Working on it. That can mean so many things. One being, using drug money. But he’s got to do whatever it takes to get out of here, so I won’t judge him, especially since I did the same to help my Ma.
He looks so small in his orange uniform, like he’s drowning in his own clothes. It’s all rumpled too. I remember Pa, and how he wore his uniform like it was a second skin almost. The white plastered to his bulky arms.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore, just wanted to see you, catch up…” He looks around. We are the only people in here—other than the guards—despite there being other booths. “I just wanted to tell you that despite everything, I love you, always will.”
My heart hammers away like no tomorrow. I’m breathless and a little shocked. A huge part of me wants Dre to love me, but that same part of me didn’t think he still did.
“What do you want to talk about?” I force out, trying to look unbothered, but I’m convinced he can hear my heartbeat.
He shrugs, eyes cutting through me. “Anything.”
Anything?
I almost want to tell him about Aces, but I don’t think we have enough time for that.
“Why’s your uniform orange?” I ask instead. He looks down at it.
“All newbies wear them, different colors for your crime. It all depends.”
I nod, looking in between his eyebrows now. Faking eye contact.
“What does white mean?”
Dre’s eyebrows shoot up. “White?”
I nod. “Mm.”
“Those are the death row guys,” he says, and it’s like several shots bang in my direction, shooting me all in the same place, puncturing my vitals. I’m silent for a few moments, trying to find a response to that.
“Death row, are you sure?”
Dre’s face scrunches up. “You’re crying.”
I wipe my eyes, shaking my head. “That can’t be right.”
Dre is silent as I try to process what his words mean. Is Pa on death row?
How long does someone stay on death row before…? I’ve wasted so many years, listening to Ma, not visiting him, doing what he wanted. I was so angry at him when he told me he didn’t want to see me anymore that I didn’t even try. God, how long does he have left? How can we stop it?
“You okay?” Dre asks. I nod.
“Just get sad thinking about that.”
“I get it, it’s s—” His voice disappears as the line disconnects. He stares at the phone in his hands. The look on his face is devastating.
Two guards come up behind him, tall, muscular, and cold-looking. One taps his shoulder, and Dre stands.
The look he gives me before he disappears, like my dad did, makes me think he’s about to cry; it’s so pained, and lost.
I know if I was in this situation, I’d have my ma, my brothers… Terrell.
But Dre has no one. No ma who cares what’s happening to him, no pa.
I don’t know how long I sit here for, but the guards don’t tell me to leave.
I just let myself drift, aching as I think about Dre and how it hurts to see him here, where they beat him for being a boy who likes boys.
This world isn’t ideal.
