This Is My America(81)

Jamal unwraps Corinne’s arms from gripping him and hands her to Mama.

“So, this how you want it to go down?”

“You gotta go in,” Beverly says.

“Or what? You gonna shoot me? Drag me? I can’t believe you’d be the one to do that, too.”

In the distance is the faint sound of police cars. They reach closer, overwhelming, pulsing loud and echoing across the fields. I can feel Jamal panicking inside.

Because I’m panicking, too.





IT GETS WORSE


Beverly steps outside to talk to the officers. When she comes back, her face looks drained. Officer Clyde follows her, stepping cautiously inside our home. He has his hand by his gun. Beverly motions for him to ease up, and he relaxes his hand.

“Sheriff Brighton’s here now, Jamal,” Beverly says. “Let’s bring you in before things get complicated.”

“I’m not going in,” Jamal says.

“I’ll be representing Jamal.” Steve cuts between Jamal and Officer Clyde. “Give me and my client a minute.”

Quincy’s body shakes next to mine. I touch his arm and he’s ice-cold. I see him reliving the trauma he went through as a child. I clutch his hand, but it’s like I’m not here.

“He’s going to need to make a decision,” Officer Clyde says. “Sheriff’s not going to let him get away again.”



“We have to go. The sooner we can get you in the car, Jamal, the better,” Beverly says.

Steve goes to Jamal. “Come on, trust me, let’s go together. I’m your legal representation getting out of here.”

Jamal nods, but his eyes are wide, his mouth a thin line. He’s scared to death. Just like me.

Sheriff Brighton approaches the house, his eyes steady on Jamal when he sees him. My stomach sinks because I don’t know what this means for Jamal. Guilt that I made Jamal come home to talk to Steve takes over.

“We got things under control, Sheriff,” Beverly says.

“Is that true?” Sheriff Brighton looks to Officer Clyde.

“We’ll be out shortly,” Officer Clyde says.

Steve whispers to Beverly.

“He’d like his interview to happen here,” Beverly says.

I look to Steve and hope this is possible.

“We don’t need to manage it that way.” Officer Clyde intercedes. “I’ll bring him in.”

“We need to get him on the record right away,” Beverly says.

“That’s what the station is for,” Sheriff Brighton says. “We’re following protocol on this. We can’t allow your family connection to rule how we do this.”

“Your son was at the scene of the crime,” Beverly says. “And there are claims your brother’s gun was the one we found. A gun that Angela was allegedly returning to your son that may have been used in the death of that girl at the march two months back.”



My chest swells at Beverly holding her ground. Sheriff Brighton takes a step back, his face contorted, puzzled. This is new information to him.

“Let’s do this right on both accounts so we won’t have issues charging,” Officer Clyde intervenes.

“I’ll secure the perimeter. We do this by the book.” Sheriff Brighton nods and folds his arms across his chest, eventually turning toward the police cars.

The officers spread around the house. No option for Jamal to run away now.

A white SUV pulls up to the field. The lighting is poor, but I can tell this is no cop car. My stomach twists as I wait to see who it is. The car slows when it reaches our driveway and stops behind the police cars. A man gets out; the flashing blue and red lights bounce off his pale skin.

Richard Brighton.

My throat catches, and Quincy locks eyes with me. I can see his body going weak. Like the lights are giving him flashbacks to the night he was shot. Sweat beads on his face, and his eyes look glassy. He’s going to pass out if more cops follow. He leans on me; I help him take a seat. My chest is tight and my head is spinning. Quincy has always looked out for us, and I don’t want him near any of this, but I have to focus on family first.

I go to Jamal.



“Jamal.” I point to Quincy, who’s struggling. “We know what happens next. We’ve lived through it. We don’t have options. The best way to de-escalate is to not put up a fight. They’re ready for battle out there. Don’t let their fear grow so all they see is war.”

I don’t know if that’s the right answer, but I also know I can’t control police responses. I can only follow what I’ve been preaching in Know Your Rights workshops.

Jamal’s biting his lip, trying to hold it together. I wrap my arms around him. “They gotta take you in. Walk out with Beverly and a lawyer—that’s the best we gonna get.”

Jamal holds on to me. His fingers dig into my shoulders. My throat aches. I got him back, and now I’m losing him. It hurts to be the one to convince Jamal to step out that door into a situation I know I can’t control.

Jamal hugs Mama, then lifts up Corinne and gives her a kiss. She clings to his neck, won’t let go. He has to pry her off, because he would never use her as a shield, as much as she’s trying to make that happen. She’s sobbing.