by Xyla Turner
“Are you going to stop?” He asked quietly.
“Get your hands off of me.”
He let me go. Taking my new freedom to the limit, I pushed off the cold wall, but a hand on my stomach gently pushed me back.
“What do you want?” I snapped at the irritating man.
“Fuck, I’m sorry okay.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He shouldn’t have said that shit to you.”
Oh.
I turned from him, as my emotions started to rise. She was dead, my neighbor. I didn’t really know her like that, but still. She lived next door to me and she was gone. Dead. Cut up on 120th. That was crazy. Tears hit my eyes. I tried to sniff them away, but they started to spill over my lids.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Then he went into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, to dab my eyes. I flinched at his touch. So he held up the hanky for me to take.
“Did you know her?” he asked.
The sadness quickly turned to anger as I turned my squinted glare on him.
“You think because you see me cry, I’ll talk to you,” I sneered.
“No!” He exclaimed. “Shit.”
I threw the hanky at him, wiped my eyes with my hand and pushed him away from me. As I was attempted to make my escape, he grabbed my hand and snapped me back to him. My body collided with his, then he said, “You hate us that much. You think we are that bad? I’ve done nothing to you, but all you give me is attitude and your ass to kiss. Is it that bad?”
What was this guy’s deal? He knew the rules. I didn’t make them.
“What! You need a snitch? Huh? Well, I don’t snitch. Shit, I don’t even know anything to snitch about. You need something from me, right? You’ve done nothing? You’ve done plenty. I just want to be left alone and mind my motherfucking business. That is all I’m trying to do, but you go out of your goddamn way to interrupt that. What the fuck do you want from me? Huh.” I exhaled.
“Your time,” he said as I reared my head back in confusion. “What? We can’t even get dinner or grab lunch. Shit, I’d take coffee.”
I was shaking my head. “Are you crazy?”
“Apparently, I must be.” He shook his head too. “Those are the rules, right? You always do what you’re told?”
“Don’t do that.” I spat. “You think because you color outside the lines of the law, everybody does?” I laughed at the ridiculousness of what he was proposing.
It must have sounded like the cackle of a hysterical woman. As I was in the middle of my own private joke, he had one of his own. Before I could stop him, he bent down and kissed me full on the lips and inserted his warm, sneaky tongue in my mouth.
He completely invaded me, as he pressed me against him, while I, initially, pushed back. Then he tangled his tongue with mine and my fight ceased. My tongue pressed back against his, as he took more of me. The fight left my arms and a new battle ensued. Grabbing the back of his short hair in my small fist, caused him to growl mid-kiss. Sending all sorts of signals throughout my body. It was on fire. He had lit the flame. The cop.
Oh shit.
The cop.
My hands dropped from his hair and I pushed him away. He let go but stared at me with unadulterated lust in his eyes. His chest was moving up and down as mine was doing the same.
“W-what are you doing?” I asked out of breath.
“I don’t know,” he replied, just as puzzled as I was.
“Don’t do it again.” I shook my head, trying to jar myself to leave.
Like immediately.
My legs finally moved towards the door.
“Have dinner with me,” he yelled after me.
I shook my head.
“Lunch?”
I kept shaking my head.
“Come on. Coffee?” He pleaded once more.
“No,” I said with as much finality I could muster up.
I reached the door and nearly ran out of the store.
What in the world was wrong with me? Letting a cop kiss me in a grocery store refrigerator.
I read the question written on the board several times and wanted to scream. Why was my life playing tricks on me?
With all of the violent acts towards black people in the recent news, do the police officers in your community perpetuate the stereotype that they are their own ‘boys in blue’ gang or is it really only a few bad apples?
I was in Social Justice and Equality class and Professor Hillman always had a controversial question to start off the week. This one was about the police and, only God knew, that was the last thing I wanted to discuss a week after the incident in the freezer.
The Police.
“Now, write for ten minutes, then we’ll discuss,” Hillman announced.
Staring at the blank piece of paper for ten minutes is what I ended up doing. I knew how I felt about it, but I was curious to hear other’s thoughts on the controversial topic.
The bell rang, signaling for us to stop.
“Okay, that’s time. It’s thirty of us in here today, so raise hands.” Hillman smiled. “Kat, I see you are ready. Go.”
“Thanks, Professor Hillman. I’ve lived in East Harlem for over 30 years now and I must say they are the same they’ve always been, but now their dirt is being televised. So, in my neighborhood, they are just like the red, blues, and every other color gang. They just have a license to kill.” Kat finalized.
She was one of the older students, who used to live in the same projects as me. She now has her associate’s degree and is a nurse at Mt. Sinai. She’s taking more classes to qualify for some exam.
Rich shook his head and raised his hand. Hillman pointed to him, signaling for him to go.
“Kat’s right. They are the same, but we cannot forget our own in this. A lot of people are trying to act like it’s the white cops. Did anyone forget that black undercover cop who knocked a kid out in Brooklyn because he thought he had weed? Was the boy a jerk? Sure. But it was a black cop that did it. So, it’s not just white cops, it’s the gang of them.”
