The Fire Next Time

  July 4, 2013 will be a day that I will never forget. Boredom was hitting me hard by the time it hit dawn, so I wanted something to challenge my excitement. My apartment building (which is where I presently live) was way to short to view fireworks from a wider angel. For about an hour I thought deep as to how I will would end this constant boredom. Finally, I decided to watch fireworks on the roof of the apartment building where I used to live (which is a 14 story building). Walking out the door I told my mother that I was going outside to see some fireworks.


  To my surprise (and probably many others) the elevators were clean as a daisy. Edenwald Houses just like any other inner-city project faculty lacks the penmanship of real maintenance of grooming. The everyday person living in the projects knows what I'm talking about. Almost everyday you have to walk up stairs with spit up walls and ride elevators with pissed up floors. Minus people drinking countless alcohol and smoking toxic amounts of weed things still didn't get loose if you know what I mean.

  As the elevator reached higher floors the louder the beep sounded. The louder the beep sounded the lower my stomach felt it would hit the floor. The more my stomach felt that it would hit the floor the more I ignored it. Through out my childhood my mother would warn me about that feeling I had in my stomach. Usually, I listened to it during times that trouble lurked. Walking up the staircase towards the entrance to the roof I would once again ignore my stomachs pit feeling.

  A Do Not Trespass sign was either not in sight or I had not paid it any mind. The exact moment I opened the door to the roof the term "busted" would best describe my state of existence. Staring right at me were two officers of color (one being Black and the other being Hispanic). In a brash tone the Hispanic officer said "Hey come here. What are you doing up here? To avoid any real conflict I step on the roof to confront the officers.

  Being targeted by the Hispanic officer the black officer was more calm and collected (standing firm at the same time). Coming up to me for some questions the black officer came towards in a straight-forward manner. A tone more respectful the black officer asked me what was I doing on the roof. Politely I told him that I was trying to see some fireworks. Verbally throwing darts and being dictative the Hispanic officer suggested that they send me to central bookings.

  The expressions on my face said it all. I was a young black man (18 years of age at the time) and had never been in trouble with the law before. Only one phrase comes to mind as I look back on this event, check mate. Putting handcuffs tightly on my wrists the officers escort me to their parking lot downstairs. While they put me in a patrol car the tormenting never stopped.

  Instead of checking me into the 47th Precinct (which is the closes in the area) I was sent to the PSA 8 Housing Bureau at the Throggs Neck Housing Development in the Bronx, NY 10465.

  Settling in a cell I remember sitting next to a guy that claimed to have twelve girlfriends. He also owned a business in auto mechanics. If I could remember the reason why he was sharing the cell with me was due to a altercation with one of those girlfriends. For obvious reasons I lost his business card.

  Once finding out that I did not fit the description of the wanted suspect the officers laughed it off. In my case I dared not laugh or crack a smile. My cell phone was giving back to me along with my keys. Once headed back to the receiving a subpoena an officer told me when I was due to go to the Bronx Criminal Court.

  Walking out of PSA 8 my mother met me from a cab and hugged me. She didn't yell or curse me out, but just hugged me for dear life. Her exact words were something of the sorts such as "Don't you ever be found as a black man at the wrong place or at the wrong time. Thanks to the help of my mother's cab driver friend we headed home. At home I took a shower, went to sleep, and awaited my trail on August 25, 2013.

  On this day neither I, my mother, or the two officers know that you may be able to stop fireworks, but not fire itself. Three years prior I was aware of the lost of Trayvon and how it effected us as a people. After this court date took place Freddie Grey, Michael Brown, and Eric Garner all were killed in the hands of police officers.

  Age 23, black, educated, and with a clean record there is a fire that is burning inside of me. The names Bland, Castile, and Sterling had been added to the BLM (BlackLivesMatter) banner as pariahs. If President Obama wasn't enough closure Trump isn't quick to take this country over. Looking at our current circumstances more fuel is added to the fire. Our citizens of color must hold on and get ready for the fire next time.