Panther Baby by Jamal Joseph

ain’t nobody’s bitch, motherfucker. Anybody try to take my manhood is getting wasted.’ Th e guards are gonna fuck you up and put you in the bing for a couple of months, but when you come out the dudes is gonna know that you ain’t to be fucked with.”
    Th e guards turned the cell lights out and Manny hopped into his bunk. “You can use one of the figas if you want to—just let me know so I can get rid of the rest of my shit when they lock you up and come to shake the cell down.” With that he rolled over and fell asleep. I stood staring into the cell block night. For the first time since I was arrested I realized that I was alone. My fellow adolescent Panther Katara was in another unit. And my other Panther comrades were in different jails. Whatever reputation the Black Panther Party had as an organization wasn’t going to protect me from the young gladiators in the Riker coliseum.
    I tried to picture myself splitting Lefty’s head open with a mop ring, or jabbing him in the lower back with a figa. I saw a fig do a lot of damage when two Latino jugglers jumped on a white boy who failed to pay his cigarette debt. Th ey stabbed him eight times in the blink of an eye. Th e white inmate ran to the front of the cell block and collapsed. Th e guards hit the alarm and ordered an emergency lockdown. An army of goon-squad guards shook all the cells down and the Latino jugglers were taken away in handcuffs. We heard through the grapevine that the white inmate died the next day.
    I couldn’t make it work in my head. I couldn’t see myself attacking another prisoner, no matter who it was. Th at was what our captors wanted. As long as they kept us divided and fighting, we were easy to control. I joined the Panthers to fight the enemy, to battle the pigs, not to go to war with others who were oppressed just like me.
    Th e next day I went to Lefty’s cell and handed him the cookies and cigarettes he left on my bunk. “Look, brother, I think you got the wrong idea,” I said, trying to portray as much strength as I could. “I want to be cool with you, but I don’t go that way.”
    Lefty cracked a sly smile. “I got plenty of girls on the outside. Just like you do. Th is is just something to do to get through this bit. Ain’t nobody got to know nothin’.” He stroked my cheek.
    I knocked his hand away. “I’m telling you I don’t play that,” I barked, half settling into a fighting stance.
    His face went grim. “You can’t beat me, nigga. I’ll take that booty if I want. It’ll be shit on my dick or blood on my knife in this motherfucker.”
    I balled my fist ready to do my best against Lefty. I was slightly taller, but Lefty had three tough street years and twenty-five pounds of muscle on me. He stared me down for a tiny eternity and then laughed. “I’m just bullshittin’. I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to you. But a bunch of these other foul niggas is about to take you off. You better let me look out for you.”
    “Naw, that’s all right,” I said.
    I stepped out of Lefty’s cell and saw some of the dudes from the house gang hanging around. I could tell from the look in their eyes that they were checking to see if anything had gone down between Lefty and me, be it sex or violence. I walked to the back of the cell block and started doing calisthenics. A little while later, Merciful walked up and asked if I was all right. I told him I was cool and kept doing sit-ups. Merciful could tell I was angry and explained that while he wasn’t part of Lefty’s crew, he couldn’t really get involved if Lefty was trying to press me. “I know,” I replied. “I gotta handle it myself. Jailhouse law.” Merciful just nodded and walked away.
    Th ere were no direct come-ons from Lefty for the next few days, but his body language and the looks he gave me were a clear sign that he was going to make a move.
    Two weeks later the guards took me out of my cell to go to court. I was handcuffed and placed in the back of the