Tamara Jones "The Last Good Kiss"

by Josette

"This way Miss." She says, and she opens a door for me. Once I walk through it slams shut behind me. I stand right where I am for a moment. Shocked. There are no bars, and no glass windows like I had imagined. Just a room, a twenty foot by twenty foot room with a window that looks out to the side of the ground's. There's a table in the room, and two chairs. It's private. How interesting. I'm glad that Miss Dee didn't have to look at her son through glass and bars. I walk over to the suquare table, pull the chair out nosily and sit down. It's like need to remind myself where I am.

"Rosevelt Prison." I say out loud, as though introducing myself. Now I begin to rap my knuckles on the table. Then I stop, and begin to shake my crossed legs under the table, and then for probably the first time in years I begin to bite my nails. And then I stopped that too. I keep looking up towards the door that I am sure Quincy will come through, and finally it opens, and Quincy comes waltzing in nonchalantly. When he sees me he freezes. Do they not tell them who their visitors are? There is first a look of surprise, then of regret. And finally of something like relief I guess.

"Hi!" He says, and sits down opposite me. He looks the same as the last time I saw him. He's even shaven, his hair has more of a buzz cut, but he still reminds me of Mekhi Phifer. He's wearing a grey prison uniform. Which is just a loose fitting T-shirt with his number on it, and a pair of grey slacks.

"I didn't expect to see you here." He says with a smirk, and then trains his eyes straight on mine. It's a direct challenge of sorts. As though he wants to point out that I don't belong in a place like this. That, I already know. I can't explain what it is I am feeling right now, but I can assure you that I am grinding my top and bottom teeth together.

"Well you can thank yourself, for me being here." I snap, and he smiles.

"Still haven't changed. Still feisty."

"I don't plan on changing Quincy." I say, and for a moment there is silence. The guard is reading a newspaper by the door.

"How have you been?"

"I've been alright. How are things in your new place? I'm sorry I couldn't send you a house warming gift." I reply, and he chuckles.

"Very funny." And for a moment there is that scared look that his mother was talking about. I can see it, and I can feel it, and I wish there was something I could do.

"How's my Mom?" He asks.

"Well….yer looking at he for while. She's a little sick. So I'll be here for a little while until she feels better. If it makes you feel better she is still cooking five pots of curry chicken and chick peas a day, for nobody in particular." I told him, and instead of laughing he frowned.

"You don't have to do that." He said. "Visit me, I mean.

"I want to." I said, much too quickly. But in a way I did. This way I could see for myself that he wasn't actually wasting away to nothing, losing weight, and having fifty year old men with large tattoo's trying to make him their wife.

"What happened Quince?" I asked suddenly? I looked down at my hands, they were shaking. I was afraid for him in here. Jails just look like this on the outside, but I knew on the other side that there were rowdy dangerous men, and ugly walls, and thick metal bars.

"You mean with us?" He asked. I looked up at him strangely. What the fuck was that suppose to mean?

"I mean......with this whole thing. Why are you wearing a grey Salvation Army shirt, with a fucking number on it? Why is your mother at home crying? I mean, what the hell happened?"

"It's a long story."

"Start talking then."

"Tamara, it doesn't concern you. I don't mean that to be insulting. But I just don't want to get you involved man. If I tell you, you will worry, and if you worry I'll not be able to forgive myself. Just....just forget it." He says a little exasperated. Before I know what I'm doing, I've wound up and smacked him upside the head. He grabs the side of his head, and groans. The guard looks over, and then smirks. Quincy is looking at me as though I have wounded him. "Ouch!"

"Do I look like that dumb ass hoe you've been running around with?"

"No! geez......that hurt." He wailed.

"And by the way has she come to see you?"

"NO!" He snaps, and then looks out towards the window. From this side of his face I can see why all the girls were chasing him. He's attractive. Better yet, he's beautiful.

"Talk!" I order.

Tamara Jones "The Last Good Kiss" by Josette

© Copyright 2001. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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