it happened again last night.
the other night, i was tired, really tired, driving home after stopping off at the store on the way home and i got followed by a cop. all the way from west end through charlotte and all the way to within a block of the theater where i work.
i was pissed.
so last night, when i was leaving our kid's program and another at Fisk, i saw 3 cop cars that had pulled over some young brothers. they had them sitting on the sidewalk as 4 of them searched the trunk. i watched the scenario from a parking lot, saw them find nothing, then saw them watch the car drive off. the young bros were pissed, but they couldn't say anything.
i drove by the scenario and headed toward the house. two blocks later, i saw one of the cops in my rear view. i flashed back to the other night, but stayed calm. maybe it was just a quota thing. didn't want to get upset again, unnecessarily so. so i kept the limit right, and he drove around and looked at me. i didn't even glance. he passed me and then started to slow down. i turned on the street that leads to the theater.
i saw his brake lights.
damn it. not AGAIN?!
so i drove, as planned, to the theater to put up the parking guards in the driveways (keeps people from using the circular drive as a turnaround). i drove past a few cats doing corner deals, some women who were actively seeking customers for the use of their worn out bodies, and a couple of late night loud mouths. our block's pretty good, but sometimes the area is challenging at the late hour. i spoke to the neighbors at the housing unit across the street and began to leave. as i was about to pull out into the street, i noticed a car whip up at the stop sign at the corner.
5-0.
i didn't pull out. i waited. so did he. it was THAT cop. he'd been rushing through the back roads looking for me.
i turned my car around. he pulled out and zipped past the theater and turned down the side street. i saw him turning around.
that was all i could take.
being reminded, as all young black boys are, that even though police are charged to "protect and serve," you must always be mindful that you have to bow and scrape in some sense to avoid confrontations. as a teen, you learn to show police always that you are not a threat, that you're not going to talk back or be assertive. it's a manhood-breaking societal exercise for sure. i recalled, having attended school with several affluent white kids, how doting the police could be when a drunken underage white kid cursed them out, spitting at them at times, only to receive a ride home to their parent's home; and i recalled how the brothas among us would look at each other with wide eyes, secretly communicating the understanding that there may never be a time in our lives when we would receive such treatment.
those memories of helplessness pissed me off even more. no, Black men don't in general walk around in a constant state of pisstification--contrary to popular opinion--but i will say that there are constantly obstacles around you that threaten to pour piss in your spirit on any given day. but you think of your kids, and your family, and all the people who could use another role model of normalcy to counter the stereotypes. and you realize you are, once again, at the mercy of the boys in blue, at quota time, in the hood. not much you can do.
unless you decide to flip the script.
quickly, i pulled around the back drive of the theater, drove into the circular drive and backed the end of the car into the front steps of the theater. i exited the car and walked around to the front of it, flipping on the voice recorder on my iphone--just in case i got accused of being uppity and gotten mercilessly dragged around just for a life lesson (as i had been once at 18 years old in downtown Nashville), i'd have at least an audio record. i had just crossed my arms and leaned back onto the grill of my car when he swooped over to the sidewalk in front of me. he was white (not that it mattered to me at this point), and his hair was gone, skinned to the head. he slowly popped on a blinding spotlight and aimed it, in a familial sense, dead into my face.
i didn't even blink.
"What's going on?" patronizing.
"waiting for you." calmness.
"Waiting for me?" surprise.
"yes, officer. i'm waiting for you." affirmation
"I don't understand. why you waiting for me?" confusion.
i started to walk toward him, but then, quickly remembering my inner notes from the unpublished Black Man's Survival Manual, particularly the chapter "Avoiding Justifiable Homicide," i put my hands up and backed away.
the chatter across the street subsided.
i went on to ask him if he was patrolling in his sector. he wasn't, but told me that he generally just covers most of the city. i then went on to explain how the last few nights, i've been followed, some of my artist friends have been followed, and that we were all law abiding citizens, but that it was good to know the police were on duty. i then pointed out that, as he was following me, he drove through several stretches of terrain where illegality rules in various forms.
he turned off the spotlight.
i asked his name. he told me. i introduced myself and pointed back at the lit letters on the Amun Ra Theatre Playhouse, my tall form framed squarely in front of the donated stone facade. i proceeded to tell him that i helped a lot of people build this shining beacon, and i--and all those hardworking souls--would appreciate the police partnering up with us to keep the amazing transformation we have sparked going in the right direction. i told him we work with children, and we do plays, and we keep kids from getting into the wrong lifestyle.
"yes, i noticed the building. it's really a great addition to the neighborhood." respectful tone.
i pointed to the corners where the bad stuff could happen. his response? "yeah, i know. i know. everyone in the neighborhood knows me. i'm around a lot."
oh, so let me get this right: you KNOW where the bad things are happening; you KNOW the people doing them, but you're following ME? (of course, THAT dialogue was in my mind).
i ended the conversation by telling him we want the police to come around. we want them to be a part of the good things. we want them to indeed, protect and serve.
he assured me that they would and wished me a good night.
my neighbors were stunned. silent. i don't know if they'd ever seen anything like that before. i know i hadn't. and i know that there was, still, a fifty-fifty chance that it could've gone the other way. but it didn't. i thank God for that.
maybe i'll get some help now, i thought, as i drove home. or maybe, i'll just get harassed more. only time will tell. either way, i felt some peace.
and i was feeling now, until 30 seconds ago. as i was typing this on my front porch, a little black lady slowed at my stopsign and pulled off. seconds later, a cop rounded the corner and put on the blue lights. his car had the number 1619 on it.
how ironic, huh?
and since i've typed these last 2 paragraphs, two more cars have pulled over and put on the blue lights. that's 3 cars to one little lady. i'm gonna grab my video camera, iphone, and walk down the block.
DAMN. Make that FOUR CARS now...gotta go...
