A Calculated Risk

It was working as planned. I cruised by his usual spot at exactly the speed limit. I made sure the new, large BLM sticker was displayed prominently on the rear window. The red-blue lights screamed to get my attention. I was ready and pulled into the Winn Dixie parking lot. I drove the car slowly and parked neatly, exactly in the middle of the white line markers. I pulled forward to within a couple of inches of the concrete block at the front of the parking space. 

My mind took in everything around me to store in my permanent memory file. The shopping cart sat in the empty spot to my right. The shopping flyer flapped gently in the breeze. An older couple was exiting the market heading for their car parked in the handicapped spot.  It was a red sedan- Chevy it appeared. The rust spots on the fender suggested this would be their last car. Another couple was right behind them. Their cart was nearly full. I suspected they had three children, probably in school since it was 10:12 AM. Maybe one of them had a night job and the other a part time job in the afternoon. They stared over in my direction as they spotted the patrol car pulling up right behind me. 

Time seemed to crawl in these moments. I recall the angry grimace, the snarl as I was grabbed by the collar and dragged to the ground. There were the usual “N” bombs and the threats to beat the shit out of me. I was well known for my work protesting police violence. My car’s frame above the door seemed warm to my face, heated by the sun on this late summer day. The forearm crushed my head as I felt the first blow to my lower back just above my right hip. I gasped for breath as I pleaded “don’t kill me, I don’t have a weapon”. His laughter seemed out of place. I mumbled “What did I do, officer” as I lay sprawled out on the pavement, arms to my side in a crucifixion pose. He responded with more racist attacks. 

He pulled at my pants and placed something in my back pocket. I had worked this scenario out in my mind. This was his MO. He would beat me now and use the weapon he planted as his excuse. As he flipped me around to face him I observed his right arm cocked and ready to rearrange my face. I blurted out, “Look up … and smile!”. He froze and had a puzzled look. But he obeyed and glanced upward. 

Hoovering about 30 feet away a drone sat motionless in space perhaps 6 feet off the ground. It had a steady gaze, right into his soul. “You’re going viral, this is live, seen probably by thousands and soon by millions”. The officer suddenly rose. He withdrew his pistol. He thought about shooting down the drone- now his mortal enemy, but something told him to refrain after he had it in his sights. “The call went in a couple minutes ago …  assault at Winn Dixie” I managed to speak in a garbled voice. Off in the distance the sirens blared, getting quickly louder. 

As I was placed on the ambulance stretcher my colleagues came over from their car in the corner of the lot. They assured me that “We got it all” including the audio from the wire I was wearing. It all went viral. 

About three months later, I exited my car and walked over to the entrance to McDonalds. I said hello to the officer. He was white, clean cut- about 32 I would say.  Beside him was a young black woman, probably 35 or so. She introduced herself and said she lived in an apartment nearby. She had three children- ages 6, 8 and 11. I inquired about the rest of the group. Others would be joining us shortly- a middle school teacher, a college professor in the criminal justice department of the local community college, a bus driver, a roofer, a hairdresser, the WinnDixie manager, a spouse of a newly appointed police officer, a school nurse and a bank manager. We would meet first informally to get to know one another before we begin meeting formally as the new Police Relations Board.

It was an excellent first step on a long, rough road ahead. It was time to take a calculated risk.