Just A Lil Bit More ...

When I turned to tell the kid he should go somewhere safe he’d already vanished like a guardian visitation. I couldn’t stay there much longer because someone might come out and become an eyewitness. I tucked the gun in my pocket, threw my terror filled body back outside, ran through backyards until I figured my way to the railroad tracks and hoped instincts would lead me to South Norwalk train station. They hit Bones four times. Twice in the ass, once in the back and once in the testicle not a good situation but sometimes karma strikes back as quick as a bitch. Bones told the cops some guys tried to stick him for his jewels, that I was an eyewitness to his attempted random victimization and where they could find me. His cooperative nature left me just enough time to stash the gun and change my clothes. The beast nonchalantly stomped their way up the porch with super bright flashlights and confirmed the decision to go home as a bad one. They asked so many questions. I didn’t know what to say and wasn’t too sure what really happened. I honestly had no idea where those guys came from or why they rolled us.

I’d only been inside the Norwalk Police Station once before with my after-school program. The interrogation room was much brighter than I imagined it would be. On TV they’re always darker and greener. The cops knew from jump I was in way over my head. They each spoke in a smooth and assured tone about how it would’ve been shameful for my father to lose his oldest son on some back street after all the good he’d done in the community. When they were done the taller of the two placed his hand on my shoulder, reminded me again to do the right thing and slid a pad in front of me for my written version of the night’s events. But I was way too scared to write anything and simply repeated I had no idea what happened nor did I know any of the people involved and basically was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A huge rookie mistake, which left me open to gross exaggeration when they questioned Bones again. For the rest of my traumatized night they showed me pictures of places I’d been, people I had hung out with and smugly reminded me whomever threw shots might try again. It felt like they questioned me for six hours before they politely drove me back to my block in the front seat and placed a down payment on my casket.