Grace After Midnight_ A Memoir - Felicia Pearson [30]
Next day I come into class with something I wrote about The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
I say something about how Will Smith has a funny point of view that makes everyone laugh, regardless of whether they’re rich or poor. He’s a homeboy that everyone loves.
Bitch says, “You missed the point.”
“So what is the point?” I ask.
“The point is the contrast between life in the affluent suburbs of Los Angeles and the ghetto attitude of a boy from Philadelphia.”
“Isn’t the point that Will’s funny as hell?” I ask.
“But what’s underneath the humor?” Bitch asks.
“What’s underneath your piss-ass mood?” I ask.
“I’m going to have to cite your negative behavior,” she says.
I say, “I’m going to have to cite your lousy sense of humor.”
“You’re making it worse for yourself.”
“You ain’t helping none, bitch.”
Bitch say, “That does it.”
I say, “I hope so. You kicking me out of here?”
Bitch say, “No, you’re not getting out of the final exam.”
I took her fuckin’ final exam and got all the answers right. Except she changed my answers around and failed me. She rigged it to make it look like I didn’t know anything.
On top of that, she reports me to the supervising administrator.
“Your teacher feels that you’re uncooperative and disruptive,” says the supervisor. “Plus, you failed the exam.”
I say, “Fuck that bitch. She switched my answers to make me fail. She’s a dyke who don’t know it. That ain’t my fault.”
Supervisor tells me I have to change my attitude or I’ll never get my GED.
“Fuck that too,” I say.
And with that, I go back to my cell.
That damn teacher sets off a bad period for me. For weeks afterward, I skip my classes. That teacher turns me against book-learning.
I go through this heavy-duty anger period.
I see anger all around me.
Old woman inmate who been living in the Cut for years gets angry at her cellmate. Cellmate won’t stop talking shit. Cellmate badmouths this old woman night and day.
Then one day in the rec room, the old woman throws a pot of boiling water at her cellmate and disfigures her face for life. That stops the bitch from talking shit.
I get angry at my own cellmates.
One of my cellmates says I gotta cut her hair. I don’t wanna bother with her hair.
“You got to,” she keeps saying. “I seen how you cut that other bitch’s hair and I liked how it looked. Now cut mine.”
I can’t get her to shut up, so I figure it’s easier cut her goddamn hair than listen to her yap.
I do it. I design a little style for her.
But she hates it.
“You got me looking like Mr. T,” she says.
“I like the way it looks,” I tell her.
“You did it to spite me,” she says.
“Fuck you. You were the one who kept after me till I did it. Well, I’ve done it. This ain’t no beauty salon up in here.”
“Fix it!” she starts screaming. “You gotta fix it!”
“I don’t gotta fix shit.”
“I ain’t going out there looking like Mr. T.”
“Exactly where you going?” I ask. “You in prison, bitch. Ain’t nowhere to go.”
“I’m telling you to give me a different cut,” she keeps saying.
I’m through arguing. I start walking away. She grabs my arm.
“Let go,” I say.
She won’t let go. I pull away.
Then she makes a mistake. Big mistake.
She slaps me.
I see red. I go off. I take the clippers and go across her face. She starts shrieking. Blood everywhere.
She never asks me to cut her hair again.
Supervisor calls me in again.
“You’re going to have to do something about your behavior.”
“What?” I ask.
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You mess up in school. You cutting up your cellmates.”
“That one cellmate was fucking with me. That’s the only reason I cut her.”
“You’re headed for more time not less. Is that what you want?”
“I just wanna be left alone,” I say.
“And I want you to correct your conduct.”
I roll my eyes up and study the ceiling.
“Look,” says the supervisor, “is there someone