Terrence
December 23, 1942
Another long night. But then, Terrence didn’t know why it should be different from any other. Soon as it got quiet, things would start jumbling around in his mind, popping up as dreams that haunted him. Dreams of Daddy’s final minutes. What had his father been thinking about in those minutes? Was he in pain for long, or did he go quick? Then, just as he got those nagging thoughts out of his head, he’d dream about Mr. Kimura. Had it really been one year since his family got that telegram? It seemed like so much longer. It seemed like only yesterday.
It’d been a year since that day in the park, too. Over and over again, he saw flashes of the fear in Nobu’s father’s eyes as he lay helpless on the ground, wincing with every kick. What did he think about in his last minutes? Same thing as Daddy?
He hated the quiet.
He got to wondering what he’d think about if he was ever dying. Momma. Daddy. Patty and Missy. He’d think about how he loved them and hoped they’d always know it. He’d wish he could tell them just one more time.
Sometimes his dreams would all melt together into one, and it’d be like he was watching Daddy and Mr. Kimura die right next to each other. Pretty soon, their bodies would disappear, and all that was left was the things they felt when they took their last breaths.
He was sick to his stomach all over again, thinking about killing Mr. Kimura. In those final minutes, when they thought their final thoughts, it didn’t matter what color Mr. Kimura’s skin was, or what color Daddy’s skin was.
Daddy’s last thought. Mr. Kimura’s last thought. They were probably just the same.
Strange how that realization brought him a little peace, like light shining down in a deep, dark hole. A hole that sometimes pulled him down, down, down.
Maybe it was peace, or maybe exhaustion. Maybe just plain surrender. But finally, he felt himself sink into sleep.
Too soon, morning light blared through the window. A rude awakening, too, like Momma shaking him awake when he didn’t want to get up yet. He wanted to sleep some more. But with the sun came noises of the prison coming to life.
Loud yawning. Guys yelling about being hungry. Toilets flushing.
No more sleep for him.
One more day, one more mark on the wall. He took a pencil from under his pillow and pressed hard. Still 476 days to go. Felt like it had already been ten years. Long as it seemed, he reminded himself every day: He’d be out someday, but never, never would Nobu have his daddy back.
Outside, he would have been counting down the days to finishing his freshman year in college—instead of inside, where he was counting the days to freedom. Least he was still learning things, thanks to Mr. Blake. All his tests had been going well, and now that he and Carter were getting along better, studying with a cell mate wasn’t so bad.
Heck. Those guards were probably good and pissed that they weren’t getting the action they’d hoped for when they put a white boy in the cell with a black one. Salt and Pepper. Come to think, it was a stupid nickname, being as salt and pepper go together just fine. Matter fact, one don’t go so good without the other. Yeah, him and Carter had shown those jerks. The more the two talked, the more Terrence learned they had things in common. He’d even got to liking Carter.
The turning point had been Thanksgiving Day, when Terrence had come back to the cell after visiting with his family. Carter was lying on his bunk, back to the wall, after the blowup with his mother. Terrence felt like he was walking on glass—didn’t really know what to say. He just knew he better say something, and fast. Carter’s face was all snarled up and the veins on his neck were bulging out. He’d surely explode as soon as Terrence said something. Didn’t matter though. Least Terrence might get to know more about that mysterious sister of Carter’s.
He remembered taking a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say. So he’d joked with Carter. “Man, you and that family of yours sure know how to break up a good, old Thanksgiving gathering. When you started yelling at your momma, I thought I’d choke on my turkey!”
Carter’s eyes bugged out as he shot back his response. “What’re you talking about? You didn’t have no turkey in your mouth!”
“Yeah, and it for dang sure wasn’t no good, old Thanksgiving gathering, neither. Come on. Lighten up,” he said, shoving at Carter. “What went on out there, anyways? Why’d you yell at your momma on Thanksgiving Day? What could’ve been so bad?”
Terrence could tell by the look in Carter’s eyes, there was plenty he needed to talk about. But whether he would talk was another story. He leaned against the opposite wall and watched Carter.
Carter bit at the corner of his lip. When he finally started talking, his words came slow. Quiet. It took awhile to come out, but Terrence still remembered the exact words of what Carter needed to get out, the only thing he’d said that really mattered in the jumbled words he’d spoken.
“I killed my daddy ’cause I was tired of hearing Jenny cry when he snuck into her room at night.”
He killed his own father?
At first the confession sent shivers down Terrence’s spine. Daddy flashed in his mind—a memory of him sitting in his big chair, Patty and Missy on each knee and snuggled into his chest as he read to them. He got queasy thinking about what Carter had said: “Pa did things to Jenny.” He shut his eyes and tried to make the image go away.
No way could Terrence imagine Daddy ever doing something bad to his little girls. Yeah, he could imagine wanting to kill anyone who ever laid a hand on them. Sure as hell couldn’t stand to hear them cry. But his own Daddy?
