Rosalind Boone Williams - Serving Time Too: A Memoir of My Sons Prison Years

Serving Time Too

Hamilton Books

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To my son, Marell, my first experience of the joy of a mothers love. I have kept my promise that your life would not be in vain, and I will always love you; and to my grandmother, Claudia McKoy, who encouraged me from her deathbed to write my book. I did it, Grandma!

Remember the prisoners as if chained with them.... Hebrews 13:3

It had been snowing, and Fayetteville, North Carolina, doesnt handle snow well. Our weather normally isnt like this, and people were having trouble driving. But we all drove to grocery stores to get bread and milk, just in case we couldnt leave home for days.

I liked the idea of being home with my children for the weekend and began roasting a turkey to take to work on Monday. This was to be one of the meals I prepared about twice a month for kids at J. S. Spivey Recreation Center, where I was the assistant director. I took pride in helping young people have fun and steer clear of trouble when they were not in school. If a child showed up on a Saturday morning at 7:30 with matted hair, a dirty face, and no breakfast, Id want to know why. I got involved with the families and tried to touch everyone with whatever good I could do. But no one would be showing up this Saturday, and I began to wonder if the center would open again on Monday, what with all the snow. Even still, I was roasting that turkey. The oven was running and warmed the kitchen. Our house felt cozy.

My four-and-half year old, Sidnee, played at making cookies. My older daughter, Rikesia-or Kesia, as we called her at home-was a junior in high school, and she used the day to do some extra studying. My son, Marell, spent a lot of time on the phone and coming in and out of the kitchen. He snacked all day whenever he was home, and he never missed any meals, yet he was a thin 511. He had started growing his hair out into little plaits, and I let this slide, but I never allowed the ear piercing or tattoos he hinted about getting.

In the next few months, there would be changes that hed have to adapt to because he had signed up to join the navy after graduation from high school. He had just turned nineteen, but he still needed my permission for some things. If he wanted to leave the house, hed have to ask, and when he asked that afternoon, I said, No. The weather was bad and expected to get worse.

With all this snow, we were surprised when the Sawyer brothers, one after the other, showed up at our door. They lived in our neighborhood and went to school with Marell. The older brother, Tim, had been to our house before. But the younger brother, Andre, had not. I was concerned about him because he was crying hard, as I could see from the kitchen when Marell led both brothers to his room. I couldnt hear all of their conversation, but there were parts of it that made me uneasy.

In a few minutes, Marell came to the kitchen and asked if he could go with the brothers to visit Phillip. He also lived in the neighborhood and went to school with my son, and I knew him well because he was Marells best friend and spent a lot of time in our home. On any other day I would have said, Yes. But that day, again I said, No. With the snow picking up, I thought Marell would be better off staying home.

But my husband saw no harm in it. James knew that Marell would probably walk over to his girlfriends house too, and that would be fine, as long as he got back by curfew. I mean it Marell, before 11:00, I said. But before he left, I pulled him aside and asked why that Sawyer boy had been crying. Family issues, abusive situation in the home, Marell said.

Back then before everyone had a cell phone, my son always carried a pager so that I could check in with him while he was out. When the snow started accumulating, I started worrying, and I paged him. He called from his girlfriends house. Im okay, he said, Ill be home soon.

Then at 8:00, the phone rang again. This time it was my niece who lived a few houses away. Aunt Rosalind, have you heard about what happened? The man up the street has been shot. That man was Mr. Ed Sawyer, the father of the boys who had been in our house just that afternoon.

My mind raced for an explanation, and a thought flashed: Marell didnt know that his friends father had been shot. If he knew, he would have certainly have called me. So I paged him and he called immediately.

Have you heard what happened? I asked.

What? he asked back.

Your cousin called and said somebody shot Mr. Sawyer.

No, Ma. No, no, Ma! Marell shouted. He sounded shocked, disbelieving, and wanted to know exactly what happened. So I hung up and called my niece to find out. I thought that by now she might know something more, and she told me that it was a drive-by shooting. Mr. Sawyer was dead. As soon as I hung up the phone with her, Marell called again. He was still at his girlfriends house.

The man is dead, I told my son.

No, Ma! Marell screamed, No, Ma! No, no!

I really wanted my son home, although he assured me he was okay where he was. But my mind was also occupied about something that I could not control. Those Sawyer boys. I was feeling bad for them and hoping that nothing had really happened to their father, that there was some mistake in what my niece had said. So before I hung up with Marell, I asked, Have you seen the brothers?

No, maam, he answered.

Sometimes when things go so strange and wrong, I find myself doing ordinary things as if it was an ordinary day. So that night, I prepared grape Kool-Aid for Marell as I had since he was a child. I wanted to do a little something extra to show him how much he was loved. For a few months hed been withdrawn and a little distant, possibly because he was planning to leave home in June. I also put a Snickers Bar in his bedroom as a little surprise.

Marell arrived home on time, even a little before curfew, but instead of going right to his bedroom as usual, he stayed with James and me in the living room where we all watched television.

Are you okay? I asked. Do you think the brothers wouldve shot their dad?

They wouldnt hurt a fly, Marell said. It was after midnight before he went to his room.