Hmm.
“Uh, Rich. I saw that shit, but man it’s definitely more white cops than blacks. You got the house niggas and all, but these white pigs. They are ruthless man. I’m more scared of them than the people they killing.” Ed chimed in.
“Naw, man,” Rich replied. “I’m telling you. This is about power. Plain and simple. It’s not even about the police. Let’s think about the past events, pick one and I’ll explain about power. People who are given power without the character to use it properly are dangerous. That’s on a job, in a church, or even a classroom.” He pointed to Hillman. “Anywhere. People abusing power will look like this. Don’t get me wrong. Some of these folks are racist and they were given a badge to take all of that out on who they don’t like. However, mark my words, this is about the lack of proper training, too much ego and pride, and taking your job too seriously. When you are supposed to protect and serve, that’s when you need to take your job seriously. Maintaining order and peace shouldn’t result in someone dying.”
Hillman raised his hand and stepped in between the group. “Rich, brings up a good point. Who in here agrees?”
Six students raised their hands.
“Who in here disagrees?” Hillman asked.
Twelve students raised their hands.
“Who in here has another opinion that they’d like to share?”
Three students raised their hands.
“Tabitha, you first.” Hillman pointed.
“Black people kill each other all the time, but when a white person does it. Oh, they are racist and we need to march and disrupt the traffic flow.” People started stirring at Tabitha’s words. “I know this isn’t popular, but come one. Are you really going to sit here and try to make it about race, when this is clearly about rotating blame on why black people are where they are today? There are no hooded white men walking around burning crosses on people’s lawns. There are…”
“No, Tabitha. They are walking ar
ound in suits, denying us access into their corporate offices.” Scott interrupted her.
Tabitha whirled around to glare at Scott. “Are you serious?”
“Very serious,” Scott stared back at her. “Not only do they do it with black people, Hispanics, and other minorities. They do it with women too. There’s a glass ceiling for a reason. So, you can sit on your high horse, all you want and act like it doesn’t exist, but wait until you get to that place. When you are up against a less qualified man and they, pick him over you. I hope this conversation comes up and I hope you remember your comments about what doesn’t exist. The same rules apply, just the tactics have changed.”
“Jesse,” Hillman called.
“I come from a family of cops.” Hillman nodded, like he knew what he was saying was true. “I’m saying that to let you know, I’m probably bias, but there is another side to this story. There are definitely cops that should not ever put the badge on. I, myself, don’t even know if I want to take up that mantle. It’s a lot of power and responsibility. People in authority are held to a higher standard and I understand that.” He sighed, “So, to answer your question. Yes, they look out for each other, like we all look after our family. Even when they are wrong. Does that make it or us right? Probably not, but they do. I don’t know if there is a right answer or wrong, but that’s mine.”
Tabitha turned around with no further comment. Hillman put his fist to his chin and nodded, “Okay. Phil, your turn.”
Phil looked like he wanted to be anywhere, but there. “My, uh, brother is a cop.” He looked around the room. “I don’t advertise that often because I’m white and because on some level I get it. However, I’m always torn. As a cop, his actual job could end for him if he’s not vigilant enough. So many of his brothers have lost their lives because some guy doesn’t care about their life. They are there to serve and protect, and they do that. It’s not advertised in the media about all the help they actually do in the community. It never is. It’s one of those thankless jobs. Are there corrupt ones? Yes. You’d be a fool to think that they aren’t. Are there racist ones? Yes? Are they a brotherhood? Yes. Are they all bad? No. Do they fear for their lives? Yes. Every fucking day. So, Rich is right. It’s a power thing. Definitely, but it’s also a survival thing. If your brother or if you were a cop, you’d have to face that decision every goddamn day. Will I give this person the benefit of the doubt or save myself. Could there be more training? Sure. However, how do you train someone to not rely on their instincts or their core value system? I don’t think there is a right answer, but I’ll tell you this. I want to see my brother come home and I don’t care how nice their funerals are, I’m not trying to go to one.”
The room was filled with a quiet and almost eerie silence. I couldn’t tell if it was Phil’s personal encounter or the tears rolling down his face as he packed up his bag and left the class.
Hillman let the silence continue for a while, then he said, “I bring this up because we all have our own personal experiences with the boys in the blue,” he made the quote signals. “However, what most of us don’t have is the experience on the other side. As a former police officer, yes and criminal justice major, I thought I saw it all. The good, bad and ugly. However, as a 6’3 black man much doesn’t scare me, besides walking into an uncertain situation and not knowing what I’m about to face. What Phil said,” he pointed to the door. “I’d have to concur. Some of you, if you even admitted it, are scared to walk in certain parts of the neighborhood and know Boo Boo is a menace to society. However, when you call the police, and we put Boo Boo down, it’s a travesty. Don’t get me wrong. Shit happens, mistakes happen, and people’s biases come out in these tense situations. I’ve worked with racist cops. Plenty of them. However, I’ve worked with some of the best cops. The very white ones that have given Boo Boo chances, over and over again. All of that being said, some of the recent happenings have been more than a tragedy and I have walked and stood in those protest lines because some of these were senseless deaths. There was no reason and people should be held accounted for that. The police are here to serve and protect, but when they become the very predators that we need protection from, something needs to be done about that. We, as a society, are in trouble.” He sighed. “That’s my peace. Now on to the next subject. Pull out your notes pads and copy what’s on the board.”
