911 is a joke...(Public Enemy)

Get Into It...

   Two officers detained Gerald outside of the buildings entrance, while another two followed me to my apartment.

   Entering the apartment last, and closing the door behind him , the first officer, I made eye contact with sat on the couch, while his partner walked around slowly, checking that the apartment in its’ entirety held no surprises.

“So where is his phone?”, Officer 1 asked.

“Excuse me?”, I said looking at him like he was mentally challenged. Switching it up, I continued my reply, “My phone is in the wall. See it there sticking out of the wall like a dart? Yeah. That’s it.”, I indicated while the first officer examined the area and pulled the phone out of its’ resting place.

“No, his phone. The guy downstairs…you know who we are talking about. He says you have his phone.”, clarified Officer 2.

   I knew exactly to whom the officer was referring and the mere fact that the damage that he did to my living space and face didn’t overshadow the cops’  need to question me about his property, pissed me off. ALL THE WAY to the OFF. I didn’t know who to be more upset with, the motherfucker downstairs who had pretty much run me out of my home and from what I could see , did some heavy  deconstruction with regard to my shelving, room dividers and electronics or these officers , sitting on my couch and resting against my wall, treating me like a criminal. Looking around for my eye-glasses, I noticed that my laptop was missing. I notified the officers and once officer 2 hustled down the stairs to see if he could retrieve it, officer one again asked, “ok, so where is his phone?”

I looked at him incredulously for a while. I didn’t think he could be serious, so I just stared until he broke the silence, “theft of a phone is serious stuff. If you don’t want to be in cuffs with him, and know I don’t have a problem hauling you in for processing right behind him, I suggest you pony up the phone? "

   Unable to focus, considering a painful knot was slowly coloring in around my eye and the fact that I still hadn’t found my glasses, I just looked down and tried to gather myself as best I could. I had never dealt with the police in this capacity, and I think a large part of me knew this is exactly how it would be when I made the decision to call 911. Everyone , from drug dealers to professionals, says the police are assholes, and now after not even ten minutes , I knew exactly why the “John P. Public” hated them so. Their very uniforms seemed to be covered with a coat of scepticism for my domestic brand of victim-hood. They trudged around my home disrespectfully kicking things to the side, picking things up and putting things down. Then taking pictures of everything, even the things that had nothing to do with anything.

   The more they talked, the more difficult I found it to justify my calling of 911.  I didn’t know if I could classify it as racism or the fact that police acted extremely angry about the grunt work they do as police. They hated filling out paperwork, so they seemed to take it out on the masses, by making it just as tedious for you as it is for them. Their hope is that the experiences will be so ‘fucked’ with regard to service, that next time, instead of dialing 911-for the police, you just choose to let the person murder you instead.

That’s how I felt; I wanted them to leave and let Gerald finish his assault and destruction. Then, if I survived it all, I would  pick up the pieces. I just wanted them to leave, more than I wanted my abuser to leave. As ridiculous as it may sound, in those moments, I felt more a victim of the police, that were suppose to be helping me, than a victim of my abuser.

   Taking a deep , clarifying yoga breath, I responded cynically, “If he hadn’t trashed my apartment, he would know where his phone was! Do I look like I have any pockets or hiding places for a phone? Did I even have shoes on when I met you guys at the door?”, I waived my hands around, showcasing the robe that represented all that I was wearing.

   “Ma’am, please calm down. There is really no need to get excited! ” He watched me practice a few additional some deep breathing techniques before continuing, “He is bitching about you taking his phone and hiding it in the house Ma’am. I am just doing my job…”, he sighed.

“Excited. ?” I  asked rhetorically,  staring blankly at the officers. “No…excited was him punching me , kicking me and destroying my property. His phone is the least of my concerns. Look around you! HIS phone! Really?  How can you spare any concern for the whereabouts of his phone? I believe he doesn’t know where his phone is! LOOK AT THIS SHIT! Look at my apartment! " I kept exclaiming ,as I searched fervently  for my glasses. 

   Heading over the flipped bed, I noticed what looked like my glasses. Relieved that the needed opportunity to see more clearly  in this moment, presented itself  :I  reached over the pillow to pick them up , and put them on. Forgetting that I wasn’t alone, in my apartment, I screamed, while doing a complete 180-fueled by frustration, “But who fuck-ING does that?” Realizing that the glasses arm, I pulled on, was only attached to one freaking lens. Squinting around at the mess my apartment was left in, I couldn’t begin to guess at where the other half my glasses was. In that moment, the mess that was the apartment; the ripped down and ripped up curtains, the broken refrigerator door, the broken glass- from where he flipped the night stand over, the dent in the wall-where the force of his push was enough to leave my human indentation behind, the DVD player bent and broken-from when he swept everything off the shelves, under my television, seemed extremely overwhelming.

   I knew soon enough I would be left to clean this all up, by myself. However, I felt like I was the only one who could see the mess-as it was-in this moment, right now. “Listen.just look this paperwork over, and sign the bottom.” Directed police officer 1. Staring blankly at the wall, I wondered if I could ask them to just forget about it . Let them leave and later choose to find Gerald on my own, maybe armed with a knife to tear at his body. To tear up his life, in the way he had torn up mine. 

