Terrence
March 15, 1943
“Showers!” A guard called from the front of the corridor.
Terrence rubbed his forehead and scribbled out his umpteenth attempt at solving an algebra problem.
Carter waited at the cell door, scratching his belly. “You coming?”
“Nah. You go on. I need to get this homework done before Mr. Blake comes this afternoon.”
“You mean I’m gonna have to smell your stink until tomorrow?”
Terrence grinned and shook his head. “You preaching to the choir, man. I don’t think there’s enough soap in this whole prison to wash away your white boy smell.”
The guard unlocked the cell door and Carter joined the procession of inmates headed to the showers. “See ya,” he said before the door slammed shut.
Terrence noticed the clean clothes Carter left on his bunk. “Hey, wait!” he called, but Carter was too far down the corridor.
He remembered how Momma always joked about having to remind him of something he’d forgotten. His homework, sack lunch, wallet. “Where’s your mind at, son?” she’d ask. “Don’t know what you gonna do without me one of these days.”
His algebra book lay open in front of him, calling to him like a nag. He gazed at the eight circled problems and groaned. Homework! He studied the problem over again.
Think!
Pencil to paper, he jotted figures on scratch paper, determined to solve the problem. Xs. Ys. As. Bs. His paper was full of a jumble of letters and numbers that looked like a foreign language. Why’d he have to take algebra anyways? Lawyers didn’t need to know algebra. Even Mr. Blake had told him he was afraid he wouldn’t be much help with that fancy math. So why’d he have to study it?
“You’ll need to know it to get into college,” Mr. Blake had said.
College. Would he ever really go to college? It was hard to imagine such a thing from inside a jail cell.
“Fight!” The call swelled as it ripped down the corridor from the shower.
Several guards ran by, guns drawn. Their shrill whistles echoed everywhere.
Hoots and taunts came from the direction of the showers, and those that had stayed behind watched from their cells like caged animals he’d seen in the zoo. Their eyes wide with frenzied excitement, they screamed and chanted.
Terrence’s heart beat wild, too. He stared at the clothes on Carter’s bed. All that screaming, the guards rushing to the showers … he pushed chilling thoughts out of his head.
The noises from the inmates went back and forth between murmurs and shouts. First they’d listen for what was going on, then they’d whoop it up. The fight was like gasoline on an ember, and the fire was burning out of control.
A new wave of guards rushed in, the rapid clap of their boots on the floor like machine gun fire. They pounded their clubs on the bars with one hand, held guns in the other, as they tried to outshout the raucous inmates.
“Quiet!”
“Shut up—get over there in that corner!”
They didn’t have to tell Terrence twice. He didn’t want any trouble. Only thing he cared about was what was going on with Carter. Something ate at his gut and told him Peachie had started something. Shit! He should have gone to the showers, too.
He felt helpless and sat quiet on his bunk. But his mind went rabid with visions of Peachie and his gang beating on Carter. There had to be something he could do. He felt like he was going to puke.
He’d gotten to like Carter, but thinking about what was going on made him realize it was more than that. Carter had ignored Peachie’s harassment. He must’ve started to figure it wasn’t right to judge a man by the color of his skin.
And how did he thank Carter? By letting him go to the showers by himself.
The guards lined up at the center, looking ready for action. At the slightest goad of any inmate, a guard rushed the cell door to shut him up. Soon, the corridor quieted. Twenty minutes later, the noise from the brawl in the shower quieted too.
But it did nothing to quiet Terrence’s mind—that wouldn’t happen until Carter showed up again. Pounding his forehead with clenched fists, he cursed himself for thinking homework was more important. He made a dozen deals with God, if only Carter would come back to the cell okay.
Several inmates paraded by his cell, wrapped in towels and clutching their clothes. Water dripped off their bodies, leaving a trail behind. Surrounded by armed guards, some snickered at Terrence as they shuffled by. And he felt sick all over again.
More than an hour passed. Terrence couldn’t wait any longer. He flagged one of the guards.
One guard approached, his hand clutching the club at his side. “What is it?”
“Where’s Carter? Looks like everyone else is back in his cell.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business? When the warden thinks you need to know, you’ll know.”
Dumb shit asshole.
But he knew to keep his mouth shut, even with the hate he felt for the fucking-idiot guard, the fear he felt for Carter. It all boiled up inside and shot at the guard in an angry glare.
The guard banged his club on the bars. “Get back!”
Terrence backed away from the door. Desperation pounded inside. He had to get out. Had to know where Carter was. Had to figure out a way to settle down, before he did something he’d regret. But what? What could he do?
Maybe seeing Mr. Blake would help. Maybe he could even find out what was going on. He checked the clock.
Only one more hour. You can handle that.
Still, he had to figure out what to do with himself. Couldn’t do homework. No way would he be able to concentrate. He climbed into his bunk and stared at Carter’s bunk above him. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Calm down. Another breath. Be patient. Only an hour. He inhaled again.
He imagined the sound of water. Fishing with Daddy. Sun felt warm on his back. Sometimes a breeze would whoosh by to cool him, and leaves would fall into the river and swirl around the red and white bobber. Terrence wasn’t sure what he liked more: the easy quiet between him and Daddy, or the talking they’d do when it was just the two of them.
“Nothing like getting away from all them women,” Daddy would say, chuckling. “Spending some time with my boy.”
Sometimes he’d get bored after a while, sitting there watching the bobber do nothing and he’d complain. “Daddy, there’s no fish here today. Let’s go do something else.”
Daddy would cast his line again. “Patience, Son. Nothing good ever comes too quick.”
He’d huff a little, knowing there wasn’t no way Daddy was gonna let him leave before they caught a fish. Then, all of a sudden that lazy bobber would plunge underwater, and Terrence would get all excited.
“Jerk it! Jerk your pole,” Daddy would yell.
Then, Terrence would reel the line in, faster and faster, until there it was—a perch at the end of the line. No, there wasn’t anything like holding up that fish for Daddy to see, especially if Daddy hadn’t caught one yet.
Daddy would smile real big. “See? What’d I tell you? Patience. You gotta be patient.”
He had the best smile.
A guard called from outside the cell. “Hey, you!”
The bellow ripped Terrence away from the fishing hole, away from Daddy, back to real life. He sat up and looked at the guard. “Yeah?”
“Your lawyer was just here to see you. Too bad all visitations were cancelled for the day. The skirmish in the showers and all. Told him to come back tomorrow.”
Terrence slammed his head on the pillow and tried to bring Daddy back. Waited for his words to fill his head.
Patience, Son.
I’m trying, Daddy. I’m trying real hard.