With stars splashed across an early April sky, inside a dreary Rose Singer housing unit the adolescent group started out quietly. To add a bit of structure to the group, I’d started bringing in coloring books, and the girls were happily coloring. As they shaded in outlines of bunnies and tulips, much of their “tough girl” facades vanished. The coloring seemed to bind up their energy, and I noticed they were a little more thoughtful and contemplative with this added bit of structure.
“Maria,” I said casually, “your hair looks a little different today. Are you wearing it in a new style?”
“Yes, but I won’t leave it like this for long. I’ll change it back.”
“Can’t keep razors in a style like that one,” chided Ebony.
“Shut up, Ebony.”
As Maria colored, she cleared her throat. “When I’m out on the street, Miss Mary, I keep razor blades in my hair.”
“Why?”
“Protection! The streets are dangerous.”
“Yeah,” chimed in Polite. “Just before I got locked up, I was out late and I hear, pop-pop! pop-pop! Next thing you know this kid comes crawling around the corner. He was on his hands and knees and he crawled right up to me, and there was blood pouring out of his ears, and he says, ‘Help me, help me,’ and then he just kind of fell on his stomach and didn’t say nothin’ else.”
“Was he dead?” asked Michelle.
They all laughed.
“Well, get this,” said Diana, “I was at this club one night and a guy asks this girl to dance. And when she says no, he pulls out a gun and shoots her in the face. Party over!”
“Yeah,” said Ebony, “and I saw a guy get shot up on the roof—the force of the bullet knocked him clean off the building. Splat!”
They all laughed again.
“Miss Mary,” said Carly. “Haven’t you ever seen somebody die in front of you?”
I shook my head. “I can’t say I have. How many of you have seen someone die?”
Every hand shot up. I was stunned. Not only by the violence, but their numbness to it.
“Hey, life in the big city,” said Crystal. “No big deal.”
There were knowing nods as they fell into a terse silence, grinding the crayons into the bunnies and tulips. Despite the grim dialogue, the hour ended on a mellow note, and in what had become a closing ritual they walked me to the bubble, their parting words a key part of the ritual. Ebony cleared her throat and began: “Be careful of the bushes when you’re walking home tonight, Miss Mary, and if anybody jumps out, then you tell them”—and here she would cue the others with an invisible baton—“that—you—got—friends—on—Ri–kers Island!” And we all laughed.
On our way back, Wendy and I talked about the violence. “Can you imagine?” I said. “The thing is, we’re not in some third world country here. All this shooting and killing happens right here—upper Manhattan, Queens, Bed-Stuy, the South Bronx. It’s a whole other world, right under our noses—a world that the rest of us don’t even know exists.”
“I know,” Wendy agreed. “Same with the girls on my side. It’s unbelievable.”
On the stretch of corridor common to the men’s jail, our conversation was interrupted by angry shouts. To our left were long rows of bars, and on the other side empty patches of darkened space. Behind the bars, four or five COs were surrounding a male inmate. “No, man! I didn’t do nothin’!’” shouted the inmate.
“Shut the fuck up!”
They were pushing the young man into a corner where a set of bars intersected. All we could see of him were his jeans and sneakers as his legs were being spread apart—“Nooh!” he shouted. Just then, a white-shirted captain coming down the hall spotted us. “Move along!” he ordered. No smile, no “good evening” nod. We hesitated momentarily. “Keep moving!” We did just that. As we neared the end of the corridor, Wendy said, “They’re going to beat the crap out of him.”
As much as I tried to think up another explanation, I knew she was right. I felt dazed. The next day, I told Janet about it. She just shook her head, and for the first time my wise mentor didn’t have a ready answer. “Some bad things do happen in here, Mary—there’s no denying it. We do the best we can,” she sighed. “We do the best we can.”
After a couple of days of dwelling on what I had seen and heard, I decided to let it go. I didn’t know his name. I didn’t even know for sure if he’d been beaten. Obsessing about it was only keeping me upset while doing nothing for him. I just hoped he was okay and that this was an isolated incident. Years later I would learn otherwise. But then, I simply said a little prayer for him and tucked it all away.
* * *
There was always some sort of drama in the jail, and the three of us were constantly jumping up from our table to investigate. One afternoon, Overton was leaning out the doorway, checking out some hallway commotion. We jumped up just in time to see a gurney flying by with a shrieking woman on board. “I told them the baby was coming! I told them!” Overton shut the door and scrambled over to the inner door leading to the medical side of the clinic. He unlocked it and we plowed through, joining a growing mob of nurses, pharmacy techs, clerks, and officers, along with a crowd of inmates who’d abandoned their waiting room seats. “Sit the fuck down!” the officers ordered the inmates. But no one budged and the orders became halfhearted, and then they stopped. For a moment, duties were ignored and hierarchies dissolved, as everyone was pulled toward something much larger.
“Ambulance on the way!” shouted a nurse.
“Too late!” yelled the chief physician, stepping out from behind a wall of white curtains. Pulling on a long gown and fastening on an elastic face mask, he ducked back in. The crowd waited, held back by a three-foot-high cement partition. The doctor barked, “Push harder! One more time—push harder—harder! One more! There we go!” And then the dingy clinic was filled with the sweet sounds of an infant’s first cries. Everyone was beaming, from high-ranking correctional personnel all the way down to the lowly inmates, many with hands over their hearts. Even the mirthless Captain Murphy looked a little misty. After a few moments, the doctor stepped out from the curtains and raised his arm high up overhead. In the palm of his large hand he held the tiny new life for all to behold.