I Am Not My Skin [ UNDER EDITING ]

Chapter 1:

I curl myself into a ball as I sat near my window looking out, and from there I can see how a policeman is dragging my neighbor in handcuffs.

"I didn't do it. I didn't do it." He pleaded.

I couldn't help. There was nothing I could do. I just sat and watch how everything unfold from my bedroom window.

The officer yanked his arm and shoved him into the van, pressing his face against the window and holding him down. "My mama. Don't hurt my mama." That was all he kept repeating.

Mrs. Brown was an elderly woman. She was one of those women who wouldn't dare to hurt a fly, she was kind and gentle and always wore a smile on her face that made one feel as though one was loved.

How will she handle all of this? I shudder to think of what she must be going through right now.

I tug the blanket closer to my chest, tightened my fingers around the mug, and swung my face away with swollen and puffy eyes.

I couldn't take his cries any longer. Jamal wasn't a troublesome child, he was raised to know better. He always lend a hand to everyone around in the neighborhood, he was what my mother would say, “a gentle soul.”

I had an aching need to find out why they were doing this to him. I turn to face them and immediately the officer who had him in cuffs looked around suspiciously. He gazed up at my window. I will never forget the frigidness in his eyes. I froze.

He swung away and tapped on the rooftop of the van. Jamal's cries grew the second I looked away.

"I'm sorry. Stop, please, you're going to kill me. I didn't do it, officer."

I couldn't take it anymore. The senseless beating and the name-calling were too much to bear, hearing him scream broke something inside of me. It felt like a soul-crushing twinge stabbing right through my spine.

I stood from the chair and misplace the cup that was meant to sit perfectly on my nightstand, seeing how it fell on the floor and spilled everywhere. Coffee spills and broken glass were the least on my mind.

I caught the handle and ran downstairs. "You're going to kill him, officer. Please let him go."

He looked disdainfully at me. "Well looky here, your Negro friend here is involved in an ongoing robbery and rape case," he quickly gestured toward the back of the van where Jamal was, his eyes filled with repellent. "Which is to be expected. Oh, you're a nurse?" He snickered. "I'm surprised they even let black women take care of us. Who's dick did you have to suck to get to where you are?"

My fury grew. I wanted to smack him across the face as hard as I possibly could. But where would that lead to? Jamal paying for it, of course.

I held back, kept my composure, and didn't allow my anger to get the best of me. I inhaled deeply before parting my lips again. "He has a sick grandmother officer, if you take him away now who will take care of her? Besides Jamal was here the entire week. He would never do such a thing, he's a good boy officer."

All it did was make him laugh even more. Was I begging for an innocent life amusing?

I gasped when I saw a glimpse of Jamal's face in the back seat. My heart sunk to my stomach. I cared deeply for him because I watched him grow up in front of my eyes. He eats at my house, watches television, and even courts, my little sister, around the neighborhood. And yet there was never an incident where he forced himself on her or any other young lady. He was always the perfect gentleman.

With everything in me, I held back a lot.

"It's rather really hard for you to accept the fact that a black woman can take charge and grow beyond what you want and make us out to be. Yes, I am a nurse and I love my profession. I treat every person who walks through those hospital doors with the same respect, I wish I could say the same for others, and one more thing officer..."

A malicious grin spreads over his lips. "How much do you charge for an hour?"

"I will fight twice as hard to get Jamal out of that filthy place. You won't enslave him with your so-called mediocre rights and this crooked justice system of yours. You're afraid, that much I can see in your eyes. You may hold your little guns, shoot at us, and play God. But remember, we hold the future and with each passing day we rise. You despise that, don't you?"

I just couldn't hold it anymore. I turned my anger into the only thing I knew how and that was through my words. My mother loved poetry, she had the entire Maya Angelou collection in her little safe - her wardrobe.

It's sad to see how violence is normalized. Our so-called protectors' hands were stained with the blood of the innocent.

"You're such a stupid bitch!" He sneered.

I struck a nerve.

The officer lift his hand close to my face, but I didn't flinch. Although, I did fear what he might do to me next. I was female alone with two policemen. I was too afraid they'd take their anger out on Jamal and hurt him for all I said.

"Luckily you're pretty," he said, the back of his hand slowly tracing down my cheek. "You know if it wasn't for that hair and color of yours you'd make a beautiful white woman. You know, the ones with the thin silky hair." I held my breath the second his face got close, he was inhaling my hair and all I did was stand there. Why did I not push him away? Kick him or scream into his face? Oh, I couldn't be knowing what was at stake. "Have you ever thought of straightening out your hair or bleaching your skin? Who knows, maybe you'll look decent and as a woman should! But then again, your father wanted some black pussy and had to dip his foot into the forbidden fruit that was the Negro of a person your mother was. It's such a shame you don't even know where you belong because we for sure don't want your mixed ass."

He pushed me aside and I nearly trip as I stumbled backward. Those words cut deeper than any knife ever could. Their laughter turned to mockery and I felt it. I felt it deep in my soul.

I watch them quietly step into the van and drove off. "Take care of my mama Drew," Jamal said through the open window. The officer that sat next to him bashed his head against the side of the window.

Further, silence.

I ran after the van and saw his bloodied face as he turn to face me, he looked so hopeless and terrified. "I'll get you out of there Jamal. I promise."

Ironic, isn't it? A wrongful arrest is made yet again, and an innocent person will pay for a crime he didn't commit. Is this the future we see for ourselves? Where our children will be trapped, where people will make them feel less of a person and we all are forced to sit back and pretend as though we aren't at war as the human race? That's a very dangerous mindset.

In some way, we're all caged and thrown to the wild animals to feast on.