Incarcerated

Today I found myself in the back of a police cruiser, handcuffed and stained with someone else’s blood. It wasn’t my fault, I kept telling myself, It isn’t my fault. They took me to a jail cell and unlocked the handcuffs. They threw me in and slammed the door. It locked. There was a black man in the cell with me. I was nervous. I was scared because all of this was so surreal. It had just happened so fast. I had no time to think, no time to react appropriately to the situation. Before I could even say a word they had me pinned to the ground, my fragile teeth scraped the concrete and my hands were locked behind my back.

I only had on a t-shirt and I was freezing. My exhaled breath was visibly emitted into small clouds that floated away and dissolved under its own pressure. My legs were shaking, every muscle was jumping around, vibrating like the phone that was no longer in my pocket. My body danced to try to neutralize my cold state, and the black man eyed me. His skin was dark, his hair was graying, and his eyes were yellow. A yellowed scapula and a black iris. The curls on his head were silver, like cobweb. I imagined what it would feel like if I touched it. Then he spoke.

“Are you cold, son?” His voice was aged; I can imagine a cigarette in his mouth.

“No.” I was convulsing under my skin.

“Here,” the old black man was taking off his matted jacket. It was dirty and had holes in it. I wasn’t going to accept it but he stood up and handed it to me. “Put it on.”

I put it on. It was definitely warm. Warmth lingered in the sleeves and I felt my goose-bumps recede. It smelled like cigarette smoke, it smelled like metal and lighter fluid.

He sat back down in his spot on the bench across from me.

“Thank you,”

He waved a hand. “Don’t, it’s alright, son.”

I stopped shivering. The black man continued to eye me with his yellow eyes. He smiled and what remained of his teeth was gold.

“Did you kill somebody?” he said gently.

“What? How did you know?”

He pointed to my chest. I looked down at the red stains on my t shirt.

“It was self-defense.” He said it without question.

“How did you know?”

He leaned forward and looked at the ground and said, “Well, a young white boy in this town, covered in blood, finds himself in jail. It’s obvious what happened.”

“I--"”

“Was it a black boy?”

“Yes.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He tried to rob me.”

“Did he have a gun?”

“Yes, but it turns out it wasn’t loaded.”

“Oh.”

“I had a big pocket knife. I took it out of my pocket when he had me on the ground and was beating in my face. I stuck it in his neck.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“He’s dead?”

“I think so.”

“Well,”

He was quiet for a while and then the cops opened the cell and took me out. I offered the jacket back to the old black man but he said to keep it. I told him thanks. The cops escorted me to another room and shut the door. They told me to take a seat and I did. The room had no windows. There was only a desk and two chairs. One cop sat down and the other one left. He sighed and opened a folder and wrote something for about a minute and then looked at me.

“Are you cold?”

“I was.”

“We can get you a jacket if you’re cold, you don’t have to wear that.”

“I know.”

The cop looked in the folder and flipped a page. He looked back at me.

“David Callahan, 12552 Road 11. Age…19, is that right?”

“Yes.”

He flipped another paper and mumbled to himself. After scanning the folder he shut it and looked me in the eyes.

“David, I just want to let you know that you aren’t in any trouble. I apologize for the unnecessary force that was exerted upon you during your arrest. We have an eye witness that confirms your self-defense. However, you will have to go to court to state your innocence. I’m highly sure that you won’t be found guilty.”

“You cracked my tooth.”

“What?”

“When you or someone else tackled me and handcuffed me, you shoved my face into the concrete and cracked my two front teeth.”

“I apologize for that, David.”

“See?” I smiled at the cop and pointed at the front of my teeth. “See?”

“Yes, I see, and I do apologize for that.”

“Was that really necessary,” I looked at his name plate pinned to his shirt, “Officer Roberts? Was that necessary to tackle some innocent white kid, and crack his teeth?”

“It was necessary during the time"”

“No. No it wasn’t.”

Officer Roberts was quiet.

“I can press charges against you, Officer Roberts, for an unlawful, violent arrest.”

“Now, David, listen to me, I’m on your side here.”

“No, you listen to me. I want out of here. Right now. I don’t want to go to court to state my innocence. I already am innocent. You know it and I know it.”

“David, you killed a twenty five year old black kid. You’re not just going to walk away from this without having to be tried.”

“WHY THE F**K NOT?”

“David, please, there is no need to raise your voice.”

“Do you see this?” I pointed to my beat up face, blacked eyes and bleeding nose, cracked lips and teeth, and blossoming bruises on both cheeks. “Who’s to say that you didn’t do this during my arrest?”

Officer Roberts sighed and stood up. He leaned on the table and put is face close to mine.

“Now, I can tell that you are a good kid. There is nothing on your record except for a little cannabis possession.”

I squinted my blacked eyes at him. “What are you getting at?”

“What if I gave you some cannabis?”

“What?”

“I can tell you’re a pot head. You remind me of me when I was your age.”

“You have marijuana?”

“No, but there is a lot in the evidence room.” He revealed a key ring with a couple dozen rings attached. “How about it? I give you some weed, and you keep quiet about the unlawful arrest.”

“I thought about it and I say okay.”

“Okay? Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, excellent. I’m trying to get promoted and if they hear about me cracking some white kid’s teeth I will probably go back to being a goddam meter maid.”

“A what?”

“A meter maid. A parking enforcement officer. I wrote up tickets for cars that--"”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, okay, okay. I know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I guess you’re free to go.”

“What about my cannabis?”

“Right, stay here.”

Officer Roberts left the room and returned with a back pack about seven minutes later. He handed me the bag and I opened it and the powerful, herbal odor of marijuana consumed me.

“What are you going to do about the black guy?”

“Oh it turns out you didn’t kill him. I just walked past my partner out there and he said the kids still alive.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So I guess you won’t need to go to court.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward silence. Then I said,

“Wanna go smoke some of this?”

“F**k yeah let’s get out of here.”

We left the room. We walked past the cell with the old black guy and I gave him the peace sign.

 

Reviews

[Naraly Godinez]

Haha I agree with Zack ... I swear I already had so many different endings to this story its almost like riding up the hill to a rollercoaster only to find it was a baby dip .. Lol at least you have no chance of dying .. Either way loved the character in the cell you know the one with the cob web hair could definetly see him in another story
Good one really you had me fooled =)

[ZackOfBridge]

HAHAHA! Oh gosh, that ending made the story. The least you could do for that old black man is write an alternate ending where he gets to puff on that sweet chronic