Love/Fate by Tracy Brown Page B

watched as Born took part in classes and read books like crazy. Ace was observant, and he watched in silence as he saw a slow change begin to occur in the young hustler they called Born. Born was also observant, and being a seasoned hustler, he could tell simply from Ace’s mannerisms that he was or had been an addict. But despite Born’s suspicion, he still found Ace to be a likable enough guy. Ace hollered at him one afternoon, as they both left the visiting room.
    â€œI see you been reading a lot, youngster. Going to all kinds of classes and shit. Tryin’ to change your life around? Or are you up for parole soon, trying to make a good impression?”
    Born didn’t know why he felt comfortable answering the older man’s questions. Ace was a tall black man in his forties, who—judging from his prison I.D. number—had been locked up since the early eighties. He was well respected in their dorm, and could often be found giving sage old advice to the younger inmates from time to time. Born had never really socialized with Ace much, outside of the occasional card game. But this day, when he looked at Ace, he decided to answer his questions. “I guess it’s a little of both,” Born said. “I want to turn over a new leaf. You know what I’m saying? But it don’t hurt that the board will see all the stuff I’ve been doing to change my life around.”
    Ace nodded his understanding.
    They went through the demeaning ritual of being cavity searched as they returned to their dorm, and when they arrived, Ace picked up their conversation where they’d left off. “You know you’re not really like the rest of these niggas in here,” he said.
    Born frowned. “What you mean?”
    â€œThere’s a certain energy that you have that a lot of niggas in here don’t have. I’ve been in here for a long time. And when you walked in, I could see that there was no bullshit with you. A lot of these niggasaround here purposely try to walk hard, talk hard, and act tough. But, you don’t seem to be trying. Your shit is natural. You walk with confidence, but there’s nothing extra about it. You talk hard, but it ain’t hard to tell that it ain’t just talk. I see a lot of these dudes around here come and sit by you whenever you come back from your classes. It’s almost like they anticipate you coming back, so they can sit around and soak up your aura.”
    Born laughed, and shook his head. “Whatever! The shit ain’t that serious.”
    Ace smiled. “But it is, though. I can tell the fakes and the phonies. You strike me as a real nigga. That’s why the fakes gather around you, trying to soak up some realness.”
    Born smiled, feeling like he was being flattered unnecessarily. “What you in here for, old-timer?”
    Ace shrugged his shoulders. “All
kinds
of shit. But mainly homicide. I killed my brother, and then set his house on fire.”
    Born stared at him in silence, digesting the information
    â€œI was on crack. Strung out, needed money. I went to my brother’s house in the middle of the night to get some. I was hoping that, even if he didn’t give me the dough, he would let me in so I could steal something, and sell it to get some dough. It was all about getting high for me that night. So my brother came to the door, and I asked him for money. He wouldn’t give it to me, wouldn’t let me in the house, and I snapped. In my mind I thought that he was turning his back on me when I needed him, that he thought he was better than me. I stabbed him in his chest about seven times. Then I went in the house, stole some shit I could sell real quick, and then set the whole shit on fire. I never realized that my brother’s kids were sleeping upstairs, and I left the house to burn down. By the time I was blocks away getting high, the neighbors were trying to get my nephews out of the house as it