But Kerry couldn’t really see or hear or feel any of this. Though she was moving along, every part of her being was with her child, hurting and aching, mourning the reality of separation. The only thing that kept her putting one foot in front of the other to get to her cell was knowing his little face was waiting there in the picture above her bed. She could lie down there. Let her pain fall back into the mattress. Close her eyes and be with him again that morning in his bedroom before they took the picture. She would tell him everything was going to be okay. It would be perfect. He would say, “It could be perfect. You’re right, Mama.” She’d wink at him and kiss his cheek.
But all of that would have to wait. Because only a few steps from the cell, someone blocked Kerry’s pathway.
“What? You thought I forgot about your ass-whipping?”
Thompson was standing there, cracking the knuckles on her fat fingers.
“I’m not in the mood for this,” Kerry said, sounding more tired than fearful. “I just saw my little boy and—”
Thompson cut her off. “I don’t give a fuck about that.”
“Thompson, I just said I’m not in the mood for this,” Kerry said solemnly. “I can’t deal with you and whatever pathology you’re demonstrating right now. I just want to—”
“Path—what? What you call me?” Thompson poked Kerry’s shoulder enough to push her back a few steps.
Some of the women gathering in a tight fight circle started telling Thompson to back off and leave Kerry alone, but all still stayed to see what would happen.
“I didn’t call you anything,” Kerry said. “I’m just letting you know I’m not trying to fight you. I’m upset about my son—”
“Fuck your son!” Thompson spat, stepping in so closely to Kerry’s face a spray of saliva dotted the bridge of Kerry’s nose.
“What did you say?” Kerry asked, feeling some switch of anger flicked on within the mix of sadness, loneliness, and now humiliation. “What did you say about my son?” Kerry didn’t know it, but she was stepping up higher, up on her toes a little bit, so she could be eye to eye with Thompson. She was also balling up her fists and tightening her jaw.
“I said: fuck your—”
This time Kerry cut Thompson off—but not with words, with a tight fist to the mouth. Kerry flung her closed hand up high and came down on Thompson’s mouth so hard it sounded like a bag of sand hitting the earth.
Every mouth in the spectators’ circle was hanging wide open with surprise. Even Thompson seemed unprepared for the blow to her face.
“What the fuck?” she shouted loud enough to get some of the guards’ attention. “You hit me!”
Before Thompson could cock her fist back to get a lick in, some rush of blood to Kerry’s already heavy heart pushed her into a hysterical rage.
She just attacked.
Started clawing at Thompson’s face with her arms flying in an uncontrollable pinwheel that made everyone around her back up and left Thompson taking hits and trying to figure out where and when she could get some in.
Kerry pounded and pounded as tears shook loose from her eyes. She was crying like she was the one being beat on.
With all of the fists landing on her, Thompson found herself backing up to a wall. And Kerry followed. Swinging and kicking. Cursing, even. “Fuck my son? Fuck my son? No! Fuck you! Fuck you!”
Thompson cowered into something that looked like a ball or a porcupine trying to hide herself away. But Kerry kept coming for her.
By the time security pushed through the circle (and it was only just minutes into the battle), they had to pull Kerry off Thompson the same way they’d peeled Tyrian from Kerry less than an hour ago.
Even when they got her loose and Thompson jumped up from her cocoon like she was ready to do something, Kerry looked like she?
??d been possessed, with her extremities flailing and obscenities of every language she could remember coming from her mouth—Latin in junior high, Spanish in high school, French in college—she cursed Thompson out in every language. As guards dragged her away, the other inmates looked at Thompson with serious scrutiny.
“Guess you showed her,” someone shouted from the back of the crowd and they all laughed.
“Bougie bitch beat your ass!” someone else added, giggling.
“She snuck me!” Thompson defended herself. “Y’all saw that! The fight wasn’t fair!”
As the other guards started yelling for the inmates to clear the floor, some replied, “Bet you won’t be looking for a rematch!”
She wouldn’t.