He tucked the bag away with that same slow confidence. “I’ll get up with you later,” he said. “I’ll get you straight.”
He said it low and certain, like that was just how he moved.
I nodded and walked off, not tryna show how much I actually needed it.
That night, after count, I laid back in my bunk starin’ up at the wall. My head was everywhere, and I was tryna force myself to sleep when I heard the sound of keys jigglin’.
I sat up quick, lookin’ toward the bars, and there was the white boy.
He was standin’ there holdin’ the keys in his hand like he had been waitin’ for me to look up.
“What the fuck you doin’?” I asked, swingin’ my legs off the bed.
He smirked like he expected that reaction. “You wanted the green, remember?”
I stood up slow, not sure if he was serious or on some set-up shit. “Where the hell you get keys from?”
“Does it matter?” he asked. “You coming or not, bro?”
I stared at him hard ‘cause I ain’t know this man, and I damn sure ain’t trust nobody inside this bitch. He leaned his shoulder against the bars, tiltin’ his head like he was studyin’ me.
“Bro, I don’t know you to be goin’ nowhere with you,” I said.
“I don’t know you either,” he replied. “And from the looks of it, you’re not built for sitting in this cell, so if you want something to take the edge off, roll with me.”
I looked toward the hallway, then back at him. He ain’t blink. He just held the keys like he owned them hoes. I breathed out slow.
“If I get caught…”
He pushed the cell open just enough for me to slip through. “If you scared, stay tucked in like a princess, bro. I’ll smoke without you.”
Runnin’ my hand down my face, I stepped out and followed him, and we moved through the jail silent as hell. He walked with confidence, cuttin’ corners, movin’ through shadows and knowin’ exactly where to go. I ain’t know how the fuck he knew the layout, but everything he did told me he wasn’t no regular inmate. Niggas in here learned how to adapt, but he had mastered this shit.
When we reached one of the staff rooms, a black female guard was standin’ close by with her arms folded like she been waitin’ on us. She shook her head at dude like he was somethin’ she shouldn’t be dealin’ with but still chose to.
“You got an hour, Kelli,” she muttered.
“I got you, sweetheart,” he replied, and the way he said it made her smile with her eyes before she tried to hide it. He was standin’ tall over her, but somehow takin’ up all the space. He handed her the keys and bit his bottom lip soft, and she just shook her head again.
I watched their interaction and couldn’t hold it in.
“See… this that white privilege shit,” I said.
He glanced at me, amusement in his expression. “Where I’m from, being white don’t mean shit. I’m the black sheep there… trust me.”
The door clicked behind us, and that was all I needed to hear to know this nigga came with a whole story of his own.
I sat down on one of the old metal chairs in the staff room while he locked the door, and the room smelled like bleach, paper, and that faint hint of weed he kept tucked on him.
He moved around like he had been in this damn room a thousand times, and I knew for a fact he had.
He pulled the chair out across from me and sat down with a slouch that ain’t match the place we was in. He ain’t act like no inmate, and he ain’t move like one either. He had this calm way of existin’ that made it feel like he wasn’t trapped at all, and for some reason it made me relax even though I ain’t fully trust his ass yet.
Kelli dug in his sock and pulled out that small bag again. He set it on the table and started breakin’ the weed down with a calm he ain’t have to think about. His fingers moved smooth and quick, and he talked without lookin’ up.
I watched his hands for a minute ‘cause they told me more about him than anything he said. His knuckles was thick and swollen like they stayed bruised, and they had that dense, hardened look you only get from hittin’ somethin’ over and over. His skin was busted in a few places and healed rough in others, and it made me wonder who the hell he had been puttin’ down before he ended up in here. He rolled the weed into the papers, and the way his fingers moved was too controlled to belong to somebody soft. He smirked when he finally caught me payin’ attention.
“How the hell you gettin’ weed inside jail?”
