... HEARSAY

I overheard two students discussing the cell extraction of a prisoner in their housing unit, and, as usual, one put his own spin on it, while the other agreed.

—They beat the livin’ tar out of a handicap person.

—Yeah, they should’ve let him be. I heard the screams.

—Beat his ass real bad.

—You guys don’t have a clue, I said. There was a slight pause, before they started up again.

—All in our Kool-Aid and don’t know the flavor, the younger student said.

—Yeah. Dippin’ and dappin’ and don’t know what’s happenin’.

I tried to redirect, to get them focused on their school work. It was a losing battle.

—That man wasn’t gonna hurt nobody.

—I heard they dumped him from his wheelchair.

—Guys, knock it off. It has nothing to do with you.

—They made us leave our unit, the older student claimed.

—Yeah. How’d you like to be gassed?

—He was stuck like Chuck.

I didn’t want to engage their conversation, yet I couldn’t help myself. I asked them if they knew about his staff assaults prior to arriving at our facility. I asked them if they knew about his shampooing the cell floor in preparation of a conflict. I asked them if they knew about the razor blade weapons he used on the officers. They were in denial. I gave them a direct order not to speak about it again. —Enough’s enough, I said. The class resumed its normal operations. Silence hung in the air. Such unbearable tension.

—They didn’t gas him. They wanted us out of the unit. They didn’t want witnesses.

—Okay, I said, remembering my days teaching delinquent youths, you better check yourself before you wreck yourself …

—‘Cause I’m bad for your health, they said in unison. Then they laughed.