somethin’ I’ma kill you. You undastan’?”
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Shaking the warm, wet cup I answered nervously,
“Yes.”
“Good. Now drink dat shit boy. Drink it. Drink it
all.” He commanded as he tilted the cup to my
mouth. I choked and coughed as the smell hit my
nose.
“I said drink dat shit boy. If ya don’t drink it I’m
gonna give ya somethin’ else and you aint gonna
like dat either.” He looked down at his still open
pants and I knew what he meant. He had locked
me in the bathroom with him regularly. “Now
drink!” His words were unwavering.
I put the cup to my mouth, and Bobby put his
hand on the bottom to force the urine down my
throat faster. Knowing what was expected I
gulped down the contents of the cup. The warm
pungent liquid stung my throat as it went down.
Bobby laughed and fastened his pants. Holding
the dripping cup in front of me I shook once and
threw up all over Bobby’s legs and feet. Before he
could move out of the way in the cramped
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bathroom, I threw up again, this time completely
soaking his pants so they resembled my own. I felt
a fleeting moment of satisfaction. Bobby’s stiff
hand knocked the cup out of my hand and my
body into the wall.
“What da fuck?” He said with his hands in the
air. He looked down at himself and pinched his
soaking pants pulling them away from his legs.
He pulled the door handle, but it didn’t budge.
He unlocked the door and yanked it open again.
He grabbed me by the hair and tossed me into
the hallway. He began kicking me down the hall
toward my bedroom. He kicked me until my
head cracked on the doorjamb to the bedroom.
He reached down and threw me into the
bedroom.
“You lil’ piece a’ shit!”
My head rang, but his words were clear.
Sprawled on the floor, I was an open target, and
he began to hammer the back of my thighs with
his vomit-soaked boot. He kicked me into a fetal
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ball of submission. My hands covered my face, so
I didn’t realize he was coming after me until I was
off the ground. His strong, callused hands
squeezed my limp body as he heaved me over his
head. I soared briefly through the air across the
room. Matthew had left the couch and had been
playing in the room while Bobby and I were in
the bathroom. For the first time, he seemed
shocked, but only because the commotion had
disturbed his play. I was motionless on the floor. I
heard Matthew grab some toys and leave the
room at Bobby’s order.
Debbie came rushing into the room, screaming.
Bobby warned her to leave, but I could see her
clinging to him as she had before. He dragged her
limply as he advanced toward me, shaking his
arms free with ease.
“Dis mufucka done threw up piss and shit all ova’
me after he done pissed all ova’ da floor. Dis
mufucka need to learn him a lesson an’ I gonna
teach him. I told ya’ll ta quit fuckin’ wit’ me and
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dis time he gon’ pay!” His last word was drawn
out as he grabbed my feet and dragged me to the
window.
“You don’ eva’ learn nothin’. Today you gon’
learn boy.” He dragged me to the far right
window and dropped my feet to the floor. He
opened the window and hoisted me up by my belt
loop. He draped my upper body onto the
windowsill, grabbing my ankles and shoving the
rest of my body out the window. He held my limp
body out of the third story window, my back
against the outer wall of the building. I looked up
to see Debbie crying in the left window. Bobby
yelled at me from the window, but I didn’t pay
attention. I hoped he would drop me. I wanted
him to kill me so it would all be over. This life was
not life, I thought. As I hung there, I threw up
again. My nose filled with a mix of bile and urine
that also stung my eyes closed. I banged my head
against the building trying to clear my nose, as I
wiped my eyes.
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The left window opened, and I saw Debbie
reaching down. She grabbed my arms, and I
stretched in her direction. With a firm hold of my
arms, Debbie pulled me toward her as Bobby
laughed and let me hang from my ankles. My
short chubby body was stretched across the thin
sill. Bobby and Debbie argued while Debbie’s
grip on my upper body strengthened. She
wrapped her arms around my chest and pulled
me away from Bobby, who had loosened his grip.
Debbie fell backward into the room. My urine
and vomit soaked body on top of her, she sat up
and wiped my face with her shirt. I coughed and
blew my nose clear. Bobby chortled as he stood,
then called for Matthew. Matthew appeared in
the doorway with his hands full of toys.
“Matt, go grab yo daddy a beer and bring it to
my room,” was all he said as he turned to leave.
Matthew dropped his toys eagerly and left the
room first. Debbie sat on the floor, rocking my
battered body in her arms.
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My shifts at the JDC changed when I went full-
time. I started working Wednesday through
Sunday, instead of just weekends. The County
was doing away with part-time employees, so I
had a choice to make: work full-time or quit.
Since I was already working so much, I thought I
could work full-time at school during the day and
then go to the JDC at night. The Captain made a
concession for me and let me work second shifts
until school let out; then I would start a second
and third swing shift schedule. In the meantime,
my Sunday morning shift was changed to a
Sunday night shift. While I felt confident and
competent in my skills on the job, my full
understanding of the scope of responsibilities at
the JDC started with a favor for a co-worker. I
had only worked first and second shifts on
weekends, and I knew that Monday through
Friday (first shift) was an experience I would
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never have because of my teaching commitment
during the day at school. One night, another
officer asked me if I would work one of his third
shifts in place of one of my second shifts. Not
thinking any further than the fact that I would
have a Friday night off to spend with my
girlfriend for the first time in months, I agreed.
