Don't Forget to Remember Justin "King" Payne
“Until the lion writes his own story, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” -African proverb The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017, this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds, expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising, illustrating and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie, and positive self-projection to author new life narratives. Since January 2017, ConTextos has collaborated with the Cook County Sheriff ’s Office to implement Authors Circle in Division X of Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narrative about violence and peace-building, and help author a hopeful future for these young men, their families and our collective communities. In collaboration with
Don’t Forget to Remember Justin “King” Payne
Life was great, I was settled into New Orleans and life was good. Just returning from vacation in Miami, I was in the gym preparing for my upcoming physical agility test. Even though it was December the temperature was hot and the sun shining bright. The gym had become my favorite place to think and plan, the rhythmic clink of weights, the whirl of treadmills. It all gave me the space to mentally and physically up my game. A couple of days later I got off work and drove to City Park. I was ecstatic. I had been preparing for the NOPD physical test for the past 2 months. I was the ďŹ rst one there me and my friend sat in the car waiting to scope out the competition.
It was a cool but sunny day and as others began to arrive I sized them up. Most of them looked weak and I knew I was gonna send them home. My friend told me, “Now look, don’t get out there and show your ass, we both know you prepared for this so take it easy and give them a chance.” “Fuck all that,” I said. “I got lieutenants coming to see how I do, I got no choice but to show my ass and show my greatness out here.”
We both laughed just as a marked NOPD car pulled up and parked so I got out my car to go greet my recruiter and lieutenants. As we all stood there listening to instructions from the recruiter the wind grew bolder and the air a little colder.
When he was done we got right to it. First come the push-ups, 20 in 30 seconds 3 people failed that part, which I knew they would. I was the last to go so all the attention was on me. I blasted through my push-ups with time to spare. I stood up with a cocky grin on my face.
Next was sit-ups—I believe we had to 30 in one minute—and again I was last and got to show out, doing 40 in less than a minute. Next was the two mile run in 18 minutes. Since I was familiar with the track I knew how many laps around would make two miles. I set my timer on my Apple watch and took off at the sound of the whistle. I was leading the pack, the cool air flowing around me, heart racing. One lap down, now two, three and so on.
I was rounding the curve on my last lap and I heard the electronic buzz of the door lock being released and the rattle of the cell door moving on its track. It took me a minute to gather myself, realizing that the moment was just a dream of reality past and now I wake up in reality present AKA HELL! I sat up and stared blindly around the small room, a fresh shower of disbelief and depression fell over me.
My celly came back in with our breakfast trays, “Man you gotta eat something today, it’s been four days and you ain't ate shit. I’m not gonna sit here and let you starve to death,” he says setting the tray on the small metal table. “Man I’m not hungry,” I protest. “I can’t even think straight, let alone eat this shit. I’m not use to this shit. I can’t believe I’m here”.
“So you just wanna roll over and die then?” he says, “Just give up after all you’ve come through.” Little did he know just how close he was to my thoughts exactly. But after a few more minutes of protest I finally got up, ate a few spoonfuls of cereal & cake then curled back into a ball in the corner of my bunk. My mind swarmed, like an angry hive of bees.
He was right. I was ready to give up. I was ready to die, after all I’d been through, all I’d done to stay away from jail, here I was. Dressed in an ugly ass orange jumpsuit forced to be surrounded by people i didn’t know and didn’t care to know either.
That day I ventured out into the dayroom> I sat alone in front of the TV. football season was coming to a close. It used to rev me up, the bright lights, fans screaming the band playing— well at high school games, anyway.
Now it plunged me deeper and deeper into a bottomless black pit. I decided to call my sister. She answered on the ďŹ rst ring.
I could tell in her voice she’d been crying. “Hey Buddaz,” she said trying to mask her tears. My throat grew an instant lump and I choked on my words. The tears began to flow, “Hey Danny it’s gonna be alright,” I said more for me than for her. “It’s just so unbelievable,” she started, then burst into tears. “I tried to go into your room but just stood in the doorway, couldn’t even move my feet.”
My older siblings had always been so protective of me and although she was there in NOLA she couldn’t protect me.
The pain of hearing my sister crying and hurt burned my chest like the puff of a cigar. It felt like the whole world came crashing down on top of me. I willed myself to get a grip, to man up. This is what’s happening and I need to handle it accordingly, but that’s easier said than done when you you have an overly emotional sister in your ear bellowing out her pain.
The conversation was short, she told me I got money on my books and I needed to call our mom. “I love you so much Jubba,” she said before the line went dead. A fresh spike of pain seared through me. She had used both of my childhood nicknames so I knew she was seeing me as her little baby brother.
I wiped my face, took a deep breath in an attempt to gather myself and dialed my mom’s number. A couple of rings later I was connected with the most important lady in the world. “Hey my lady, what’s up?” Now it’s my turn to hide the pain in my voice.
“Hey Justin, How are you? Is everything ok in there? Are you eating good, or should I say, as good as you can be?” My mom has always been a tough lady, so I took strength from the power in her voice. Sitting up straight I answered, “Yeah, as good as can be.
