“What could you have done?” Sensing my feelings had been hurt, she said, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s just that because I’m with a man it goes without saying that he’s supposed to protect me from all men. I can appreciate that, but sometimes it slips my mind completely and I just go for myself.” She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “You know, I almost kicked that dude in his family jewels. I caught myself just in time. I guess that wouldn’t have made you look too good if I had. I probably would have been angry at you if you had tried to do something because you would’ve deprived me of the satisfaction. So don’t feel bad about not doing anything… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Wasn’t that a blip? Here I was feeling I’d done too little on her behalf and she was holding back for fear she’d do too much. I got away from that woman in a hurry. About two years after the incident with Tonya I was called by the United States government to fulfill my military obligations by protecting it against all boogie men, both foreign and domestic. I didn’t realize it then, but I owe Tonya a debt of gratitude for hipping me to the fact that if one is going to put his ass on the line, he should be the one to pick the time and place. I said this to the military at the swearing-in ceremony and to the judge right before he sentenced me to three years for refusing induction.

It’s now two years later and I’ve just been released on parole. When the judge sentenced me I immediately began sandbagging myself emotionally against feeling anything. Now that I’ve left prison I’m not sure how I feel. The fact of my release is still way out in front of its impact on me. An old dude in the joint once told me to keep good news at a distance. Don’t believe it till it happens. And even then, walk with suspicious feet. And that’s how I played it last week as I took that long walk out the front gate. My heart played Miles Davis doing Walkin with all his quick note shifts, double-clutching slurs, and staccato skips. But my head slowed the tempo of my heart, cautioning it to treat freedom as if it had a very short fuse that could blow up in my face at any moment. Standing in the sally port, I waited for my name to be called.

“Ellington, Melvin—74641-158—paroled.”

The barred gate slid open, uncaging the skyline.