21266

As I research deep in the wright-hall library of Morgan University, I can feel my eyelids, heavy with the weight of sleep, slowly closing. A dark windowless room made up of tall wooden shelves, strong fluorescent lights, and a light taste of dust in the air. The ticking sounds of a clock on the white patchy wall and my thumping heartbeat are the only sounds I hear, like a lullaby, lulling me closer to sleep.

“Wake up young man, wake up”

I jump up, startled and disoriented from the brightness of the lights. It felt like I had only closed my eyes for a second. How long had I been asleep for, I wondered?

“Thank You”, I reply quickly, turning to see who had woken me up. The man responsible, standing completely still, stood enshrouded in shadow, between two bookshelves. Why was he standing between the shelves, and not The walkway?

“What time is it”, I ask, squinting to make out more of the man hidden in shadow.

“4:30,4:32 am to be exact”, the man responds in a deep baritone. I pause waiting to hear more, only to hear complete silence in return.

Geez... this guy doesn’t talk much, I sigh stacking the notebooks, and other mess on the table. I hadn’t even gotten 50% close to finishing up the work I needed to finish. Shoving everything into my bag I reach the walkway entrance. I can feel the man’s presence behind me suddenly, waiting to escort me out, as I move forward.

I hadn’t even felt him move.

“What are you doing here so late, young man, if I may ask?”,

“Research on a prison story for my film class”, I respond, finally getting a better and closer look at the man.

“Things have surely changed from when I went to school...They wouldn’t have allowed us back then to choose a topic like yours”, he chuckles as we walk side by side.

I can see scars all across the arms, face, and neck of the man's rough leathery skin.

“How’d you get those scars?” The question is out of my mouth as soon as it touches my mind. I’ve always had a problem speaking before I think and being too nosy.

With an almost unnoticeable pause in his gait, the man smiles slightly, as we continue to walk

“You film majors sure are straightforward aren’t you” he deflects mockingly. “Battle scars...that’s what they are.”

“Which war were you in”?

“No war, I used to be a Correctional Officer back in my day.”

Correctional officer? How does a correctional officer get so many scars, I wonder.

“ Any good stories,” I ask eagerly, trying to prod the man into further conversation. There's definitely a good story here somewhere.

He looks up at me and chuckles, “Good stories? As a correctional officer, he asks?

“No, I do not.”

“Which prison did you work in?” We’re almost near the entrance now, and my curiosity is getting the best of me.

“Mississippi State Penitentiary”.

I can’t tell if I’m being a complete nuisance as the man's face is almost expressionless as we walk in a steady gait. I wonder if correction officers are trained to hide their emotions from prisoners and keep their faces so blank. He doesn’t seem bothered, I think.

“I have a question... actually since I was researching Mississippi State Prison.”

“ Have you ever heard about a prisoner named Waller G. Payton?

As I look at him, I can see sadness slowly work its way through his face. A deep silence engulfs the exit of the library and the man finally comes to a stop. I turn to fully face him, finally getting a clearer view of the man before me. Sand-colored hair sprinkled with a flurry of white patches set in a hard ivory face with deep, deep black eyes. The man averts his gaze as my instincts scream that I have touched a nerve. There is definitely a story here. Could it be possible that he knew Waller G. Payton? What are the odds?

Frozen in place the man's eyes seem listless as a myriad of emotions flickers across a once blank face.

Do you, I start to ask and the man immediately recoils.

“Be safe, young man... Safe walk back to your dorm”, He whispers briskly and walks away.

“Sir, do you know him” I shout, as he waves and gets farther and farther inside the library finally disappearing from view.

The next day, I searched and searched for this man with no sign of hope. “ “What could’ve happened for a man to feel so ashamed.” “He must know something...errr...why can’t I find him,” I added seething in hot anger as I storm out of the restroom. As I carelessly swing open the door, I can hear that I’ve hit someone. “ OH MY...I’m so sorry.” “ what is wrong with you?!” I hear helping her up the floor. “I’m so sorry.” I pick up an Elisabeth Mansfield’s History of Modern Art and automatically know who I’ve hit. “ I’m so sorry, Tania” “ how do you...oh...it’s you,” she replies with a slightly irritated tone.

Tania is an old friend I used to, for a lack of a better word, cuddle with and her hatred for me is beyond imaginable. “Why did it have to be her of all people,” I think to myself. “ However, these Art majors know everything and everyone, the true definition of free-spirited. “ Tania...do you know this janitor covered in scars,” I ask quickly in hopes that my presence wouldn’t anger her even more. “ Oh yes...He’s a groundskeeper. You can find him, most likely, at the HC building behind Wright-Hall.” “ Great...Thanks...Are you ok,” I answer as I stop myself from running out. “ Yes...I’m fine.” “Sorry again,” I quickly exclaim as I begin to sprint. Dodging and maneuvering over any obstacle, micro-tears in my face from the wind, legs reaching fatigue, for nothing could stop me.

