One night I woke up to screams. Screams aren’t that unusual in New York- depending on the thickness of your windows, the streets can be in your bedroom. I wasn’t too concerned at first. But then, they didn’t stop. They kept happening, louder and more persistent. I stood on the blue nightstand in my little bedroom and I peered outside. I was lucky to live in a place surrounded by trees. I was lucky I got home early that night.
Through the leaves I could just make him out. Bare chested, hunched, pacing. He screamed again, then a loud metal clang, and I could see a lightpost shaking violently.
Pace, pace, pace. Scream. Clang.
I had never heard so much pain in a voice, so much rage. I didn’t know the human body could exude such force without ripping itself apart into a thousand pieces and then suddenly I did know.
I thought about my body, one that usually felt so strong, and how small and weak it seemed compared to such erratic, toxic power. I thought about the police. And the man’s dark skin. I thought about what chance this man had of surviving the police.
I had knocked over a bottle of fragrance as I climbed onto my nightstand, and I went down to clean it up, mostly just to be doing something, mostly so I wasn’t just standing there anymore.
Then, flashing lights. Someone had called.
My heart boomed in my throat. I closed my eyes.
“Please don’t shoot him. Please don’t shoot him.”
More screams.
Loud commands.
Loud commands.
Loud commands.
Screams.
Silence.
….
The fragrance dripped brown down my wall and clung to my hands. I could still smell it on my fingers when I woke hours later.
