“Shit,” said Phillip. “No wonder they kicked his ass, or had somebody else in here kick his ass. They always get them after a while. Vengeance is a bitch in here. It’s part of the danger. And people don’t forget. It’s like time done stopped. And people take grudges out on you when you least expect it. You don’t have no privacy here. You got open toilets, open cells you can look through to an open bed, the roaches, and open showers. You ain’t ever alone. Not even taking a shit.”

“Right,” said Abdul. “Here you got to be something. Anything just to protect yourself. Just so you know who you are.”

“Or you lost, man. Real lost,” said Phillip.

Suddenly, I was scared for Jesse. I really hoped he was waiting outside. “I better see about Jesse,” I said, getting my things together. “Here are some cigarettes. Give some to Abdul, too.”

“See you again, Lil’ Sis? I mean, Lady.”

I smiled and Phillip smiled back. “I’ll try. I’ll really try.” Phillip and Abdul got up to return inside, and I watched them walk more closely together than I remember seeing before. I left the visitors’ gallery, and I could still hear the old woman sobbing more quietly now from the far corner. The young girl was stroking her bent head. “He ain’t never had a chance,” she kept saying, more to herself now.

I found Jesse waiting outside. His eyes were dry, stony, his hands calm at his side.

“I’m going back to West 4th Street,” Jesse said.

“Want me to come?”

“No.”

“Jesse, don’t be angry with me. I didn’t know Lonny would be there. I just wanted you to meet Phillip.”

“I need to be alone now.”

“Call me later?”

“Yes. I’ll call you later.”

“You’re not holding something against me, are you?”

“No.”

“Men always hold things in. Or they share it only with other men.”

“What?”

“Pain.”

“Well, it hurts, Ruella. It really hurts.”

Truth is, it hurt me too. I thought Jesse knew that. I thought he was different from the others, those men who make a secret border of their pain, as if you could actually touch it and make it worse. But what about a man’s borders when another man touches them? Maybe it’s just to keep women out. Protection, maybe. No woman intrudes that far, and even if another man does, he can still heal himself in that secret sharing. Some heal themselves by wearing track shoes and jogging outfits or playing basketball on Saturday afternoons. Others by wearing leather or cowboy outfits or denim with full key rings hanging from their belts. Women carry their wounds with less fear. We bear children. That’s how we stay alive. But being alive hurts. And with that pain you got to just keep on dancing, even if you dancing solo.