“Romeo Black?” DeSean repeated. He knew that wasn’t my name.
“A Brooklyn brawler, Brownsville breed, and a ladies’ man?” DeSean added as he downed his half a cup of sugared apple juice. It was the same apple juice each of us had on our tray. It was small and just enough to wash down a spoonful of powdered egg or a piece of hard bread that somehow got stuck in your throat. It was not enough to nourish any growing young man. But I didn’t expect anything good, and no one should expect good food to come out of a place where there is no love, no relation, and no concern. My “sippy cup” of apple juice remained unopened on my tray. When anyone consumes a sugared drink, the result is an increased thirst and a deep dissatisfaction. So I don’t touch it.
“ ‘Romeo Black,’ that’s better than ‘Lil Man’—that’s what DeQuan used to call him,” DeSean said to his man Slaughter as all eyes at the table hung on his every word. I looked at him hard so he would get the message to shut the fuck up. I know having five brothers up here pushed his weight up like crazy and that he would be reminding his crew all the time that he had brothers as a means of keeping them in check and bigging himself up. But still all the more reason he should know that this isn’t the place for any man to be providing information on the next man, to the next man. His eyes acknowledged. Then he said, “You know my name and my man Slaughter right here. Let me introduce you to all the M3s.”
“M3s,” I repeated.
“Murder, Mayhem, and Money. That’s us right here.” He pointed with his head. “You sat at our table. Word on the streets is you caught a murder charge, so you down with us.” Then he recited the names of the youth at the table. “Starting right here at the top,” DeSean said in a lowered voice. He spoke always at a confidential volume. “I’m DeSean; you met my man Slaughter. This nigga right here is named Bobby, a.k.a. Ransom. Next to him is our man Craig, a.k.a. Ambush, and then that nigga Doug, a.k.a. Ditch, is in the greens ’cause he’s been sentenced and ’bout to go up North. Next to him is a very serious brother from the Hook. His name is Nino, a.k.a. Narcotic. Coming up on your side is my man YesYesYall. He’s a funny dude when you get to know him, classic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now that he’s down with the M3’s he’s in the right place at the right time. My nigga Paul, a.k.a. One Punch; the god Jamar, the god Imperial, the god Mathematics and Puerto Rican Paco. This my man Romeo Black, but you can just call him Black. Fuck Romeo, cause this place ain’t no place for lovers.” They all laughed. I nodded. “Seriously though, he did three in the box just like all of us. I got him and now we family,” he announced.
“Come closer . . .” DeSean said to everyone at the table. They listened up, but there was no way we could get any closer. “From now on, me and my man Black head the table. We keep the seating arrangement like it is today every day till all of us get cut loose or sent up North. And as for that nigga Rory in our dorm, the one talking all that shit last night, the same one who did less than a month in the box although he was in the same fight we was all in that day, tonight we gon’ roll him. Teach him how to keep his mouth shut and stay in his lane. After we take care of that, he gon’ be known as ‘Rory, Short Story.’ He thought he could step into the power position while we was all locked down in the box,” DeSean plotted.
* * *
In class, I’m down to study. But my mind was studying something different than what was on the blackboard. I was pressing names into my head and matching them with faces. I was scanning numbers on chests and watching seating arrangements, signals, and gestures. I was in the same frame of mind I was in eight years ago when I first arrived to the projects. Same thing, I thought to myself. A man has to learn his surroundings swiftly. A man has to study character and characteristics and names and faces and scars and jewels and kicks. Who’s who? Knowing the answer to that question is the strategy and solution to survival. And of course a man can only know who’s who and what’s what by studying and watching over time. All of these youth I faced were going to say who they are, then show who they are through word and deed. I hear what they say. It’s important for me to hear because then I’d know how they want to be perceived, how they see themselves, and what they want me to think about them. But, I would decide in each case who’s who and what’s what, through my own observances of their actions.
GED vocabulary “Top Ten Words of the Day” were listed on the board beneath the name of the teacher, Stephen Mack, and the date, November 2, 1986. I was tight that the date was on the board. Didn’t like being reminded of time. Worse than that, the blackboard was lodged in the wall beneath a huge clock.
Allude, aptitude, attitude, avarice, broker, condescend, cower, dominant, longitude, mandatory, moot, and opulent; the GED words were easy and familiar, unlike the SAT vocabulary words I had already begun studying in the box.
“You know the drill, gentlemen,” Teacher Mack said. “All of these words have to be used in complete sentences that reveal that you know and understand the definition,” he said but the class of thirty black male youth was silent.
“Who wants to volunteer to go first?” he asked. No one answered. “As usual then, when I point to you, choose any word and use it in a complete sentence and if you are correct, we move on to the next gentleman.”
Teacher Mack pointed to a youth up front. It was Imperial from the M3s. He sighed, leaned back, and stretched out his legs. “I’m dominant,” he said. The class let out muffled laughter.
“That doesn’t reveal to me that you understand the definition of the word,” Teacher Mack said.
“It’s a sentence, a subject, and a verb. That’s what you said a few months ago.” He stared at the teacher.
