Terrence
September 25, 1942
You ain’t never gonna be nothing, ’cause you just a stupid nigger.
Get a degree. Make something of yourself. Make a difference in this world.
Nothing but a nigger.
Make a difference in this world.
No way could Terrence sleep with the words of Peachie and Mr. Blake wrestling round and round in his head. He flipped to his side and punched his lumpy pillow. Flopped again and stared at dust that rolled across the floor, like a ghostly mouse running to hide. He pulled the pillow over his ears to shut out noise coming from other cells. But it didn’t do anything to stop the clatter in his head.
Okay, he’d admit Momma and Daddy always told him the same thing Mr. Blake had said that day in the visitors’ room.
“Son, only way you gonna make something of yourself is to get you an education.”
He’d gotten tired of hearing it, even though Momma made sure he couldn’t ignore her.
But he could ignore Mr. Blake. That was for damn sure.
Man, he had to get his mind off all that education bullshit back-and-forth or he’d go crazy.
Think of something. Anything. Patty and Missy. Yeah. Momma said she’d bring them on Sunday. Never thought he’d say it, but he sure missed his sisters. How many times had he slammed his bedroom door to keep them from coming in to pester him? Right now, he’d give just about anything to have Patty barge in, even if it was to ask him to fix that old, flat tire on her bike. She was always bugging him about that. He thought about all the times Missy crawled up into his lap, dragging along her favorite picture book. He smiled thinking about that silly book and how he’d grown tired of reading it over and over. Heck, if he had the chance, he’d even read that one to her again.
Some nights, when the guards called “lights out,” he’d close his eyes, and he could almost feel her sitting there with him, pointing at the pictures while he read.
He took a lot for granted back then. Jesus. By the time he got out of this place, Missy would be in first grade and wouldn’t need anyone to read to her. And Patty? She’d be a teenager. Boys would probably be chasing her all over the place, too.
He sat up and propped the lumpy pillow on his knee before resting his head on it. How could he be so tired, but not be able to sleep? Why couldn’t he shut up those voices in his head that kept saying it over and over.
You ain’t never gonna be nothing but a nigger.
He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and looked around the cell, searching for a way to escape the ranting going on inside.
There were those books again. Nagging him without saying a word. Only this time they looked different. What were those dark stripes against them? He turned to look at the cell door bars and the light that shined from down the hall. Shadows.
Jail bar shadows.
Ain’t never gonna be nothing.
And Mr. Blake’s books. On the other side of those shadows.
Make something of yourself.
He closed his eyes, and the voices in his head quieted. Something happened inside him. The battle was over. He wasn’t sure if he’d given in or given up. Didn’t matter.
He’d finally figured it out. Mr. Blake had planted a seed—get educated. Make something of yourself. And it had been growing inside like a weed. For sure, Terrence had been spending plenty of energy trying to kill it.
He grinned and shook his head. Then there was what Peachie said, the ugly shit he threw at Terrence to put him down. All the while, that shit was just the fertilizer Blake’s seedling needed to make it grow even faster, until tonight, it was too big to ignore anymore.
Those books waiting behind those striped shadows? They were the way out.