Intense was the most accurate word for the day. I was sure there were more opinions as I would have definitely agreed with Kat. They’re a gang, but I’d seen them perform acts of kindness. Even if it was giving me a handkerchief to wipe my tears or apologize for another one of their brothers poor delivery of a crime. I had seen more, but I’d rather not think about them. No matter what the conclusion was in this class, the reality in the hood was cops were not your friends.
D’asia
“Zee, what do you want for breakfast?” I yelled in the general direction of his room.
“Nothing, uh. I got to get to school early.”
“Oh, okay.”
He came running out of his room with a full backpack. He never was up and dressed this early. The only way to get him up was by frying bacon, which was sizzling on the stove.
“Zee, what’s up? You’re never up this early.”
“Nothing, just need to get to school early. They have breakfast there.” His lanky legs started towards the door.
“You forgetting something?” I asked.
He sighed. “Sis, I’m fourteen years old. That’s so old.”
“And I care because.”
He walked to me, gave me a hug. “Love you,” I whispered.
“Love you too.”
He almost ran out of there, causing the table to wobble. I heard the lock click behind him and continued to fry the bacon and stir the oatmeal that I had to eat alone.
This was Zee’s first year in high school and his grades averaged to a C, but he was smart, so he could definitely be an A student. He was getting bigger, so we needed to go shopping for clothes. I could not afford the most expensive clothes that he wanted because we were beyond a tight budget. Welfare only paid so much, babysitting was not a lot, and the rest of my time was at school. Causing my means of making money to be limited. I only wanted Zee to focus on school, but we had started the application to apply for Summer Youth so he could work and get a job. However, in order to maintain our housing, we could not bring in more than a certain amount of money.
The apartment had originally belonged to our mom, but as of five years ago, her name was taken off the lease. She was robbing us blind, staying out all night and bringing her crackhead friends over. I was still in high school, but my counselor, at the time, had told me what to do. Since I was of age, I could take custody of Zee. A caseworker would come and check in on us and we had wrap-around services that provided us with different resources that helped us to manage this new found freedom. Mom was taken off of the lease and that was a huge drama in itself. She even had neighbors trying to get us to let her in the house.
The woman had stolen everything. My clothes, towels, my clip-on ponytails, and even my comforter. Anything of Zee’s was already gone. The last straw was when she had her ‘friend’ over who thought I was fair game to supply Mom’s habit. After I beat him with the old-fashion skillet and kicked them both out, I realized I had to make some changes.
She had not shown her face in a couple of years, but people would tell me they saw her around. I missed my mother, but that woman was not my Mom. She was somebody else and was not welcome in our lives. Zee understood that, but not at the extent that he needed. That concerned me.
Around noon, I received an automated message from Zee’s school, stating that he did not come.
This was weird because he carried his tail out of here early this morning. I knew something was off. This was not like him and I did not need any drama. I went outside, walked around the neighborhood and asked different ones if they had seen Zee. Nobody had seen him. He did not have a phone, so I went to one of his bes
t friend’s house. They were actually family friends.
“Hey, Mrs. Henry, have you seen Zee,” I asked.
She looked like she just woke up. Her eyes were low and she was in a robe.
“Naw, baby, but I just got a call that Reggie wasn’t in school today.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“What! That boy ain’t go to school?” A male’s voiced boomed in the background.
“Bae, I got it. It’s D’asia looking for Zee.” Mrs. Henry tried to sooth her husband.
Mr. Henry was known for his temper and this got him locked up a few times. He did not beat his wife, but the little punks in the neighborhood. He did not play that shit with them. Then they’d get their fathers, uncles or whoever, but Mr. Henry used to box professionally. One-hit wonder was his nickname. One good hit and your ass would be out.
Mr. Henry came to the door in nothing but running shorts. So, she wasn’t just sleepy. She just got some. Made sense. Mrs. Henry was in her early forties, very stylish and drove a BMW. She was one of the beauties the older men used to talk about. However, apparently, she always belonged to Mr. Henry and he never messed around. They would say, he knew what he had. One of the few couples whose drama, if they had any, was not known around town. Their son, like Zee, did not get into trouble.
Mrs. Henry turned around to look at her husband, whose eyes were sharp and they were piercing through me.
“Zee didn’t show up at school?” he asked.
“No,” I replied.
“That means, Reggie didn’t either.” He tapped his wife on the butt, then said, “Get some clothes on so we can go find their asses.”
“Okay,” she said and left.
“Come on in.” He opened the door.
When his wife was gone, he said in lower tones, “the word is, a few gangs are recruiting. I already made it clear that Reggie would have no part. However, that don’t mean Reggie won’t adhere to that. I said the same went for Zee. However, I can’t help if they go looking for that shit. You know what I’m saying?”