“Try to use the word dominant in another sentence that reveals that you know the meaning of the word,” the teacher pressed.
“Everybody in here know the meaning of the word dominant. Everybody in here know what I meant in my sentence. Everybody except you.”
“Problem is, Mr. Mack don’t know the longitude of your aptitude, so he got a attitude,” YesYesYall said, and everybody cracked up.
“Good, good, good, I like that,” Teacher Mack said, breaking up the tension. Then he pointed to Doug Ditch. He started drumming on the table and rhyming:
Let me tell you lil story bout a bitch I know . . .
If you thinking what I’m thinking, you know she’s a ho.
The bitch looked good, pretty and clean, sexiest young thing you ever seen.
I pushed up on her and turned on my charm, knew I’mma look good with that bitch on my arm.
She smiled like she liked me and agreed with my talk.
She laughed at my jokes ’n said she liked how I walked.
She was my girl and I was her man, so why that bitch had my brother’s dick in her hand?
Bitch said she was sorry, liked him all along.
Said she didn’t mean to use me, an’ knew she was wrong.
Said she liked him better, he was older and bolder,
More money in his pockets and his style was colder.
Bitch said yes to me, so she could get closer . . . to him.
My brother treated her foul, fucked her then beat her,
Said she wasn’t worth shit, but bitch could suck up a dick.
He hurt her real bad so I went and got him.
He’s my brother, my blood, but word to mother I shot him.
Now we both locked up. I’m thinking what the fuck is it?
The bitch that I loved, she only pays him a visit.
Bitch puts money on his books, buys him clothes and kicks.
I’m in the green jumper, bitch didn’t bring me shit.
Called her collect, the bitch just hangs up.
Now I’m feeling like my brother and want to fuck the bitch up.
Smack her around put my dick in her butt.
I know one thing that’s truer than true,
Don’t be nice to a bitch, fuss an’ fight for a bitch.
Bitch, Bitch, Bitch won’t lov
e you if you do.
Dudes were stomping their feet, clapping and cheering for Ditch’s performance. Mr. Mack interrupted. “I like your enthusiasm,” he said to Ditch. “I even like your creative approach. But what does your storytelling have to do with the assignment? You didn’t use the vocabulary words in your rhyme.”
“What my man Ditch was alluding to, Mr. Mack, was that the bitch was full of avarice. She didn’t appreciate my hardworking man here ’cause he used to dig ditches at the graveyard for a honest living. She tried to broker a deal with his brother ’cause she loved that street hustle. My man Ditch here didn’t have the aptitude to realize that most of these bitches love money over love and they respect a thorough smack-down from time to time. Naw what I mean?” YesYesYall said.
“In defense of women . . .” Mr. Mack said.
“Time’s up, and it is mandatory that we travel to the next class,” YesYesYall said, and everybody got up and walked out on his command.
“Write down your vocabulary word sentences and bring it in your notebooks tomorrow!” Mr. Mack shouted.
* * *
Lunch lineup after completing two morning classes and the count. I chose a table and sat. Two quiet cats, who looked like they were from a Spanish-speaking country, maybe Nicaragua, Guatemala, or El Salvador, walked up, looked at me, and sat down. I had peeped these two earlier, liked how they didn’t do too much talking, figured they didn’t speak English too comfortably and preferred to stay to themselves. I checked how during dorm time and down time, they stayed squatted low instead of standing, lying down, or sitting in chairs. Their silence and manner reminded me of my martial arts training and the martial arts frame of mind. I nodded my greeting. They each nodded back. We three were eating.
DeSean walked up, looked at the two cats. They stopped eating and started staring back at DeSean, whose crew strolled up behind him. The two cats got up and moved tables. DeSean dropped his tray across from mine. His M3s sat in the same order they had at breakfast this morning after the musical chairs without the music and the DJ, even though this was not the same M3 table.
“Same as it ever was,” DeSean said to me. I didn’t say nothing back. “You always was a quiet type of dude, mind your business, move alone, separate from the block. But that ain’t how it is up in here,” he said, staring down at his food and eating. “Quan told me to hold you down. That means I’m gon’ do that. My whole crew is gonna do that ’cause Quan said so. I didn’t ask you to look out for me, but you did. I know you didn’t do it for me. You did it for Quan. But that’s cool. You and him had that kind of relationship,” DeSean said in his confidential tones.
The CO was focused on us. Maybe he was studying the movement of the inmates the same way I was. I didn’t expect DeSean to follow me to a new table, not when he had just said this morning that the other table was the M3 table. Now I knew the young Murder, Mayhem, and Money crew in the adolescent lockup had decided to gang me up whether I wanted it or not. I wasn’t gonna stress over it. Why should I? I moved. They followed me.
In the day room, where there were two televisions and one pay phone, I was seated with my back up against the wall calculating and writing out the answers to the math problems we were given in the second class before lunch. Same as the English GED class, the math assignment was elementary. It was long division and the teacher wanted us to show our work, even though it was much easier for me to do the calculations in my head and come up with a swift and accurate answer.
