Rotting From The Inside Out

Chapter 2: "Cry Baby"

Rotney.

"Drop em, spread em, squat and cough." A correctional officer said as she demonstrated each movement with her hands. It was freezing and I didn't have a shirt on. I didn't have any clothes on except the Fruit of The Loom draws I arrived here in.

My scrawny knees buckled. I couldn't contain my obvious chills. I did as I was told and when the coast was clear, they handed me a red jumpsuit.

"Red jumpsuits just mean you're a new comer and because you're a new comer, you pose a threat to everyone. Everybody has to go through it. The other officers are gonna be keeping a close eye on you - especially because of what your record says - so my advice to you would be to behave accordingly. Avoid confrontations and altercations."

Every nigga don't got what it takes to make it in here. I know it sounds silly saying that inside of a juvenile detention center but these joints ain't no different from the big house. We just underaged mothafuckas. Girls on one side, boys on the other. Only time boys and girls are seen existing amongst each other is during eating periods and library time.

I enjoy those times somewhat. I get tired of looking at niggas 24/7. If I wasn't sure of my sexuality before, I definitely knew what I was now. I found myself craving girls more and more but I hated their asses at the same time. Too much work. Too much time and too much effort. Can't trust them either. They talk too much so naturally, I drink off those urges and get back to the basics: perfecting my wall so that nobody can get in.

Last time I let anybody in, my feelings got hurt and now I'm here. I loved them niggas like they were my own flesh and blood. They did me dirty. I always think about where those niggas could possibly be now. Are they locked up like me or are they roaming the streets free? Sleeping in as long as they want, staying out late as hell, fooling around with the party life, seriously engaging in school. My mind goes on and on and on.

The gears in my head never stop turning. I'm always a step ahead. You gotta be like that in here.

Ion got no friends and that's how I like it. I ain't gotta talk to nobody nor do I have to answer to any one. Niggas in here real friendly and those who aren't friendly are impatient. Impatient niggas irritate me because why are you so impatient? Where you tryna go? We locked down in the same fucking establishment. Calm ya nuts.

"Yo," I was abruptly dragged from my thoughts. I quirked my neck and caught wind of a lil scrawny joint. He looked to be about 5'11, weighed a good 180, had brown skin and kinky hair.

"Ya eye peelin." He extended his arm and I watched as he slid some petroleum jelly over to me. We were in the library. He was speaking to me causally almost as if we went way back.

"Just thought I might swoop in and save the day. That shit look infected. Ain't nun this P-Jelly can't fix." He chuckled at what I assume were his own thoughts.

I didn't say nothing.

"Aye, you don't want it? Cause I could be selling this shit and making bank off of it in here. You know what niggas'll do for something as simple as P-Jelly in here?"

"Do you. I ain't ask you to come over here in the first place."

"So you do talk."

"Just like everybody else."

"Look, this shit is infused with cocoa butter. It'll get yo shit together, remove that funky ass discoloration, even ya shit out and balance your skin's PH. Shit gon be radiant and glowin."

I tried to discourage myself but I couldn't. I chuckled lightly. Unintentionally of course.

He chuckled too and released the tension in his shoulders.