“But why’d you yell at your Momma?” Terrence had asked.
“’Cause she still can’t get it through her thick, drunk head why I did it. She kept trying to tell me Pa wasn’t hurting Jenny none. Said she missed him and was tired of not having a man around the house.”
Poor Carter. Killing his own daddy. And having a momma that didn’t have a motherly bone in her body. What would become of Jenny, being raised by a woman like that?
Terrence stared at the marks on the wall again. Yeah, 476 days seemed like a long time, all right. But at least one day he’d get out. If Carter was convicted of murder, he’d be in the pen for the rest of his life. Terrence stared at the light coming through the small window near the ceiling. Light and darkness would trade places thousands and thousands of times for Carter. Then, he’d die. Terrence would go crazy if there was nothing more to look forward to than that.
“Why’d you make that mark on the wall so dark?” Carter’s question startled Terrence back to the present.
“Man, you scared the shit outta me.”
Carter laughed. “Yeah, you were a million miles away. So what’s the deal with the mark?”
“It’s been a year.”
“A year since what? Since you came here?”
“Nah.” Terrence hesitated.
Carter persisted. “Since what then?”
Terrence grinned. “You been hanging around me too long. Getting to be kind of a nag, aren’t you?”
“Well?” Carter poked at him. “You gonna tell me what the dark mark means, or not?”
“It’s been a year since I did what I did to land in this shit hole.”
“And? Come on man, give it up. I told you what I did.”
“I killed a man, too. Beat him up in a park.”
“Why? What’d he do?”
“He didn’t do nothing. I killed him ’cause he was Japanese.”
Carter was quiet. Looked like he was trying to figure that one out.
“We’d just gotten a telegram telling us my daddy was dead. Japs killed him at Pearl Harbor. Somehow I figured killing a Japanese man would make me feel better.”
Carter backed away. “Sorry, man.” He pulled out a chair and flopped into it. His fingers began to drum on the table. “So your pa is gone, too.”
“Yeah.” Terrence sat up in his bunk and rubbed his head.
Carter stared at his drumming fingers.
“Now what are you thinking about?” Terrence leaped off his bunk. Was Carter thinking about Terrence killing a Japanese man? Thinking about his own daddy? Why was he so quiet?
“Breakfast!” called a guard from down the corridor. “Line up.”
Terrence pulled on a shirt. “Okay, you been saved by breakfast this time. But I’ll get back at you later.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Carter grinned as he shuffled to the cell door.
Terrence filed into the cafeteria behind Carter. Breakfast. He remembered the smell of Momma cooking bacon. Biscuits in the oven. Coffee perking on the counter. The memory made him hungry, but one look at the mush being served and he lost his appetite. Matter fact, eating that gruel they glopped into his bowl made him gag. The coffee—lukewarm and filled with grounds—didn’t do much to help him wash it down.
“Hey, if it ain’t Salt and Pepper,” Peachie called from a table across the room.
That jerk lived for giving Terrence a hard time. Only thing he’d been able to do was avoid the mass of dumb, white lard whenever possible.
“Hey, Salt.” Peachie pointed at Carter. “Yeah, you. Why don’t you come over here and eat. Ain’t you ready for a Pepper break?”
A gang followed Peachie’s lead, laughing as they gestured for Carter to come over.
Carter stared hard at the mush in his bowl, like he thought if he stared hard enough it might turn into biscuits and gravy or something.
What did Carter think about the razzing the whites gave him for being in a cell with a black man? Some inmates acted like he’d caught some kind of disease from Terrence. Others had a weird kind of curiosity, creeping up to Carter to ask what it was like to be locked up with a nigger. One even asked if a colored boy pissed the same way. Man, oh man. There were some real dumb shits out there.
The mob at Peachie’s table grew rowdy.
“Hey, Carter! You been sitting in the sun, or are you turning into a nigger?”
Hoots and snickers.
“Just don’t forget you a white boy.”
“Yeah. You ain’t got no choice but to be in a cell with a nigger, but you ain’t gotta hang around with him outside. Come on over here and sit with your own kind.”
Carter put his spoon down and mumbled, “You ain’t my kind.”
Peachie stood so fast his chair fell. “What you say, boy?”
Terrence felt the skin on the back of his neck crawl. Adrenaline surged through his body. Made his fists clench. He kept his gaze low. “Ignore him, Carter. He’s not worth it.”
Carter glared at Peachie with steel blue eyes and lips so tight they looked like they might break if he spoke.
Peachie hustled toward them. His glare reminded Terrence of that kinda-crazy look he’d once seen in a rabid dog’s eyes.
What would he do if Peachie caused them trouble? Get involved? Defend Carter? ’Course he would.
Where in the hell were the guards? He looked around the room and saw two standing by the door, watching the tension brewing like it was a ball game or something. Whispering to each other. Probably making a wager or something.
Peachie was standing right next to where they sat. Terrence didn’t even have to look up to see. He could smell the white monster. Sweat. Cigarettes.
