Chapter 6
I could not stand to look at my mother as he ripped her apart. Truth be told, despite what he said about my mother and regardless if it was true or not, I wanted to beat his ass for upsetting her.
The judge instructed the courtroom to break for lunch and said we would resume in an hour.
It was the longest hour of my life.
Once the hour passed and we were back in the courtroom, I wondered what else the DA had up his sleeve.
“Your Honor, the state calls Ron Jasper to take the stand,” the DA said.
I watched a man I had never seen before walk to the stand. Still, I scanned his face for any type of recognition from his neatly braided cornrows to his tall stature. Still, I didn't know this man and I wondered what he could have to say about me, why he was called to the stand and trial, and why he was really here.
He had to put his hand up the way my mother and I had to and promise to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Then the punk-ass DA got started.
“Sir, state your name for the courts.”
“Ronald Jasper.”
“Do you know that man in front of you?”
“Yes, I do.”
I narrowed my eyes at his lying ass. I had never seen him before this day!
“How are you acquainted with him?”
“We do licks together.”
I bit my bottom lip to keep from shouting out.
“Sir. Could you explain to the people in the courtroom what a lick is?”
“In other words, we rob people.”
“You lying muthafucka.” I hissed. My eyes bored into his.
He was unaffected.
“Counsel, control your client,” the judge fired at my lawyer.
“You's a lying muthafucka!” Calhoun yelled, raising up from his seat.
The judge slammed down his gavel. “Settle down!” I ignored my lawyer, who told me to be quiet. It was now making sense. The bullshit about the blood wasn't bullshit. I was being set up.
“I see.” The DA had a hand under his chin.
“Can you tell me what happened March fifth, 2003?”
“Me and Chance needed something to get into. We was casing the Liquor Bank in LA 'cause it was Friday night. We saw this dude step out of an X5 BMW, it had rims and shit. We figured he had to have some ends on him and he had a nice Rolex. So we figured his crib gotta be just as nice.”
“I got a nice truck and a nice crib. Why would I need to rob someone else?” I demanded, my hands in the air.
The judge hit his gavel again. “Mr. Wallace, I suggest you keep your mouth shut,” he warned, locking eyes with mine.
I gritted my teeth and shook my head angrily. This man was lying on me.
“So we followed him to his house. We bust in with the burner. We asked him for his dough. At first the dude acted like he was going to give it up. But as he pulled out his wallet, he tried to be slick and instead of handing it to me the dude dropped it to the floor. I made a move to snatch it. That's when Chance yelled for the dude to get out of his pants pocket. He saw the dude reach in his pocket for something else. Chance thought he was going for a gun so he blasted away.”
The DA stood with his arms crossed behind his back and nodded. “I see. Now, sir, what did he do with the gun?”
“I don't know. He never told me.”
“You lying muthafucka. I didn't kill nobody and I have never seen you before!” I jumped to my feet and tried to rush after him but I was easily caught by two guards. I struggled against them both. “Get off of me.”
Their hold on me tightened.
Ron winked at me.
Why the fuck didn't they all see that?
I tried to get to him but couldn't. “You fucking with my freedom. I'm gonna kill
you
. Lying-ass nigga!”
“Remove him from the courtroom!” the judge yelled.
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“We the jury find the defendant, Chance Isaiah Wallace, guilty of second-degree murder of Devin Johnson.”
After I heard the word
guilty
, I think I stopped listening.
I turned a deaf ear on the judge as he gave me the time I was about to serve. I grew numb inside. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking, I couldn't look at my mother, even though hearing her shrill scream brought my ears back alive.
“I don't know what to say at this point. But we can still keep working on this case, Chance.” That was my lawyer.
I turned my teary eyes on him. I could hear my heart pumping in my chest. I pulled my lips in and wanted to die right there in that courtroom. I would rather be that cop I was accused of killing, than be me and have this fate laid out to me.
“Please!” my mama screamed as two police tussled with her. “My son did not do this!”
She was ignored and refused to walk so she was dragged out.
“This is some bullshit! Chance! Chance!” That was Calhoun, who was dragged out the courtroom alongside my mother.
Everything moved slowly for me and I knew this was the start of time moving slow. I also knew that the life that I had carved out for myself was over.
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And just like in the movie
American Me
the prison guard said, “Nobody talks while I talk. Y'all shut the fuck up.”
They shipped me from Twin Towers to Delano State Prison.
All around me all the men talked. I just kept to myself, didn't make eye contact with anyone, and kept my mouth closed.
I did the routine just as the other inmates did. I stripped naked, opened my mouth, raised my hands, lifted my balls, spread my butt cheeks wide, crouched down, and coughed. All while having several equally naked men in front of me do the same thing under the watchful eyes of the correction officers supervising us.
Then we were done. I spent the next four hours waiting in reception for them to find me a cell, after taking all sorts of tests.
