March 14, 1992
Hey Antonio,
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Right now, I'm in this place called L'Hôtel Coulincourt in Montmarte in Paris. Yeah, I came back. I got accepted for the Université de Paris. I wanted to stay the whole year, but you KNOW my moms wasn't going for that. Plus, it costs a lot of money and I couldn't afford it. I still
parle français
. I'm getting much better and I even can write a whole paper in French. Never thought I'd be able to do that. I have two other people in my room, so I don't have a lot of privacy. I made friends with this one chick named Audrey. She's from this country in Africa called Liberia, but her father is this rich businessman. She showed me pictures of their house and I was like what? Africa got it like that? I wish I would have known that when I was in school and used to make fun of the African kids for the way they dressed and the way they talked. But this is the type of stuff you learn when you get out and see the world. And guess what? It's only one bathroom with a toilet and this little shower hose with a
small curtain, and that's way in the hallway. Every room on the floor use that one bathroom. I guess they get down nasty like that in France. But besides that, I'm having fun. I'm getting to see a lot more than I got to see before. It's so many Africans here. If you thought the Africans has 116th down on lock in Harlem, you ain't seen nothing til you been out here. I mean, it's like everywhere you look you see coal-black people wearing the brightest colors you ever wanna see in your life. Me and Audrey be walking around, [skipping class quiet as it's kept,] looking at all the cute guys and she be like, “Oh yeah, he's Ethiopian” or “That can only be an Algerian nose,” or “Girl, you can tell by the way he walks that he's Senegalese.” I guess being out here and hanging out with people like Audrey, I really realize that I don't know much about the world. But I'm glad I'm finally learning.
Peace out,
Natasha
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March 21, 1992
Hey Harlem Globetrotter,
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I'm glad that some of us is seeing a little bit of the world. One thing I know about my world is that it never seems to change. Ma let one of her brothers stay with them cause he was down on his luck. Well, he had the balls to be slanging rock out of the crib. Somebody snitched, so NYPD's finest came in with a
search warrant. The best part is the motherfucker wasn't even there. Popos tossed grenades and threw my mother down on the living room floor, she told me. Thing is, Trevon knew all about the dealing and let the shit go on in Ma's house anyway cause he was getting a cut. Now, my uncle is hiding out somewhere. Where I can't say for obvious reasons, but he ain't coming back to Harlem no time soon. I been passing time, reading. Black got him a job with the MTA. He said he through playing games, dogging Laneice, dodging his responsibilities. She don't want shit else to do with him. I can't blame her, and I told Black that. We been friends long enough so that I ain't gotta mince words with him. She handling business on her own while he living the good life. Something ain't right about that, even I know that from the fucked-up place where I sit. But like all of us, he had to live and learn. He said he gonna help me out with these correspondence courses I want to take. He had to pay $400 upfront and then it's like twenty dollars a month. I had told him I was interested in doing it, getting at least a associate's degree and changing my life and coming out here with at least something to show. He was sitting across from me, holding up pictures of Sharon to the glass and shit. When he told me he would do that for me, I couldn't believe it. I was like, Yeah I can come out with a college degree, but I won't be able to vote. He laughed and said, Motherfucker your ass wasn't gonna vote no damn way. I was like True that. And I started cryingânot a lot, just a littleâcause I was thinking this is a true brother, this is a road dawg till the end. He's quality. He about to take food out his baby's mouth so I can get my shit proper, and I just broke down right
in front of him. I didn't care though. I ain't ashamed of showing my feelings anymore cause maybe if I would have before I wouldn't got in this mess. So I'm in college too. Wish I could be doing some of the things you're doing, but something better than nothing, right?
Love,
A
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April 29, 1992
Yo Natasha,
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Just writing to you to see what your world look like right about now. Shit is crazy out in L.A. Yo, you see that shit on the news? over there White cops beat Rodney King ass and they get off for that shit?!?! Every nigga up in here bout to explode. We on lock. Can't nobody leave the cell. Food brought to us. They locked us up over that shit, turned off the TVs, took the newspapers. You know Mohammed can't live without his newspaper or his news so he started screaming, Pigs keep the black man illiterate! Pigs keep the black man illiterate! Over and over and over again. I told him, Mohammed man, shut the fuck upâyou don't want to get it. He just hunched his shoulders and told me, Tony my brother, they can't take our information, they can't take our information. But you know who got the upper hand in here, you know who gonna win. They came and took him away and I haven't seen him since.
Antonio
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May 16, 1992
Dear Natasha,
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Well baby I'm gonna be a movie star. It's kinda wild I had to get sent up for somebody to want me in a movie. This white guy is making a documentary about life behind bars or some shit like that. He came through the prison with the warden and a video crew, looking for people to interview. Most cats suspicious of that shit so they avoided him. Mohammed pulled me away and said be skeptical about white people who always want to tell our stories so they can make a profit, but they never want to live our lives. He called it “exploitation” and spit at the cameraman when he came by us in the yard. The guards ambushed him and took him away, and Mohammed was just laughing the whole time. This is his third violation in less than a month. He got thirty days in solitary. Mohammed puts on this act like he know it all, like nothing can break him. But I think he's finally cracked, finally let the power of the “man” crush him like footsteps destroy a blade of grass struggling through a crack in the sidewalk. One of his partners from his brotherhood been quietly slipping me notes in the yard, crazy shit Mohammed been writing on toilet paper and in blood cause you can't have no privileges where he at. This time, they threw him down in “The Farm”ânot that regular hole shit. The Farm makes the hole look like pre-school. One shower A WEEK, one meal a day, no yard, no phone, no books, no letters, no windows, no words with anybody but
the devils playing around in your head. Cats do pushups and situps to pass the time, then it hits them like a ton of bricks that there are only so many of those you can do before you kill yourself. And then they start thinking about doing that, I've heard. That was my first detail on my first job, cause only prisoners with rank can escape that shit. I had to wear a mask, it stank so bad down there. They keep all the crazies down there, the mentals, the motherfuckers who've crossed the point of no return and just don't give no fuck anymore. The c.o. on duty got to be ready to face anythingâdarts they make out of material they find in the walls or on the floors, shit, piss, spit, throw-up. The last note Mohammed wrote said:
I'm dying young blood. Nothing to look at but four walls and a small square of light. My ears have become my eyes. Grown men crying cursing, doors opening, chains rattling, footsteps walking. That's all I have to let me know I'm not alone on this planet. That and the whisper of my own regrets.
