I worry all the time about you being locked up. I miss you and wish we could watch TV together or go downtown to the lakefront. I pray for you all the time. Mama Pearl do too. She got the whole church praying for you.

What I really wanted to tell you was that you gotta keep your head up, that God made you, so you special. You important and beautifully built.

When you get out of jail, our old neighborhood gonna be knocked over and scraped up, but guess what? DuSable and Beethoven and that little church that used to be close to 5135, across from the Currency Exchange, they gone still be there. You know why? Mama Pearl told me that they Chicago Landmarks. I’m writing this letter mostly because I wanna tell you that YOU a landmark too.

I hope Mama will let me come and see you. One day, I’m gonna get the courage to let her know that I found your letter. Until then, I’ll just keep sneaking and writing to you.

I love you so, so, so much!

Your sister, Fee

Twenty-Seven
A Reunion

Every second Saturday in September was Youth Day, so Mama expected me to be in church from sunup to sundown, but in 1999, I only spent part of that day at New Hope. Mama Pearl drove us to see Meechie right after morning service. It had been about six weeks since I’d seen his face. On the way, I thought about the time that me and Mama picked him up from 51st Street, and I wished that was what we were doing. This prison was a few hours outside of Chicago, a facility five or six times the size of the 51st Street precinct.

We got there, and I was surprised to learn that we had to talk to him through a clear window with a few holes in it. I recognized this barrier; it was the same bulletproof glass they used in restaurants on our block. I couldn’t tell if they thought we’d shoot him or he’d shoot us.

When he walked out, I recognized his waddle. He looked bigger than usual. I said something about it right away. “You been eating a lot?”

“Lifting. Working,” he said. “Got some muscles now.” He smirked a little.

“Hi, baby,” Mama Pearl said. She put her hand on the glass.

He put his hand up there too, fake touched it. “How you doing, Mama Pearl?”

“These old bones trucking on, Chile.”

He turned back to me. “You look pretty. You ain’t have to dress up to see me.” He said it, but I could tell that he liked it. We were in church clothes, but I didn’t tell him that. I just let him think we’d gotten fancy for him.

“What you do in here?” I asked.