   “Ryndra …” seeing my eyes narrowing, Officer 1 cleared his throat and corrected himself, “Ms. Wright is it? I need you to sign this so..(he paused) ..we can do our job.” He said, clearing his throat again. I didn’t want to say what I thought about him using my first name, like he was my friend, so instead I replied,“I think you have done enough sir. I’d like you all to leave”, I said. That felt smooth ,simple and true enough coming off my tongue. He had certainly done enough.

 

“Leave?!” said another officer, who I hadn’t noticed come in the apartment, but whose badge identified him as a sergeant, “The NYPD are not at your command Mr. Wright. You don’t get to call us for emergent events, and then ask us to leave. No ma'am. The way this works involves you signing where he directed you to earlier”, he said, pointing at Officer 1. “Then once we finish collecting evidence …you know; pictures, skin samples and whatever we think is necessary …then… we leave, maybe. If we feel like it.” He stated, while leering in the turtle’s , now upright, enclosure. “Do we understand one another?”, he asked, looking at me.

   

   Ignoring him, I thought about if it was possible to call the police on the police.

Sensing the disrespect evident in my silence, “I asked if we understood one another, Ms. Wright?!”, the Sergeant said , repeating himself. Sensing my intent to continue to ignore him, Officer 2 tapped me on the shoulder and stage whispered, “ this is the part where you answer yes or no. At the very least nod, or he will explain the whole “who, what and how of the NYPD” all over again. Just nod. Please…”, he implored.

 

   I nodded,if only to stop all of the words. 

“Yes. Just like that. Up and down… she understands Sergeant, “ said the Officer 2, smiling politely.

“Good. I am glad”, the sergeant replied and flashed a fake smile towards me. “And that is how we do customer service, at the NYPD.” I watched him walk to my door, pausing before opening it, “ I’ll be downstairs if you guys or if she should need my expertise”, he said while laughing and exiting the apartment.

   “So… sign, right her.”, Officer 1 directed, again, using a pen to point at an  area on some pink paper. 
“Listen, I can’t see anything.” I said, emphasizing this by holding up ‘the piece’ of my glasses that I had found. ”I don’t have my glasses available to me right now.”

Tapping his chin with the pen, looking at me quizzing, Officer 1  asked, ”Don’t you have contacts or a secondary pair of glasses? I really need you to sign this paper work so…can you find something that would work?”

   I had to look down, because my face had enough attitude to make them all pull their guns in defense. Head down, in the interest of my safety, I said, “Sir, if you find my secondary pair of glasses or contacts, I will gladly put them on. I will also gladly read over this pink document and then I will gladly sign it, if it’s correct.However I find myself, without the use of my glasses, unable to find my secondary pair.” He looked around and then looked at his partners, for an idea-I suppose. “fucking idiot..” I said , under my breath , or so I had thought .

 

   The idiot didn’t hear me, but his canine equipped eared partner sure did.

“What did you say?”, officer 2 asked.

I was to through so I answered, in full on Sandra Bland mode,  “I said,  that your partners a –"

Before, I could finish buying the NYPD bullets that would have surely penetrated my skull, considering my unwise and disrespectful free speech , the officers' walkie talkie obscured me.

I wisely kept quiet, as one of my ancestors distracted them, making them aware of something more pressing that required their immediate attention. 

   

   Suddenly, officer’s 1 and 2 adjusted themselves while the EMT packed up, whose entrance into the apartment I also missed, heading toward the door.

“If you need us to stay for a bit longer, we can totally do that…”, stated officer 2 , surprisingly-but not un-compassionately, with his hand on the door knob. He tried, but I don’t think he could have carried on much longer. We were both painfully aware of his inconsistency, if not complete ineptitude, with regard to empathy. I thought about watching him squirm in wait, but instead decided to let him off the hook quickly, “no, it’s ok.” 

   No sooner had I finished the word no, did both police officers, following the EMT, rush out the door. I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking whoever was watching over the kid, that I couldn’t see the damage Gerald did to my apartment. It would be hell to clean without being able to see clearly, but in this moment, I would have been overwhelmed by it all.I probably would have broke down crying and been unable to get the job done.

My doorbell, the only one in the building, wireless, rang disrupting my thought process. Walking toward the door, I tried to figure out which one of my neighbors would dare to check on me. Probably not my immediate next door neighbor; her , in and out of jailbird, boyfriend regular fucks her up before he fucks her to sleep; we weren’t close and  I couldn’t imagine she would understand the differences in our situations enough to check on me . It was probably someone from the family across the hall, checking to see what the hell was going on and getting ready to “check me” for bringing that kind of drama into the building. I stood at the door, contemplating even looking through the peep hole. I was only 50% curious, and the other 50% didn’t care who was at the door -unless they were going to help a sister clean. Seeing as how that was extremely unlikely, ‘me , myself, personally’  didn’t care who was at the door. I must have been lying to myself, because after the thought negotiation, curiosity won out and I looked through the peep hole.

MOOD