I stayed up all night thinking about him, Natasha. Mohammed's been my ally since day one, and there ain't shit I can do for him now. I wrote him back on toilet paper and gave up 20 bucks of commissary for a c.o. to get it to him. I just reminded him of the time when he was grilling me about a higher power and I told him I didn't know if I believed in God at all. He just looked at me and laughed, and told me, You don't have to believe in God because he already believes in you. I felt kind of sorry for the guy he spit on though. I don't know why. I think Mohammed was right about everybody wanting to make money off our unfortunate
black asses, but I don't think he deserved that. Before you know it, I was just talking to the man. Telling him about me, my life, why I was here. The man asked me if I thought it was fair that I was punished for ending my family's suffering. I surprised myself and told him I thought it was fairâsomebody should pay when a human life is taken, no matter what the circumstances are. We talked for over an hour, and he wanted permission to come talk to me again. Why not? Maybe if somebody out there who's going through the same shit hears my story, then maybe they won't make the same mistake. Then I can say at least something came out of this. I wouldn't wish this hell on my worst enemy.
Peace,
Antonio
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June 13, 1992
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Hey Antonio. I hope you doing all right in there. I just wanted to drop you a quick line to give you our new address in New York. No more 7th Ave, now it's all about downtown, 110th Street. I like it. It's a lot quieter, not as busy. I guess that's okay. You kind of grow out of all the hustle and bustle after a while. I mean, it's far from everything, but there are a lot of negative influences out there that I don't need to be around anyway. If I'm gonna go uptown, it's just to 145th Street to see Laneice or the Heights to chill with Valencia at her spot. Valencia said she ain't
going back to Stony Brook. She said it's way too far and too boring for her. I could have told her Long Island wasn't exactly the spot, but I guess she didn't know. She said she really didn't like college that much anyway. It was too hard for her, I guess. She said she gonna do hair for a while in her aunt's shop on 114th and St. Nick. I guess that's cool, although I told her she should definitely try to finish college. But you know those Dominicans can do some hair, so I guess she'll be alright doing that. I probably won't see Tamika that much. She's staying out in Jersey for the summer cause she love it so much. The immersion program gave me a job this summer working in the office as a “youth advisor” they call me. Basically, that means I get to talk to the new kids about the program and do a lot of secretarial stuff around the office. It's really cool. My computer skills weren't on point when I went to college, and I paid for it big-time. I could barely type and didn't know anything about that Internet superhighway that's out now. Make sure you learn all that shit while you in the joint cause you gonna need it when you get out. Well, now that I'm working in this office, I'm learning a lot and I should be able to get a better work-study job when I get back. They're even gonna let me come on the Paris trip this summer and supervise the kids in the dorm we stayed in. So I have a lot of responsibility and that feels really good.
If you want me to, I can check in on your mother from time to time. Seems like Trevon has really been wilding out. I saw him the first night I got back. He was coming out of some bar on 8th Ave, eyes all red and smelling like
liquor. He hugged me and all. He could barely stand and wanted to dance right there in the middle of the street. I led him back in the bar so he could sit down and get himself together. I asked him, “When the last time you been up there to see that crazy brother of yours?” and he said, “I couldn't even tell you. I done had a lot of shit to take care of, know what I'm saying.” Then he just started talking to me all of a sudden, out of the blue. “I just been going through some shit, Natasha. I just been experiencing a lot on my mind.” I said, “Talk to me. Tell me what you feeling, I got time.” We ended up sitting there for a real long time. By the time we got to the end of our conversation, it had started drizzling a little bit and wasn't nobody on the street but gypsy cabs and hypes. He was talking about you a lot. “The man was my backbone. He was my backbone,” he just kept on saying. I told him, “He can still be your backbone, Trevon. He ain't dead, he just locked up for a while. You gotta go see your brother and write to him and support him.” He just said, “It ain't the same. It ain't the same as him being right there. Natasha, I lost my father and my brother at the same time. They was the men I needed. They was my backbone. I ain't got nobody to hold me up no more. I feel like one of them puppets on strings. My strings is cut and I can't do it alone.” I tried to talk to him, but he just seemed so far gone it was no use. He kept saying that you were thereâin jailâbecause of him. I kept telling him that what happened wasn't his fault, but I was tired and nothing was sinking in with him. I put him in a cab, gave
the driver your address, and told the driver to take him homeânowhere else! No telling when the last time your mother seen him. Too bad it had to be like that. When he pulled off, he shouted out the window, “Tony didn't do it, Natasha.” Why would he say some shit like that? I felt like somebody had slapped me and I couldn't believe he would play about some shit like that. I thought about what he said for a long time before I realized that he must just be too far gone and talking crazy. There's no way what he said is true, is there?