these, and you’ll be an expert.”
Emmett leaned back in his chair and eyed Jordan with a crooked smile. “How you so smart at this stuff, anyway? They teach you that in prison?”
Mae Walker gasped. “Emmett! My goodness.”
Jordan was unfazed by the question. “It’s all right, Ms. Walker,” he said. “I don’t mind talking about it.”
“How much time you do, anyway?” Emmett asked.
Jordan put down his pencil and gave some thought to how best to respond, how much to share. He decided to give Emmett the same thing he’d sworn to in court: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.
“I did five years at Cedar Junction. Hard time, too. Not a minimum-security stint.”
“You shot a guy. That’s what I heard, anyway.”
Mae was half listening to the story and half watching the news. She’d heard it all before and knew Jordan regretted his choices, had paid for his mistakes, and had done the hard work to make something out of his life.
“Yeah, that’s just street talk,” Jordan said. “I never shot anyone in my life. I got caught up in stuff, though. Thought I needed to fit in instead of doing the right thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Learning. I loved school. Studying. Math. Science especially. I got straight As, but it wasn’t cool, you know? It wasn’t hip to be smart. I got teased a lot. I ignored it for a while, but there was only so much I could tune it out. I started believing the talk, and that’s when I got focused on the wrong things. I wanted to prove them wrong, because I wasn’t strong in here.” Jordan tapped his finger against his chest, anatomically hitting a bull’s-eye on his heart. “Or here.” This time he pointed to his head. “I started running with the wrong crew, you feel me?”
Emmett shrugged, his way of showing that he felt something, but was not about to say it out loud.
“I was dealing. Pot mostly, but some other stuff, too. My grades, they stayed up, but I can’t tell you how bad I felt inside. It was wrong, what I was doing, and I knew it, too.”
Emmett arched his eyebrows. “Yeah, but at least you got mad respect, I bet.”
Jordan was unsure how much to share with Emmett. It was five years of hell, no way to sugarcoat it. He’d been locked up with pissed-off lifers who had no qualms about sticking some rusty shank in your back just because they thought you looked at them funny. The best way to survive inside was to join a gang, something Jordan had sworn off doing right after his arrest, so he’d lived prison life as an outcast.
Eventually, the other black inmates offered protection after Jordan earned enough good behavior credits to teach GED prep classes. Prison life, Jordan came to learn, was a microcosm of the streets, but in a modified form. For five dollars you could get everything from a toothbrush to heroin, and there was constant pressure to buy product or help some merchant sneak it in. Failure to comply could easily net you a month’s stay in the infirmary if they beat you bad enough. Constant vigilance was what kept Jordan safe and out of trouble, but it was an exhausting way to live.
He told Emmett, who sat transfixed, listening a lot more intently than he ever did in an algebra lesson.
“I did all right in there because I chose to use my time wisely. I read, I studied, I learned about a lot of things so I could get out and get a job.”
“You push around dead people all day,” Emmett remarked.
“Maybe so, but it’s honest work, and I ain’t going back to prison for doing it.”
“Yeah, but now you broke.”
“I’m not broke.”
“Look how you dress.”
“I like how I dress.”
“Then why do this?” Emmett pointed to the algebra book with a scowl on his face.
“Because I like to teach, I like to learn, and if there’s one lesson I want you to learn, it’s to study hard and keep your nose clean. Don’t make the same mistake as me.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“No, I mean
Emmett leaned back in his chair and eyed Jordan with a crooked smile. “How you so smart at this stuff, anyway? They teach you that in prison?”
Mae Walker gasped. “Emmett! My goodness.”
Jordan was unfazed by the question. “It’s all right, Ms. Walker,” he said. “I don’t mind talking about it.”
“How much time you do, anyway?” Emmett asked.
Jordan put down his pencil and gave some thought to how best to respond, how much to share. He decided to give Emmett the same thing he’d sworn to in court: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help him God.
“I did five years at Cedar Junction. Hard time, too. Not a minimum-security stint.”
“You shot a guy. That’s what I heard, anyway.”
Mae was half listening to the story and half watching the news. She’d heard it all before and knew Jordan regretted his choices, had paid for his mistakes, and had done the hard work to make something out of his life.
“Yeah, that’s just street talk,” Jordan said. “I never shot anyone in my life. I got caught up in stuff, though. Thought I needed to fit in instead of doing the right thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Learning. I loved school. Studying. Math. Science especially. I got straight As, but it wasn’t cool, you know? It wasn’t hip to be smart. I got teased a lot. I ignored it for a while, but there was only so much I could tune it out. I started believing the talk, and that’s when I got focused on the wrong things. I wanted to prove them wrong, because I wasn’t strong in here.” Jordan tapped his finger against his chest, anatomically hitting a bull’s-eye on his heart. “Or here.” This time he pointed to his head. “I started running with the wrong crew, you feel me?”
Emmett shrugged, his way of showing that he felt something, but was not about to say it out loud.
“I was dealing. Pot mostly, but some other stuff, too. My grades, they stayed up, but I can’t tell you how bad I felt inside. It was wrong, what I was doing, and I knew it, too.”
Emmett arched his eyebrows. “Yeah, but at least you got mad respect, I bet.”
Jordan was unsure how much to share with Emmett. It was five years of hell, no way to sugarcoat it. He’d been locked up with pissed-off lifers who had no qualms about sticking some rusty shank in your back just because they thought you looked at them funny. The best way to survive inside was to join a gang, something Jordan had sworn off doing right after his arrest, so he’d lived prison life as an outcast.
Eventually, the other black inmates offered protection after Jordan earned enough good behavior credits to teach GED prep classes. Prison life, Jordan came to learn, was a microcosm of the streets, but in a modified form. For five dollars you could get everything from a toothbrush to heroin, and there was constant pressure to buy product or help some merchant sneak it in. Failure to comply could easily net you a month’s stay in the infirmary if they beat you bad enough. Constant vigilance was what kept Jordan safe and out of trouble, but it was an exhausting way to live.
He told Emmett, who sat transfixed, listening a lot more intently than he ever did in an algebra lesson.
“I did all right in there because I chose to use my time wisely. I read, I studied, I learned about a lot of things so I could get out and get a job.”
“You push around dead people all day,” Emmett remarked.
“Maybe so, but it’s honest work, and I ain’t going back to prison for doing it.”
“Yeah, but now you broke.”
“I’m not broke.”
“Look how you dress.”
“I like how I dress.”
“Then why do this?” Emmett pointed to the algebra book with a scowl on his face.
“Because I like to teach, I like to learn, and if there’s one lesson I want you to learn, it’s to study hard and keep your nose clean. Don’t make the same mistake as me.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“No, I mean
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