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somethin’ I’ma kill you. You undastan’?”

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Shaking the warm, wet cup I answered nervously,

“Yes.”

“Good. Now drink dat shit boy. Drink it. Drink it

all.” He commanded as he tilted the cup to my

mouth. I choked and coughed as the smell hit my

nose.

“I said drink dat shit boy. If ya don’t drink it I’m

gonna give ya somethin’ else and you aint gonna

like dat either.” He looked down at his still open

pants and I knew what he meant. He had locked

me in the bathroom with him regularly. “Now

drink!” His words were unwavering.

I put the cup to my mouth, and Bobby put his

hand on the bottom to force the urine down my

throat faster. Knowing what was expected I

gulped down the contents of the cup. The warm

pungent liquid stung my throat as it went down.

Bobby laughed and fastened his pants. Holding

the dripping cup in front of me I shook once and

threw up all over Bobby’s legs and feet. Before he

could move out of the way in the cramped

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bathroom, I threw up again, this time completely

soaking his pants so they resembled my own. I felt

a fleeting moment of satisfaction. Bobby’s stiff

hand knocked the cup out of my hand and my

body into the wall.

“What da fuck?” He said with his hands in the

air. He looked down at himself and pinched his

soaking pants pulling them away from his legs.

He pulled the door handle, but it didn’t budge.

He unlocked the door and yanked it open again.

He grabbed me by the hair and tossed me into

the hallway. He began kicking me down the hall

toward my bedroom. He kicked me until my

head cracked on the doorjamb to the bedroom.

He reached down and threw me into the

bedroom.

“You lil’ piece a’ shit!”

My head rang, but his words were clear.

Sprawled on the floor, I was an open target, and

he began to hammer the back of my thighs with

his vomit-soaked boot. He kicked me into a fetal

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ball of submission. My hands covered my face, so

I didn’t realize he was coming after me until I was

off the ground. His strong, callused hands

squeezed my limp body as he heaved me over his

head. I soared briefly through the air across the

room. Matthew had left the couch and had been

playing in the room while Bobby and I were in

the bathroom. For the first time, he seemed

shocked, but only because the commotion had

disturbed his play. I was motionless on the floor. I

heard Matthew grab some toys and leave the

room at Bobby’s order.

Debbie came rushing into the room, screaming.

Bobby warned her to leave, but I could see her

clinging to him as she had before. He dragged her

limply as he advanced toward me, shaking his

arms free with ease.

“Dis mufucka done threw up piss and shit all ova’

me after he done pissed all ova’ da floor. Dis

mufucka need to learn him a lesson an’ I gonna

teach him. I told ya’ll ta quit fuckin’ wit’ me and

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dis time he gon’ pay!” His last word was drawn

out as he grabbed my feet and dragged me to the

window.

“You don’ eva’ learn nothin’. Today you gon’

learn boy.” He dragged me to the far right

window and dropped my feet to the floor. He

opened the window and hoisted me up by my belt

loop. He draped my upper body onto the

windowsill, grabbing my ankles and shoving the

rest of my body out the window. He held my limp

body out of the third story window, my back

against the outer wall of the building. I looked up

to see Debbie crying in the left window. Bobby

yelled at me from the window, but I didn’t pay

attention. I hoped he would drop me. I wanted

him to kill me so it would all be over. This life was

not life, I thought. As I hung there, I threw up

again. My nose filled with a mix of bile and urine

that also stung my eyes closed. I banged my head

against the building trying to clear my nose, as I

wiped my eyes.

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The left window opened, and I saw Debbie

reaching down. She grabbed my arms, and I

stretched in her direction. With a firm hold of my

arms, Debbie pulled me toward her as Bobby

laughed and let me hang from my ankles. My

short chubby body was stretched across the thin

sill. Bobby and Debbie argued while Debbie’s

grip on my upper body strengthened. She

wrapped her arms around my chest and pulled

me away from Bobby, who had loosened his grip.

Debbie fell backward into the room. My urine

and vomit soaked body on top of her, she sat up

and wiped my face with her shirt. I coughed and

blew my nose clear. Bobby chortled as he stood,

then called for Matthew. Matthew appeared in

the doorway with his hands full of toys.

“Matt, go grab yo daddy a beer and bring it to

my room,” was all he said as he turned to leave.

Matthew dropped his toys eagerly and left the

room first. Debbie sat on the floor, rocking my

battered body in her arms.

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My shifts at the JDC changed when I went full-

time. I started working Wednesday through

Sunday, instead of just weekends. The County

was doing away with part-time employees, so I

had a choice to make: work full-time or quit.

Since I was already working so much, I thought I

could work full-time at school during the day and

then go to the JDC at night. The Captain made a

concession for me and let me work second shifts

until school let out; then I would start a second

and third swing shift schedule. In the meantime,

my Sunday morning shift was changed to a

Sunday night shift. While I felt confident and

competent in my skills on the job, my full

understanding of the scope of responsibilities at

the JDC started with a favor for a co-worker. I

had only worked first and second shifts on

weekends, and I knew that Monday through

Friday (first shift) was an experience I would

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never have because of my teaching commitment

during the day at school. One night, another

officer asked me if I would work one of his third

shifts in place of one of my second shifts. Not

thinking any further than the fact that I would

have a Friday night off to spend with my

girlfriend for the first time in months, I agreed.