The third shift he needed me to cover happened
to fall on a three-day weekend from school, so it
would be easy for me to do without
compromising sleep or school.
We agreed to swap my Friday night second shift
for his Sunday night third, requiring us both to
work double shifts. Looking forward to a Friday
night date with my girlfriend clouded my mind as
I made the swap. Additionally, I had stayed up all
night plenty of times, even in my adult life,
without any physical repercussions. I knew my
body could handle it. What I wasn’t expecting
was the drastic change of atmosphere and
environment that existed on third shift.
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The Sunday evening shift went on without
incident. I had been working at the JDC for
several months, and I had my own routine and
felt more comfortable than ever. When midnight
arrived, I was still feeling pretty good about the
next eight hours that I had in front of me. The
only unknown I could think of was the people on
the shift. Tre was on that shift, but aside from
him, I only knew the others in passing. I had met
them all, but always as they were walking in,
when I was heading home with my mind on the
fresh air of freedom. The Sergeant and I had
spoken only briefly, but I knew quite a bit about
him. He was a family man, about my age. He had
a wife and a couple of kids, and by all accounts
was an all-around great guy. He also worked
alongside the officers under his command. If for
nothing else, I respected him for this fact, being a
firm believer in not ever asking someone to do
something that I was not willing to do myself.
This work ethic went very far with my students.
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My first third shift started out smoothly. The
night had been quiet leading into it, and we were
fully staffed, so the workload was going to be light
if we didn’t get too many new arrivals. I started
on some laundry, one of the main tasks of third
shift, and ran the first set of clocks to get them out
of the way. Then I sat down with Tre and
Sergeant Henley, who insisted I call him by his
first name, Garland. They were discussing sports,
which I know very little about, so I just listened.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I jumped into
the conversation, and we spent our time between
loads of laundry getting to know each other.
There’s not a whole lot to keep you awake on
third shift in the Detention Center, other than the
people you work with. On subsequent shifts, I
tried reading, but nearly always fought to stay
awake. Talking kept us awake, and talk we did.
Though I had never spoken to Garland before, he
asked the same questions I had answered so many
times before about teaching and working at the
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JDC. He was a very easy person to talk to, so
when he asked why I would choose to work there
after teaching all day, I gave him an honest
answer--the most honest answer I had given
anyone who had asked me that same question.
“I’ve been a bad person for a long time. I’ve hurt
a lot of bad people, but I’ve also hurt a lot of good
people. So here I am trying to do what I can to
make up for everything I’ve done by helping
other people. I am the teacher I needed when I
was a kid. If I had a teacher like me when I was
young, I wouldn’t have made all the mistakes I
made to learn what I know now. I had no
guidance, no discipline, and no interest for
anything outside of myself.” I said in an
unrestrained stream of consciousness.
“What do you mean you’ve been a bad person?
You might
have done
some bad things, but that
does not make you a bad person. These kids love
you. They talk about you all the time. And they
talk about you with respect. They’re always
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asking if you’re coming in so they can talk with
you.” Garland said quickly.
“Before I came to Tennessee, I was into some shit
I’m not proud of, and before all of that, some
things happened that just made me into a very
angry person. Now I’m trying to work through
those things by helping these kids.” I found myself
feeling defensive.
“Well then, there had to be something that made
you change, something that put you on this path.
How did you get here? How you end up doing
what you do?” He asked.
“To make a long story boring, when I got to
Tennessee, I went to the university and tried to be
a tutor but found that all of those jobs went to
graduate students. So as I left the building, I saw
this sign that said ‘Free Rent. Get Paid.’ I copied
the address, went and bought a map, went to the
place, and the next thing I know I’m living in a
house with two men diagnosed with mental
retardation and taking care of them while I was
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going to college. I did that for five years. I had
originally wanted to be an art teacher, but
working with those guys made me realize that I
had a compassion and patience that I never
realized I had. So I went into special education.
Then I found out that there were classes for kids
with behavior and emotional problems, so I
decided to do that, or try to teach in a juvenile
detention center.”
“See man, you’re carrying all this anger around,
but just sitting here listening to you tell that I
story I can’t help but think that there’s some sort
of plan or a path that you are on that’s leading
you to your calling. Now, I don’t want to get into
a discussion about religion with you, but did you
ever wonder why we go through what we go
through? We all go through certain situations that
we have to find a way to handle it, and then we’ll
be put in a position to help other people.” He
noted all of this casually.
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“Man, you know, now that you bring up religion,
I had this thought one time. I went to go see that
movie
Passion of the Christ
, and there’s the scene
where Jesus is getting whipped, but he keeps
getting back up. Not like Rocky or something, but
he gets up again and again to take the pain, and
it’s supposed to be some allegory. Everyone in the
theater was crying all around me, but all I could
think of was my students. I took all this abuse as a
kid and survived all of this shit, excuse my
language, but I did all that and kept getting back
up. I wouldn’t let it get me down, even though it