You know me so you know I love my space, but in here I have none, and the food not bad.” I lied, I wouldn’t dare tell her I wasn’t eating. “Yes I understand,” she said. “Keep your head held high and keep praying. God don’t do things for no reason. It’s another test, you can pass it just like the others.” Still to this day those words ring loudly in my head. “Thank you for being my mom,” I said. “I know I couldn’t have made it this far without you. I could sense the smile on her face. “You know we been through hell and high water and it just been in preparation for what’s to come in life.” The recording chimed in and said you have one minute left. “Well I’m gonna let you go,” I said. “Tell everybody I said hi and I love them and I love you mom.” “Cut out that mushy crap,” she said laughing. “I’ll talk to you later.” ”
That day I decided to eat and ordered stuff from commissary for the following week. Wednesday the commissary came I got in line to get my shit and went to my cell. Later that night while we were all in the dayroom a couple of broke niggas went in my cell and took my bag. One of them told me it was his friend that took my bag. I asked where it was and he said he didn’t know. I was irritated beyond measure, one of my biggest pet peeves is people touching my shit. I went and found the culprit and asked where my bag was and he said it was in one of the cells downstairs. When I went in the cell looking for the bag they came in behind me and bushed me. I was livid! I really couldn’t believe these broke niggas jumped me over a $50 bag. What a bunch of bitches!
Furious, bloody and bothered I went back to my cell, then everything went black. I woke up a few hours later to doctors fisting my sternum to wake me up. I had needles in my arm and a tube in my throat. I had just had my second heart attack. What the fuck! Having that near death experience led me to believe I’m really not supposed to be here.
A few days later I was back at OPP Orleans Parish Prison sporting two black eyes, a broken nose, and a gash above my eye. Tramadol and norcos became my best friends. I ate, slept and took meds for the next week until I was extradited to Chicago, being falsely accused of murder in the first
Being back home was bittersweet, I was no longer a thousand miles away from my mom, but although I was here I still couldn’t touch her. I had spent my life avoiding this place, and its filthy tentacles had now reached out and grabbed me.
I remember stepping on the tier for the first time, it was midnight February 8, 2018, the air was stale and smelled of old gym socks and squares. That morning when I woke up I had to face a whole new set of personalities. Fuck, man, this sucks!
Waking up and being bombarded by a whole new set of personalities was overwhelming. Sweat poured from under my arms with every new introduction. For days I walked around in an attempt to be invisible—the way I’d done my whole life—but my powers soon faded away.
I was forced to socialize when all I wanted to do was be left alone. Unable to retreat into my shell, I became social and found while surrounded by humans, I was totally alone. Conversations bland as unseasoned meat, minds like caged birds only subject to the confines of Chicago.
I was surrounded by abysmal winners, walking trash and blissfully ignorant pigeons. With every new encounter the filthy yellow walls closed in on me. I mentally took note of my remaining brain cells, just knowing I had lost a few due to lack of intellectual conversation. Living as a hermit in the world, I was always alone—never lonely—sustaining in the hell that is jail.
Loneliest ever.
As the days melted together, I came to the gut wrenching realization that the ones in tan are just a tip of the fiery iceberg. I came to see the people in the cells get treated like animals, no like trash, umm still too good, we get the luxury of being treated like shit!
I myself was subject to the cruelness that occurs. Once upon returning from the hospital after surgery, I sat, shoulders burning, wrist cold and going numb, comfort nowhere in sight. I was forced to sit for 4 hours, cuffs tight around my wrist and behind my back, shackled to a smelly wooden bench. Close your eyes and think about how stiff and uncomfortable that is.
Can you imagine going 5 weeks with no clean sheets? No, well that was reality for us here. Constantly pleading with supervisors and social workers and coming up with the same monotone answer, “Just wait.” I’ve never felt so dirty and low in my life.
Being an innocent man who had never been behind walls or bars, I felt hope escaping me. With my life in shambles and having to depend on the staff here I feel like a snake in a wagon rut. I didn’t know this is how innocent people are treated. Where’s the humility, the care for basic human needs? The feeling of being inadequate plagues me now more often than not. I’ve come to learn that morals, values, honor and valor are not allowed inside these walls. A place of jealousy, envy, evil and despair.
I remember my first day, looking at the sign on the gate on the way in. “Lasciate Ogni Speranza Voi Ch’entrate” — Abandon all hope ye who enter here. Everytime I walk the bright halls I see the shadows lurking. I see them clawing and gnashing at the good souls that are unfortunate to be trapped here. I see the flesh and blood of hope, happiness, and sanity streaming through their teeth. They feed on desperation and lost hope. These shadows and situation has tried to beat, badger and break me down; man I’m tired.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! “Hey wake up” KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!.. “Hey it’s time to come out the cell”. Ok, ok I’m woke here I come.
MOM YOU SAVED ME I REMEMBER WHO I AM. THEY WILL NOT BREAK ME!
I’M BACK BABY!
With my spirit and hope renewed and stronger than ever, no longer will this place, these people or this situation bring me pain.
Justin I am from the concrete jungle. From, snowplow winters and fire hydrant summers. I am from the only Bungalow on the block. Small, cozy and brown I am from peach trees in grandma’s garden, And the hooch she made with them every summer. I’m from backyard birthday parties and high cheek bones, From Jackie D and the Petty Paynes. I’m from the all for one, one for all and roll one, pass one. From “you’re your brothers keeper” and hand me down sneakers I’m from mixing Negro and Creole Collard greens, pinto beans and pickled pigs feet and gumbo, crawfish boils and yakki meat. From the great migration and free at last and The hands that spanked me when I acted as an ass.