Carter and Peachie stared each other down, like cowboys at a shoot-out. Who would draw first? And why weren’t those damn guards doing anything?
Peachie made the first move. “You gonna tell me what you said?”
“Don’t think you really wanna know.” Carter gritted his teeth.
Peachie leaned toward him. “Oh, yeah. I wanna know all right. And you’re gonna tell me, boy.”
Terrence wasn’t sure what made him sicker—that big old tub-of-lard hairy belly that stuck out below Peachie’s T-shirt or his god-awful smell.
Carter’s glare was hard and cold, but Terrence was sure he saw doubt flicker in his eyes.
Don’t say it, Carter.
“Okay, boys. Break it up!” A guard shouted as he maneuvered through dozens of gawking inmates. “Everybody sit down. You! Get back to your table.” He poked Peachie with his club.
Peachie resisted at first, snarling at Carter. “This ain’t over.”
“Hey!” The guard poked again. “Let’s go. Back to your cell!”
The sounds of the cafeteria—silverware clanking against dishes, the mumbling and shuffling of the inmates—grew quiet as the guards emptied the room.
What was going on in Carter’s head? He sure wasn’t saying nothing.
Another guard approached their table. “Back to the cell, you two.” He mumbled under his breath, “Salt and Pepper,” and snickered to himself.
Carter tossed his spoon into his bowl and rose.
“You didn’t eat much,” Terrence whispered. He tore a piece of bread and put it in his pocket.
“Yeah, right. Kinda lost my appetite,” Carter said, and shuffled back to the cell.
The guard slammed the cell door shut. Its echo faded and another awkward silence followed.
Terrence opened his algebra book and pulled out a piece of paper. He read the word problem and thought about how to start the calculation. Read it again. And again. Then, he shut the book. No way was he going to be able to concentrate enough to figure out a word problem. First he had to figure out Carter.
“Hey, Carter?”
Carter’s gaze didn’t flinch from where he’d been staring. “What.”
“What’re you thinking about?”
“Don’t wanna talk about it.”
Archy skittered from under the bed.
Terrence smiled and took the piece of bread out of his pocket. He sprinkled crumbs on the floor. “Wanna meet Archy?” he asked.
“Who?”
Terrence leaned over and watched his pet roach attack the scattered crumbs. “Archy. Archy the Cockroach.”
Carter sat up and watched at the floor where the shiny, brown bug feasted. “Cockroach? You crazy?” He took his shoe off.
“Hey!” Terrence shouted. “Don’t even think about it!”
“It’s a damn cockroach, you fool!”
As if he sensed danger, Archy skittered out of the cell.
“Man, if I’d known you’d act like that, I wouldn’t have told you about him. You’re not afraid of a cockroach, are you?”
Carter returned his shoe to his foot. “I ain’t afraid of nothing. But it’s a cockroach.”
“Hey man, desperate times call for desperate measures. He’s my pet. My cell dog.” An idea popped into Terrence’s head and he grinned. “You ain’t gonna judge Archy by what he looks like, are you? Why, you’d be no better than Peachie.”
“Aw, come on. That’s stretching it, Tee.”
“No, it ain’t. I’m guessing to Peachie, I’m no better than a cockroach. By his way of thinking, no nigger is. Bet you even thought that when they threw you in this cell with me. Probably wanted to smash me with your shoe, too. Right?” Terrence clasped his hands behind his head and tilted back in his chair. “I’m guessing I’ve graduated up a level, maybe two, now that you’ve got to know me a little.” He watched for Carter’s response.
“Maybe one level. Maybe.”
“Well, me and Archy, we’ve gotten to know each other better, too. I bring him scraps from the cafeteria, and he comes to greet me every day. I figure we all do what we got to do to survive in this world. All any creature wants is to be understood. Accepted for what he is.”
Carter flopped back down on his mattress and went back to staring at the ceiling. “Man, you’re getting a little too philosophical for me.”
“Nah. It’s pretty simple, really. My daddy used to tell me to live and let live. For a long time, I didn’t know what he meant by that. But then I watched the way he lived his life. Realized that even when someone did something that shoulda made him mad, he just went on with his business. Kinda like he knew fighting wouldn’t do no good no how.” He stared outside the cell. “You just lay there and chew on that for a while, Carter. And don’t even think about putting that smelly shoe of yours anywhere near Archy.”
Carter flipped over and faced the wall. “Tee?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna know what I was thinking before we went to eat?”
“Yeah, what?”
“I used to think there wasn’t anything I’d ever envy about a colored’s life. But …”
Terrence held his breath.
Carter sat up. “ … I always knew I missed having a pa who acted like a real pa should.” He glanced at Terrence, then stared at the floor. “Sounds like your pa was a good man. You were lucky to have him for the time you did.” He cleared his throat. “What I would’ve give to have a pa like that, a pa worth killing for.”