Fish: A Memoir of a Boy in Man's Prison T. Parsell (ebook reader play store .txt) 📖

told him I would-but only if I could do it without interference. You need to work with me on this. I have to pick my battles."

"I understand," I said. Though I didn't really-but I desperately wanted her to like me. She made me feel special, and I wanted to be around her as much as I could. I needed that attention from her. Of all the people to help me, I never expected a black woman. I don't think I knew any black women before.

When I had first made the mistake of telling O. J. that he did look like O. J. Simpson, he said, "I'll bet you think all niggers look alike." He and Rodney laughed when he said it, and I noticed how they stuck together like that. But mostly I felt embarrassed, because I did have trouble telling them apart at first. But how could I if I only lived in one world where everyone looked the same?

"There are a lot of things that are unfair in this world," she said, "but your job is to accept that and learn to work within it." She signed my pass and sent me back to the newsroom.

On my way out of her office, I ran into Reese and a few of his friends in the hall. He stopped talking and looked at me as I passed.

"Both them bitches are gonna need a man," he said.

When I got to the newsroom, everyone else was out following up on stories. I wasn't there when Spaulding handed out the assignments, so I didn't know what kinds of stories they were covering. But my job was mostly typing anyhow.

I picked up my journal and started writing. I struggled to keep up with my thoughts. Here was this woman, a black woman in a man's world, who was better educated than anyone I'd ever known. She stuck up for me as my mother or Sharon never had and said things like I'd never heard before. But it was more than that; it felt deeper, like I was a kid again and peeking at her from around the corner.

Warden Handlon believed that once an inmate was capable of comprehending his circumstances, he would be able to transcend them. My dad, who never completed the sixth grade, used to say that niggers were ignorantbecause that's what his dad had taught him. I used to think that word meant stupid. But I looked it up, like Miss Bain said, and discovered that it meant something else. And now that I was getting an education I was starting to understand what it meant not to have one. I wondered how different I might have turned out had I paid attention to some of these lessons earlier-but how could I if I only lived in one world that didn't value learning? And would I have been ready to listen? Sadly, I had to come to prison to get an education, and maybe this woman could help lead me on a new path, because now that I knew what this world was like-I didn't want to he in it any longer. In here, I was the "nigger." And only then, was I willing to look, learn and listen to what that ugly little word really means.

30

Head Games and Power Trips

Sister Mary was quite clear. If I came to class again without my homework, I'd be sent to Father Bruiser. That's the name given to him by the kids. The name alone speaks for itself.

"Oh, you don't want that," Jimmy Conroy said. "He's got a real leather strap, and he'll use it on you too."

I was supposed to read the catechism and discuss it with one of my parents, but Sharon's bedroom door was closed, and Dad hadn't come home. I stood there, weighing which was worse-the wrath of Father Bruiser or hearing Sharon yell at me. I nearly jumped when I heard her say, "C'mon in." I stood there motionless. "For Christ sakes! I can see your feet!" She sounded like herself this time, so I went in.

"I have to, um, have you read this to me and talk about it." I held up the second grade book.

"Which one?" Sharon asked.

"That one." I pointed to a page where Jesus was playing in a field. "Suffer the little children-come unto me."

Sharon propped herself on a pillow and began to read. Her voice was soft and gentle, and she spoke with a kindness I'd rarely heard from her before, (except when she was answering the phone or talking to a stranger for the first time). She stopped suddenly and looked over at me. "Why are you crying?"

I shrugged a shoulder. I didn't know why. Perhaps it had to do with her tenderness and the way she was reading. Or maybe she reminded me of my mother and how she used to make me feel, by just reading to me. But I could never tell Sharon this, because she hated my mom, and she wouldn't understand.

"Aw, C'mere, "she said, and she held megently against the side of the bed, stroking my hair and back.

A few moments later, I looked back at the book. "So what does it mean?"

"Well, let's see." She hesitated. "You know how you've been peeing the bed at night? Well, God will wake you up, just beforehand-to tell you that you have to go. It's kind of like that, you know?"

I'm not sure I understood what she meant, but it was the last time I ever peed the bed.

Working with Sherry Bain made me feel special, it was as if for the first time I was above prison. Simply speaking to me like an adult allowed me to pretend I wasn't one of the inmates. Her kindness had no motives, unlike the inmates who were nice only when they wanted to fuck me. Paul was different too, he was always happy to see me, even when we just sat in the back