CHAPTER 7
1412 Words
CHAPTER 7
Kennedy dropped Reuben off near his side of campus after making plans to meet the next morning for a late breakfast. Her legs were heavy as she trudged from the parking lot to her dorm. She wondered why some people tried to cheer up their friends by reminding them of how much worse things could be. Of course things could be worse. She could be in a holding cell while cops ran tests on her roommate’s bag of loose-leaf tea. She could be standing outside a morgue waiting to identify Reuben’s body. She could be bleeding to death in the back of some deserted alley where the policeman dragged her and raped her. Maybe he didn’t work for the police department at all. Maybe he stole a car and a cop uniform and drove around town looking for prey.
Of course things could be worse. But how was that supposed to make her feel better?
The door to her room was slightly ajar as she made her way down the hall. She swung it open, ready to let her brain drop into the sweet bliss of dreamless sleep. Sinking down on her bed, she kicked off her shoes. Willow was staring at her computer screen, probably playing one of those shooter video games she liked so much. For being a pacifist, she really enjoyed virtual violence. Kennedy wasn’t even sure her roommate noticed her walk in.
“Thanks for letting me use your car.” She took the keys out of her pocket and tossed them on Willow’s desk.
She didn’t look up.
“What are you doing?” Kennedy asked.
“Oh, nothing much. Just watching this little video of you beating up a cop.”
Kennedy sprang out of bed. Hovered behind Willow’s shoulder to stare at the monitor. “What are you talking about?”
“I got a visit from the police department. They asked what I knew about this video a commuter took of some altercation between a cop, a black man, and white woman. I told them I had no clue what they were talking about, so they said they identified my car by the plates. The same car you and your little platonic boyfriend took out tonight. How was the musical, by the way? Was it good?”
“We didn’t see it.” As much as she wanted to, Kennedy couldn’t pry her eyes away from the screen. The video was running on some kind of loop. It started when the policeman kicked Reuben and ended with Kennedy jumping on his back.
“Interesting stuff, isn’t it?” Willow c****d her head to the side and then punched her monitor off. “I already made you a cup of tea. You gonna tell me what happened?”
Kennedy slunk down on her roommate’s jumbo beanbag. Willow swiveled her chair around to face her and passed her an oversized mug.
“We got pulled over on the way to the show.” As Kennedy filled in the details, she wondered how many more times she’d have to recount this story before she could move on. Somewhere in the back of her mind was the nagging suspicion that normal pre-med students didn’t go through this sort of stuff. Normal pre-med students didn’t get harassed by police officers on the side of the road.
Willow was silent while Kennedy talked. As soon as she finished, Kennedy expected her to go on some tirade about police brutality and black oppression and the failed justice system in the United States. Instead, she reached over and squeezed Kennedy’s hand. “I’m really sorry you had to go through all that. It must have been awful.”
Kennedy sniffed into her mug. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve got the name of the policeman who stopped by. He was kind of hot, actually, if you’re into the trim, athletic, middle-aged type.” She pulled a business card out of her pocket. “Here’s his information. I was going to invite him to stay and wait for you, but I wanted to get the juicy details first before I passed on his message.”
Kennedy stared at the name on the card. Great. Another cop she’d never heard of. Another officer who might be just as bad as Bow Legs, perhaps worse.
“I didn’t give him your name or anything, by the way.” Willow ran her fingers through her hair. She had cut it short over Christmas break and dyed it just a few weeks ago, so now it was brunette with purple tips. When she was going out, she wore it spiked and gelled, but tonight it hung loose, framing her face like a heart. “I mean, it’s none of my business why a cop was giving you a piggyback ride, but I figured if you didn’t want to be named, I wasn’t going to narc on you. I just told him I’ve got several friends I let borrow my car, and I wasn’t sure whose turn it was to take it out tonight.”
“Thanks,” Kennedy muttered. Her mind was reeling. So someone had a video. It was short, but the cop’s face was clear. Would that be enough evidence to convict him?
Willow pouted her lips. “So, what are you gonna do? You gonna call up Mr. Mid-Life Crisis and cry the whole story into his hard, chiseled shoulder?”
Kennedy stared at her lap. “Reuben doesn’t want me to make a big deal out of it. I think he just wants to pretend it never happened.”
Willow gestured to her monitor. “It’s already on Channel 2. White cop and black kid? It’s not the kind of story that goes away.”
The more they talked, the more Kennedy began to understand Reuben’s line of reasoning. Everyone, even Willow, was doing the same thing. Turning it into another instance of white versus black. What about Kennedy? What about all the cop’s chauvinist remarks? His roaming hands? Was it ok to be a sexist pervert as long as you were abusing women of your own race? She was sick of it all. Maybe Reuben had the right idea. Shut the door and pray it’d all disappear.
“I don’t know,” Kennedy sighed. She knew what Willow and all the other students in Professor Hill’s class would do. March their story in front of every reporter, every news outlet available. Keep shouting until someone listened. Until someone demanded the Boston Police Department make the changes that needed to be made. Until they weeded out Officer Bow Legs and any other corrupt cronies like him.
Kennedy understood the thirst for justice. But there was also a need for healing. For privacy. Every time she watched the four-second video on Willow’s computer screen, she relived that humiliating attack all over again. Did she have the fortitude to let journalists and politicians and civil rights activists prod through her wounds before the blood even had time to coagulate?
Willow propped her feet up on her bed. “Well, it’s not gonna take the journalists too long to identify you from that video. And you better be ready, because these police brutality cases are all the same. It’s a media frenzy where everyone sees who can be first to crucify the victim. Like that black kid the cop shot in the back. Died instantly. And guess what? While the black folks held vigil for justice, the white police force and their media buddies were digging up all the dirt they could find to prove the boy had it coming. Even though he was unarmed. Even though several witnesses claimed he wasn’t resisting arrest. But as soon as the media comes out to show this boy was a ‘troubled youth,’ everyone forgets about justice and just assumes a black kid with a few petty crimes in his record deserves to be executed point-blank. That’s America for you. Land of the stinking free.”
Somewhere in the pit of her gut, Kennedy wondered if her roommate might be right. Would the media try to attack Reuben? Is that why he wanted to remain so secretive? Is that why he begged her to keep the story from the police and the press? He was such a mature, responsible young man. Was it possible he had anything to hide? Or was growing up in Kenya with its corrupt police system enough to make him paranoid of anyone in a uniform?
“You want some more tea?” Willow held up her electric kettle.
“No, thanks.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Right now, I just want to rest.”
Willow gave an encouraging half-smile. “I don’t blame you. Just let me know if you need anything, ok?”
How about a time machine like what the H. G. Wells inventor made? If she could only start today over. Take the T to the Opera House instead of borrowing Willow’s car. Or drive another route, where her path would have never crossed Bow Legs to begin with.
She slipped into bed, clothes and all, and pulled the covers over her head. Things could have turned out worse, she reminded herself. But then again, they could have turned out so much better.
- Writer