The third shift he needed me to cover happened

to fall on a three-day weekend from school, so it

would be easy for me to do without

compromising sleep or school.

We agreed to swap my Friday night second shift

for his Sunday night third, requiring us both to

work double shifts. Looking forward to a Friday

night date with my girlfriend clouded my mind as

I made the swap. Additionally, I had stayed up all

night plenty of times, even in my adult life,

without any physical repercussions. I knew my

body could handle it. What I wasn’t expecting

was the drastic change of atmosphere and

environment that existed on third shift.

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The Sunday evening shift went on without

incident. I had been working at the JDC for

several months, and I had my own routine and

felt more comfortable than ever. When midnight

arrived, I was still feeling pretty good about the

next eight hours that I had in front of me. The

only unknown I could think of was the people on

the shift. Tre was on that shift, but aside from

him, I only knew the others in passing. I had met

them all, but always as they were walking in,

when I was heading home with my mind on the

fresh air of freedom. The Sergeant and I had

spoken only briefly, but I knew quite a bit about

him. He was a family man, about my age. He had

a wife and a couple of kids, and by all accounts

was an all-around great guy. He also worked

alongside the officers under his command. If for

nothing else, I respected him for this fact, being a

firm believer in not ever asking someone to do

something that I was not willing to do myself.

This work ethic went very far with my students.

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My first third shift started out smoothly. The

night had been quiet leading into it, and we were

fully staffed, so the workload was going to be light

if we didn’t get too many new arrivals. I started

on some laundry, one of the main tasks of third

shift, and ran the first set of clocks to get them out

of the way. Then I sat down with Tre and

Sergeant Henley, who insisted I call him by his

first name, Garland. They were discussing sports,

which I know very little about, so I just listened.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I jumped into

the conversation, and we spent our time between

loads of laundry getting to know each other.

There’s not a whole lot to keep you awake on

third shift in the Detention Center, other than the

people you work with. On subsequent shifts, I

tried reading, but nearly always fought to stay

awake. Talking kept us awake, and talk we did.

Though I had never spoken to Garland before, he

asked the same questions I had answered so many

times before about teaching and working at the

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JDC. He was a very easy person to talk to, so

when he asked why I would choose to work there

after teaching all day, I gave him an honest

answer--the most honest answer I had given

anyone who had asked me that same question.

“I’ve been a bad person for a long time. I’ve hurt

a lot of bad people, but I’ve also hurt a lot of good

people. So here I am trying to do what I can to

make up for everything I’ve done by helping

other people. I am the teacher I needed when I

was a kid. If I had a teacher like me when I was

young, I wouldn’t have made all the mistakes I

made to learn what I know now. I had no

guidance, no discipline, and no interest for

anything outside of myself.” I said in an

unrestrained stream of consciousness.

“What do you mean you’ve been a bad person?

You might
have done
some bad things, but that

does not make you a bad person. These kids love

you. They talk about you all the time. And they

talk about you with respect. They’re always

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asking if you’re coming in so they can talk with

you.” Garland said quickly.

“Before I came to Tennessee, I was into some shit

I’m not proud of, and before all of that, some

things happened that just made me into a very

angry person. Now I’m trying to work through

those things by helping these kids.” I found myself

feeling defensive.

“Well then, there had to be something that made

you change, something that put you on this path.

How did you get here? How you end up doing

what you do?” He asked.

“To make a long story boring, when I got to

Tennessee, I went to the university and tried to be

a tutor but found that all of those jobs went to

graduate students. So as I left the building, I saw

this sign that said ‘Free Rent. Get Paid.’ I copied

the address, went and bought a map, went to the

place, and the next thing I know I’m living in a

house with two men diagnosed with mental

retardation and taking care of them while I was

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going to college. I did that for five years. I had

originally wanted to be an art teacher, but

working with those guys made me realize that I

had a compassion and patience that I never

realized I had. So I went into special education.

Then I found out that there were classes for kids

with behavior and emotional problems, so I

decided to do that, or try to teach in a juvenile

detention center.”

“See man, you’re carrying all this anger around,

but just sitting here listening to you tell that I

story I can’t help but think that there’s some sort

of plan or a path that you are on that’s leading

you to your calling. Now, I don’t want to get into

a discussion about religion with you, but did you

ever wonder why we go through what we go

through? We all go through certain situations that

we have to find a way to handle it, and then we’ll

be put in a position to help other people.” He

noted all of this casually.

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“Man, you know, now that you bring up religion,

I had this thought one time. I went to go see that

movie
Passion of the Christ
, and there’s the scene

where Jesus is getting whipped, but he keeps

getting back up. Not like Rocky or something, but

he gets up again and again to take the pain, and

it’s supposed to be some allegory. Everyone in the

theater was crying all around me, but all I could

think of was my students. I took all this abuse as a

kid and survived all of this shit, excuse my

language, but I did all that and kept getting back

up. I wouldn’t let it get me down, even though it