“Don’t sit there,” DeSean said to me. I looked up from my paper. “If you sit beside the phone, these other dudes are gonna be scared to step up and use it.” I looked around. Across the room was a small huddle of boys that were looking towards our direction. I figured they were the ones scared to walk over and use the phone. “That’s M3 clout. You sitting there. You M3, they figure you about to use it. All they can do in that case is wait. We run the house. We run the phones, the television, the whole day room, the dorm, and we run the yard,” he said, giving me a firm look.
“If they scared to step up and use the phone, then they shouldn’t use it,” I said.
“That’s cold-blooded,” DeSean said.
“Tell ’em to step up then,” I said.
* * *
“Ma, ma, ma, will you listen? Could you be quiet for a minute? Why you keep talking? I already knew that. I already said that. That’s not what I said. I told you to bring me the high-tops. But the ones you bought was bootleg. I told you where to go. You can’t buy them on the sidewalk. You gotta go to the store like I said. See, that’s why you fucked up. ’Cause you don’t listen. You still talking.” He hung up. “Damn bitch never shuts the fuck up.” He picked up the phone and banged it up against the wall. A next kid stepped up.
* * *
“Ma, yes I know. I’m sorry for calling collect again, but what can I do? Did you talk to the lawyer? How much? He’s crazy. But did you get the money? Did you ask Vinny? How ’bout Steph, did you ask her? I told you Tony owes me that cash. Did you go by his apartment? How’s work? Did you walk my dog? I know, Ma. I know you love me. I love you too.” Then he whispered, “But please hurry.” He hung up. Another kid stepped up.
* * *
“Momma, put Jozy on the phone quick. She ain’t there? Where she at? I told the bitch I was gonna call and I told her what time. Did she come home last night? You saw her? Was she wearing that bracelet I gave her? She did? I told her to pawn it. What about Ralph? You seen him around the building? Did he come by and check on you? Have you seen Jozy talking to Ralph out on the bench or something? You did? Tell her I said she better bring her ass up here for visitation tomorrow. If she don’t come, just take back my key and throw the bitch out. Keep her out of my bedroom, okay? A’ight, thanks, Ma.” He hung up.
* * *
“Mami, that’s not what happened. Are you gonna talk or am I gonna talk? It’s your money. You decide. Tell him I was in the car but I didn’t know nothing. I didn’t know what they was up to. How do you know he’s not gonna believe that? You always have something negative to say. So what I did it once. That doesn’t mean I did it this time. You should trust me. No, I ain’t seen him. No, I ain’t seen him, either. Why you always asking about them? You should be worried about me. So what we related. In here it’s every man for himself. Do you remember what I told you to say? No I’m not. Uh-un. No quiero rezar ahora!” He hung up. Next cat strolled up nervously.
* * *
“Take the call, take the call, take the call, bitch! Take the call.” He hung up.
* * *
“Give Marla the phone. (Pause) I told you to stop letting her answer our phone. You pick up! The bitch thinks she’s the man of the house. I’m the man of the house. (Pause) How is she gonna tell you you can’t work at the club because she’s jealous of other bitches who like you? You gotta get that money! She’s lucky I’m letting her eat you. She’s just a freakin’ stand in till I get back. She’s try’na fuck up the money so I can’t come home. (Pause) No she can stay long as you work at the club. Listen to me. Don’t listen to her. No dicks in my apartment with my woman. Only dykes. And I’m the only dick. You got it?”
* * *
“Hi, it’s me. I know you know my voice.” He laughed quietly. “It’s still the same. There’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t control them from there. It only matters who’s in here at the time. I’m trying. But I already told you how it is. You know the ones. Just take care of yourself. I’m not gonna offer them that. They’re not good guys. I told you, Ma, I’m the only good guy and I’m the only one who really loves you. Who’s that? Tell me the truth. Why did you let him back in? You always do that. I’m hanging up,” Lavidicus said. He left with his head hanging low.
* * *
Realizing that I should have gotten up and moved like DeSean had suggested, I did. The last caller before I walked away didn’t say one word once his call connected. He just breathed and exhaled and cried. Maybe he spoke up after I left. I don’t know.
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* * *
He had a Muslim name. It caught my attention but didn’t cause me any form of instant respect for him. A lot of African Americans have Muslim names that hold no real meaning, are not even the names of their fathers, and are not an indication that they have a faith or awareness of any kind. He was the teacher for the afternoon GED, history class, Karim Ali.
“Roots of Revolution,” he wrote on the board. “Let’s review for the eleven brothers who just returned to the class after being isolated for a few months and three completely new faces that have joined in. Peace and greetings first of all, and welcome back to some and welcome to others,” he said.
Of course I took note that he called us “brothers,” not “ladies” or “inmates” or “prisoners.” He greeted us as though we had come to class voluntarily. He welcomed us instead of showcasing his false confidence, which I thought was normal for the men who are most afraid, especially the COs.
“Emilio, let the brothers know what revolution we are discussing,” Teacher Ali said to a seated student.
“The American Revolution,” Emilio answered. I realized now he was calling each male inmate by his given name.
“But the conditions for revolution can be the same in any land?” the teacher stated and asked.
“Word, wherever things is fucked up the condition for revolution exists,” one student answered.