“You know, you ever stop to think they just so many!”
“So many what?”
“Of us! Negroes,” he says, nodding at the full mess hall. “Ain’t never seen so many in one place in all my life, and this ain’t even all of us. Probably could fit my whole town up in here.”
For the first time, I notice what Norm is really seeing. There is an endless field of us in here. So many strong Black men who could lead our kind right out of this place. There’s strength in unity.
Up, up, you mighty race!
The thought of Papa’s teachings comes back to me in a hot flash. But I push those thoughts away. Hell, if he was alive today and saw me in here … oh man. I don’t even want to imagine it.
“This ain’t nothing like it is in Roxbury,” I say, clearing the sadness from my throat. “I’ve seen thousands of Negroes, drinking and Lindy Hopping … those pretty dames having a sweet time.”
I think of my nights at the ballroom, the girls I used to spin around the dance hall, hitting a bottle with Shorty till sunrise … and I grow hungry for home again.
Norm waves me off with a grin. “Oh, that city life ain’t for me. Too many violent criminals, them bad-ass Negroes, living on top of one another.”
“Have you ever been to a city before?”
“No. But my boss man told me what it’s like.”
“And you just believed him?”
He frowns. “He ain’t got no reason to lie. Look, he’s been good to me. Not all white folk are bad. Anyway, you missed it while you were … uh … gone, I guess. We got like fifty more coons up in here, coming from all over. Bunch of thieving, murdering, raping, and drug-dealing coons. All of them.”
What’s he talking about? Doesn’t he know half of us up in here didn’t do nothing but be Black?
“How you end up in here?” I ask.
He winces a nervous smile. “Oh, that was nothing but a big ole misunderstanding.”
I laugh. “You ever think that the rest of us are a bunch of ‘misunderstandings’?”
He looks at me straight. “No. Not me. I’ve been writing to my old boss man. He’s gonna help me get out of here. That’s what he says. Mmm-hmm, of course he would. He can’t run no store without me there! Said I was the best nigger he got. Just was lost in a … uh … mix-up.”
“Yeah? Tell it.”
He sighs. “Some Negro grabbed a loaf of bread from a store down the street. My boss saw me on the stairs and mixed me up with him. Next thing I know, police at my front door. I told them I was working, that my boss man can vouch for me, but they didn’t have the chance to ask him yet, that’s all.”
Norm was the type Shorty told me to watch out for. The type that is so brainwashed he’d bend over backward for a white man who would sell his whole family to the lowest bidder. Shorty gave me a lot of lessons, but that one stuck like glue. Yet Papa would say that he’s our brother. We should keep one eye open but never leave him behind.
“You ever wonder what them white prisons are like?” I ask Norm.
He laughs. “Probably empty. They ain’t criminals like us.”
“And you don’t find it … strange … that we are the only ones doing all these crimes? And if we are the criminals, then why are we afraid of white folks? You ever think about that?”
“We don’t know no better, that’s all. Look, we’ve had some hard breaks. But if you keep your head down and do what you told, you’ll survive better than you think.”
The word survive hits me heavy. That’s all any of us have been doing, inside and out of this shithole—just trying to survive. But just exactly what are we trying to survive? And at what cost?
* * *
There are only a few things in prison that bring all of us together—food and sports. Tonight, we crowd into the mess hall, hundreds of voices drowning out one single radio the size of a lunch tin.
“I can’t hear nothing,” Jimmy groans. “Thought y’all fixed it last time.”
“This is why we need Big Lee,” Walter says, fussing with the dial on the old radio. “He’s good at this kind of thing. Where he at?”
Walter is real serious when it comes to fights and baseball games. Never met a more competitive person. Nor someone with such an itch to place a bet. Double or nothing, he’s down to risk it all and always squares up, no matter the cost.
He curses over the box. “Fight probably already started and we gonna miss the whole damn thang!”
A man named Mack hobbles out of the kitchen, his left eye sewn shut and caved in. He goes over to the radio and hits the top hard. It makes a loud screech before the announcer from the Joe Louis vs. Tami Mauriello fight pops on.
“Shhhh,” Mack tells us, and hobbles back into the kitchen.
There’s a small cheer as cats tune in to the fight. Listening to the Brown Bomber’s fight makes me think of all the times I listened to the fights back home with Philbert. It brings me a small slice of relief. Wonder if he’s listening, too. Yeah, I bet he is.
“Don’t mess with it again,” Mack says. Mack has a loud, raspy voice with an aggressive tongue to match. Bet if he ever pays you a compliment it would sound like an insult. Not that he’s ever said more than a word to me.
“What you doing, Mack?” Jimmy asks. “Come hear the fight!” Jimmy always wants everyone to listen to the fight together. Like we’re one big family, gathering around the fireplace.
Mack shakes his head. “Can’t see how anyone could enjoy themselves when men are down in them holes.”
“Louis hit Mauriello with the left!”
Mack is the type that says little but a whole lot at the same time. Keeps to himself for the most part. Lives in our unit but works kitchen duty. Practically glued to the sink, he’s always scrubbing pots and pans.
“Louis puts Mauriello down for the count!”
Walter is on his feet.
“What?? NO! That’s it! One round?!”
“What? I missed it already?” I ask. “Who won?”
“Louis.” Walter pouts. “Damn. That’s gotta be the shortest fight in history.”
CHAPTER 3
There is no better than adversity. Every defeat, every heartbreak, every loss, contains its own seed, its own lesson on how to improve your performance next time.
—MALCOLM X
Only way to keep afloat is to stay away from what weighs you down. That’s how I’ve been surviving. Pretend I’m not here. Keep my head above water and keep busy. Back in Harlem I learned that you can run a hustle anywhere you’re planted, and that’s what I have to do here. Just work through it all.
“Red, when I get outa here, man, first thing I’ma do is get on my knees and pray,” Lightning says from his cell two doors down. “I’ma pray to the Lord that I made it through this hell. Lord knows I didn’t kill nobody. I ain’t never hurt a fly. Then, I’ma go get me a bath and put on my church suit, sit at the table with my mama, and eat me a good meal, a nice home-cooked meal, Red. Yes, sir. I’ma just sit an’ look at my mama and eat till the sun rises again. Then, we gonna go to church.”