This Is My America(30)

The crank of a door pops, red lights flashing, then the sounds of the buzz. The men are all lined up, Daddy in the middle. He’s clean-shaven, Afro combed out but freshly cut with sharp edges that frame his face. His face lights up when he sees us, and we let out a resounding breath as we wait for him to greet us.

Corinne jumps up. I hold her back by the shirt so she doesn’t wrap her arms around him. Against the rules. She taps her thumbs on the table instead until Daddy sits down. He grins before folding his hands over ours that are now in the middle of the table.

There’s nothing that fills me more than seeing how bright his eyes are lit with us here. Today is different because of Jamal’s absence. Daddy’s eyes are dark today, like he’s had no sleep. Like the light of hope has flicked off after hearing about Jamal.



Mama’s face falls when she sees him. She’s carrying the weight of the world right now. She doesn’t think I know she’s been crying in her room, stuck staring at photos of Jamal as a baby.

“I drew you a picture.” Corinne points at her drawing, all of us in front of our house, Daddy leaning on his Buick. Daddy smiles, then leaves it on the table for approval from the CO so he can take it back with him.

“How’s school going?” he asks.

That makes Corinne perk up. “Good. There’s this one kid…”

Corinne tells random stories that trail off before she picks up another thread. When she runs out of steam, I pull her arm so she knows it’s time for us to leave Mama alone with Daddy before it’s my turn.

Corinne and I walk back to the window and watch them.

I read Mama’s lips and think she says, “Jamal.” She lowers her head. Daddy kisses the top of it, touching along her face. It’s so intimate I want to look away. Put a wall around them so they’re alone. No one else should share in their moment, but I can’t help watching, because it’s the only time I see my parents together.

Usually when they’re close like this, hands clasped tight, it makes me cry with joy. Daddy talking away at Mama, and the way she flicks her eyes at him. Her hardness she’s always cracking like a whip becomes as soft as can be. Melting with Daddy. You can’t tell them they weren’t transported to another place for this moment. Their ability to block out the guards, inmates, noises in the background, even us. It’s only them. Until the time passes and they have to travel back to reality. Back to thinking about another long drive home without his heavy laugh.



This time when they talk, it’s different. This time Mama is telling Daddy about Jamal, and he’s hanging on to every word. They look over at us, force a smile. They talk some more, serious looks. I want to lean in closer, catch what they’re saying.

“I miss Jamal,” Corinne says.

I pull myself away from staring at our parents, but not before locking their image in my mind. Make up a background where they’re swinging out on the porch.

“Me too.”

“You think he’s okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t know.

“I hope he never comes back.”

“Corinne.” I grip her chin, so she doesn’t turn away. “Why would you say that? Jamal’s coming back. He has to come back.”

“They’ll take him away.”

I meet her worried eyes, pause before speaking. “Jamal is coming home, and he’s going to be fine.”

She gives me a smile, but the rest of her expression is empty. I hug her close, and she stays limp. A tear escapes down my cheek, and I wipe it away with my sleeve so she doesn’t see. I don’t want her to lose hope.



Daddy sits up when it’s my turn. I can barely exhale until I sit down. His eyes are red. I want to give him a hug, but it’s against the rules, so I hold tight to his palms, bending my head onto them, an old habit from when I was little. I look at him.

“Baby girl. How you been?” He rubs his hands together. They’re dry and cracked. An aching regret builds. We’ve neglected him by not adding money to his account this month. My eyes well for not making life a little bit easier. A little more comfortable for him. By the roughness, I can tell he’s out of Vaseline. A necessity for those long days working outside in the heat.

“We’ll leave you something.” My voice cracks. “For your account today.”

“Don’t worry about me. Your daddy’s fine.” He rubs between his fingers and makes it worse, so he hides them below the table.

My chest aches from being so close but so far away. Although I want to be strong, hold back my fear, I let out a slow sob when he holds my cheeks in his palms.

“Ahh,” Daddy says. “Baby girl, don’t let me see you like that.”

It’s like we’re back home again before his trial. Mama cooking after a long day at church. Trying to fill us up so we start our Monday right. I don’t see the gray-painted brick walls or the white uniforms around the room. Just home, like it was.



I want to tell him we had trouble seeing him today. But that could make things worse. I’m not the one who would have to face repercussions on the inside. Daddy is.

Daddy doesn’t say it, but the stress is all over him.

“Jamal says he didn’t do it,” I whisper. Desperate to give him some sense of relief.