. One of them swung on me. I dipped my head back and yanked him down to the ground. I got ready for the other dude, who was trying to take jabs at me.
I packed him out quickly, only to have the dude on the ground take something and stab me in my lower leg with it.
“Ahh!” I yelled in pain.
I took my other good foot and stomped his head on the ground repeatedly. Each time I did, his mouth hit the concrete and blood gushed out. I didn't want to do this shit but I wanted to survive this shit.
Dudes were everywhere on the yard and we easily outnumbered the guards.
I went to help another black that three Mexicans were fucking up. I grabbed one by the back of his shirt and tossed his ass and knocked the shit out of the other one. I had to get away from this shit if I could.
The only one standing came for me. I was backing up and fighting 'cause I remembered them always telling us that when a riot broke out to lie down on our stomachs with our hands on the back of our heads.
The dude could hang with me and was throwing blow for blow. The advantage I had over him was my height and weight. So I used the advantage.
I started working his ass.
But when two more dudes jumped in the shit to help him, wasn't nothing I could do but let them fuck me up.
Another joined in on my ass.
The warning for us all to drop was repeated over and over again.
The alarms were going off.
But the fighting continued.
Tear gas was thrown, which caused some to stop and some to keep on going. Some dropped to the ground and covered their faces. Two black dudes took their shirts off, tied them around their face, and rushed the dudes who had rushed me.
That's when they started shooting.
I thought back to Tyson's words when I first arrived the prison. I needed to get myself from all the fighting, but how?
This shit didn't make sense
, I thought frantically. If I stayed there on the yard and dropped like they said, I would continue to get attacked and have to fight. Which would mean I would be considered part of the riot. I figured the best thing for me to do was fight my way to the building and lie down in there. Why the fuck didn't I stay inside with Tyson?
I slipped away from the fighting and tried to dodge as many feet as I could along with bullets that were taking a few inmates down. I covered my face with my shirt to avoid breathing in the tear gas.
I dodged the bullets that were continuing to be fired by staying low.
My only thought was to make it to my cell. But as I rushed to the gate I wondered how I was going to get inside? Guards were the only one with access. But I saw inmates rushing inside. I followed after them. And inside the prison there was fighting going on all over the place. Still, I planned to get near my tier. I was pretty sure that's where Tyson was and probably stayed once the riot started. He didn't want to jeopardize his release.
Someone must have managed to break into the control center, which was where all the security buttons were to lock or open any part of the facility because all the cell doors were opened. But once I made it to my cell door I was horrified at what I saw. A skinhead was straddling Tyson.
Before I could stop him he took a sharp object and slit his throat.
“Tyson!” I rushed inside.
But it was too late. I watched death pass over his eyes.
I rushed toward the dude who leaped off of Tyson and took a fighting stance. It was the dude who Tyson had beat down.
“You dirty muthafucka!”
Now he was to wielding his knife at me.
I backed up some and placed my fists up.
He moved in on me and slashed my forearms.
I grimaced at the pain but I kept my hands up.
As soon as his arms moved back, I punched him in the center of his face.
He tried to lash me again but I stepped back.
Blood leaked on my shoes.
My heart was thudding in my chest and I avoided looking at the bed, at Tyson's lifeless body.
Murder was in my eyes. Nervousness was in his. It made him act too rashly.
He tried to swipe me across my face.
I ducked my head down and shot back up. As soon as he paused I gave him two uppercuts.
It made him weak.
I went in again. I delivered another blow to his jaw.
He grew weaker.
I moved to the other side, causing him to move as well, so he tried to intimidate me with his words. “I'm gonna kill you, nigger, like I killed your friend.”
The next hit was to his right cheekbone.
As I drew my hand back his knife quickly pierced the flesh on my hand.
I grunted but keep going. If I didn't, he was going to kill me like he killed Tyson, who didn't have a chance to save himself.
I stepped in on him again and punched him in the Adam's apple. This momentarily stopped his breathing and his hands went for his throat.
That's when I quickly stepped in and hemmed him up against the bunk bed. My hands went around his hands that were still around his throat. I gripped them with all the power I had left in me, with my teeth gritted. It was either do this or have him kill me, which was his intention.
I continued to strangle him with my fist, tightening my hold by raising my forearms and burying his neck between them.
He flattened against the railing of the bunk bed and I continued, never easing up.
His fingers became loose and dropped somewhat underneath my hands. My grip grew stronger. His lips twitched and mucus flew from his nose. I was blocking off his windpipe and he was not getting air. His hands slipped completely from underneath mine and started flapping at his sides, getting fainter by the second.
I kept the same amount of pressure.
His hands came back and covered mine weakly.
I squeezed with all my might. His hands dropped.
Then he stopped struggling and moving, period.
The next minute he was dead.
I let his limp body slide to the floor.
But I didn't want to get caught for killing him. Self-defense did not seem to exist when you were black. So I raced from the cell.
More skinheads were coming my way.
I looked behind me. My only choice was to run the other way but that was where inmates continued to fight.
I had no choice but to jump from the tier to the next tier, which I did.
I landed hard on one of my legs. A few seconds later guards and police were rushing in, telling us all to get down and throwing more tear gas. I stayed down with my head in my forearms and screamed, one from the pain in my leg and two from losing my friend.