I gasp for air, hunched over hands on knees trying to suck in as much air as possible, with a little strength left I quickly knock and open the door. ” Hello sir, my name is Jerome Fintz, we met last night.” “I remember you, and Fintz is an unusual name for someone that looks like they celebrate Black History Month” he cackles jokingly.” I just need a few minutes of your time,” I add holding on to the doorpost still trying to control my breathing. “For what exactly young man, don’t you have better things to do.” he inquired. “I hauled down the campus like a lunatic with purpose in every stride and conviction on my face. The very creepy scene for everyone staring at me maneuvering through the grounds.” “Hear me out at least,” I exclaimed. “ You want to know about that man” he replied. “ Yes!” I answered as I exhale in disbelief. “Does this man truly know Waller G Payton,” I thought? “Don’t you have chocolates or flowers to buy someone today?” “Better yet, any lady friend to meet up with?”, He stated while he walks towards the window and open the blinds.” “Tell me about Waller G. Payton,” I asked while dismissing his comments on me being alone on valentines’ day.

“We never called them by their names, we referred to them by numbers”, he continued. “He was prisoner 21266.”

“Why was he in prison?” I ask.

“Even being imprisoned for the murder of his wife and children. He was a calm and quiet guy. Everyone was confined in their 6 by 4 for 23 hrs and on the yard for the hour. Prisoner 21266 would stay inside seated legs crossed, hands on chest, eyes fixated on the pasty blue wall, and smiling.” he continued.

“Wait...did you say smiling?!” I commented shockingly.

He puckers his lips and nods in up and down in agreement.“He would sit there day in and day out smiling at the empty wall. Prisoner 21266, was not talkative but his daydream kept him away from the madness of prison and made him the ideal convict.”

“Do you know what he was smiling about?”

“No one truly knows what he could’ve possibly been smiling about. But, some of us, would invent stories. Truth be told, I believed that he would dream about his family. And, dreaming of them was an escape. I guess you can say it was his happy place.”

“Why would a child and woman murderer dream of such things?” I inquired as I walk towards a chair.

“It was in the ’30s. Being a man of color in itself was a crime. I was fairly new at the time and coming on my 2nd year at that place. Our jobs weren’t to know who was innocent or guilty. We were never to entertain the idea that they could be wrongfully accused. We were there to police and sometimes as harshly as possible. As the years went by, the prison understood prisoner 21266. He was never a bother and daydreamed every day.”

“Why did you show sadness and shame when I asked you about him back in the library?”

The atmosphere turned to a more serious tone, I could see it bothered him to think of it. He sits down and stares down on the floor, interlocking his fingers and leaning forward. “In the late ’30s, the government sent full force on ridden the East coast of bootleggers. And with that, came more, younger, and wilder inmates. The warden had ordered us to move the more peaceful and older inmates to the G wing. A number of prisoners were moved including prisoner 21266. I guarded the G wing once the moves became final. I truly was happy about the move. It was less chaotic and no more breaking up fights.

The G wing was naturally darker since it was initially created for solitary confinement. We would hear shouting out of prisoner 21266, “I cannot see them” “No, I need light, I need to see them” “please, help me see them” “why can’t I see them”. We would go and bang on his cell door and command him to stop the racket. He would cry himself to sleep most nights and the cycle would continue. Days, weeks, months went by and it felt that prisoner 21226 was calming down. Possibly accepting his new fate even. Until, one day... I was coming back from a daily smoke. I heard the commotion and I ran back to the control tower. The inmates were going crazy and the energy felt dark...sinister. A cracking sound so loud followed by a scream that silenced the entire wing.

Shaken with fear, I can sense the hair on my back warning me to stay away. I froze but I knew I must go to that cell. I grab the keys and ran toward him, and so I thought. I was too afraid to run but my heart is racing and feet are dragging, hyperventilating and cold sweat overtaken me...I was useless. The closer I got the stronger the pressure and sense of danger felt. And as I got to the gate, I heard it, a laugh that took any hope I had left on the idea that I would be safe, and a powerful voice says ever so gently, “I can see it all now, thank you.” I tried to open the door but I could not, my hands shaking and the sweat dripping into my eyes made it even more impossible. The captain snatches the keys out of my hands and opens the cell door. The captain hesitated and then rushed in. And I saw it all, emptiness where eyes used to be yet bright with blood and a smile on his face, blood dripping in his mouth. “Finally, I can see it all.” He whispers out in relief.

“What did you do next?”

“I handed in my uniform and gun that day, and I’ve been a groundskeeper ever since.”

“Do you know why he said thank you?”

The groundskeeper shrugs and says “no” but he knew exactly why. As the captain open the cell doors and he could see a shadow vanish and a cold air pressed against his body. “ No, I thank you!”, the voice whispers directly into his ears

“Do you know what happened to prisoner 21266?”

“That day was beyond the scope of normalcy…No, and I’m better off for it.”

“I’m sorry. I never got your name”

“You can call me Gray”

“Nice to officially meet you, Mr. Gray! I pack up my things with flamboyance in my actions eager to let my ideas run wild for this project. For Mr. Gray had given me a better story than expected.

“And Thank You for your recollection of events,” I say walking to the exit door.

“No, I thank you...And uh... good luck on the assignment. ”

The End

©Huriell Jerome (All Rights Reserved)