“I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“Is Chilly takin your weight?”

“Nobody’s taking my weight.” I moved to walk past him. As I did, he pulled me roughly toward him and kissed me on the side of the face. I twisted free of his grasp.

“Look, man, I told you I don’t go that way.”

I backed away from him but he didn’t make another move toward me. He just stood there. I remembered the scene the day before in clothing issue. By the standards of the joint, I hadn’t acted in the desired manner. When my response to being kissed got around, there would no longer be any question about what I was. I wonder what it would have taken for me to have fought that dude. My problem remains what it has always been: the inability to turn my aggression into a methodical instrument of destruction. In other words, my violent thing ain’t coordinated too tough.

“You in trouble,” Chilly said that afternoon in the chow hall.

“What are you talking about?”

“Hey, man, come on. You ain’t talkin to your everyday lame. This is Chilly! It’s all over the joint how you let Showboat kiss you.”

“That’s not how it happened.”

“It don’t make no difference how it happened. All anybody’s gonna do is look at you and Showboat. Neither one of you is dead or in the hospital. And there ain’t no signs of a struggle on either one of you. That’s all they need to know.”

It was a long walk to the garbage cans where the trays were emptied. I could feel the heavy wattage being laid on me from the head lamps of dudes in the chow hall. Eyes from everywhere took swipes at me. And I could understand why. I had failed to kick ass and take names. And that’s the calling card for getting over anywhere and the foundation for all credit. It was amazing how my mind was working. Instead of figuring out ways to protect myself from being ripped off by vultures, I was spending time putting their schemes to crush me into a theoretical framework! I kept on walking… but I didn’t drop my head. Instead, I stared right through the gauntlet of eyes.

“Ellington!” I looked up from my book and saw a black man standing beside my bunk. He was the color of a penny that had been around, and his hair a seasoning of salt and pepper. But his eyes were the reason I listened to him. They were a tired wise, smacked with a quiet strength and a knowledge past surprises. His eyes played no games.