I blocked out everything that was going on around me and those words,
twenty years to life
replayed over and over in my head. Part of me wished I had done something different but I didn't know what. I guess I thought this trial would play itself out and they would have to figure outâthey would have toâthat this person, this murderer, it wasn't me. But they never did. With all the dudes around me, I tried not to tear up again. But what man wouldn't break down and cry after hearing they would be spending the rest of their life behind bars for some shit they were no part of? I didn't even know Ron Jasper and I couldn't understand why he would get on that stand and lie on me. I had to have been set up plain and simple, by him and Lord knows who else. But why?
I was told that I could be in reception for a couple months. But it seemed like a matter a days I was sent to my bed. It was probably because of the severity of the crime.
My cell was on the second tier. I was escorted to my cell by another prison guard.
The guard didn't say much, but simply told me that I had the top bunk.
I stepped inside when the cell door slid open. It closed quickly. I looked around. It was so small. I didn't know how another man and I were going to be able to share it. There was a shelf on the wall and a thin sheet covered the tiny area the toilet sat in. I turned away and I sat my blanket roll on the top bunk, feeling like every man in there was watching me through the cell bars.
“Get the fuck away from my bed, nigga, for you get fucked up!”
I paused and turned around slowly, not knowing if I would have to fight this dude.
When I made eye contact with him, he surprised me by laughing. “I'm just fucking with you.”
He stepped closer to me and held out his hand. “What's happening? They call me Tyson.”
I didn't even know if I should even be talking to this dude. I inspected him quickly. He was short, light skin with tats up and down his arms. A torn shirt was wrapped around his head. And while he seemed cool, I didn't know whether to trust him or not. He could be a murderer. He could be a rapist. Point-blank, I didn't know the man. So I didn't plan on getting all friendly with him. But I told him my name.
“Chance,” I said in a hoarse voice.
I shook his hand and looked down at the floor.
“I sleep on the bottom,” he told me.
I nodded blankly. Then I leaped on the top bunk.
How was I going to manage to be in here with all these men? Truth be told, I didn't understand how someone could live day by day in something like this. My situation reminded me of that movie I saw called
Hurricane
about that man who was falsely accused of murder and in jail for years and years. I never thought the same shit would ever happen to me, not in a million years. This is a corrupt-ass world.
While all these people are out there killing innocent people, children are getting sexually abused, women are getting raped and beat, and here I am locked up for some shit I didn't do! I wanted to take my fist and punch it through a fucking wall. Or better yet, punch that DA and the judge for falsely putting me here. The shit they did to me should be illegal.
They
should be in fucking jail.
“Man, why you so quiet?”
I ignored him.
“Lets go over some rules in here. I mean, if we gonna get along, we gotta establish some rules. Rule number one: I'm not gay so don't even think about pushing up on me.”
I shook my head. “I'm not gay either.”
“Do you plan on ever changing the team you play for?”
He leaned his head over the edge of his bed so I could see him from on top of my bed.
I shook my head. “Naw.”
“Rule number two: What's mine is mine, period. Don't fuck with my shit.”
I nodded.
“Rule number three: Don't bring no illegal shit in here. That includes dope, pruno, lighters, weapons, and cell phones. I'm scheduled to meet with the committee next year and I'm trying to go home. I done already lost ten years of my life in here so that means I can't have no dirt on me. I've been squeaky clean since I been here and ain't no celly going to dirty me up.”
I started to ask him what he did and see if maybe he could give me any type of advice on what I could do about my situation.
“Oh, and don't bring no punks in here.”
“Huh?” I was confused.
“A gay dude. I do not care how much he look likes a real bitch. Fuck them somewhere else.”
“Hey, man. I'm said I'm not gay.” I was already tired of hearing his voice when I had so much other shit on my mind.
“And when you take a shit. You drop one turd, flush and repeat, that way our cell won't smell like shit. You got any questions for me as far as prison politics?”
I knew I should have asked to protect myself, but I didn't.
“No.”
He chuckled. “I guess you want to learn the hard way.”
I shrugged. I didn't want to learn nothing except that this was a bad dream and that I would wake up from the shit and go back to my normal life. Go to my job, come home, kiss my mama on her cheek, eat some of her good cooking, take my girl shopping, fuck my girl, sleep in my own bed, shit in my own toilet, and do the same thing all over again the next day. That's all I wanted.
When it was time for dinner, I followed Tyson as our cell door was mechanically opened. We fell in line with other prisoners. I didn't really know what to do, so I just copied what Tyson did. I felt eyes all on me as I walked in the line. Although I didn't put my head down in fear, I made eye contact with no one.
When we got to what they called the mess hall I picked up my tray and walked the serving line, getting my food. My face remained expressionless and when I did make eye contact with an inmate they would mean mug me, like I had really done something wrong to them.
“Keep moving,” the guards said.
As I reached the edge of the serving line, a Hispanic man next to me tapped my tray.
I was confused as to what he wanted but the Hispanic man next to him said, “He wants your corn bread.”
I took it off my tray and handed it to him.
I wasn't able to sit anywhere near Tyson and for the first time since I had been there and met him I wished that I could, cause he was the only familiar face and if he was next to me it would ease my comfort level somewhat. Growing up in Springdales I was never considered a punk. I knew how to handle my business when it came to fighting. But I didn't think I was built to handle this: prison. This shit was probably going to be the end of me.