A Different Type of Fear #BLM
- Lauren Ward
- Sep 15, 2015
- 4 min read
A Different Type of Fear
by
Lauren Ward
This monologue is set at Brian’s home where his parents have been waiting for a few hours for him to come home. It has only a few hours past his curfew, but Brian knows he’s likely to be grounded. Brian has recently obtained his license and the reason he was past his curfew today was that he had been pulled over by an officer on his way home. His parents are at the kitchen table as Brian walks in.
BRIAN: I didn’t know this fear, not before. Dad, I got pulled over. Now hear me out, I did everything correct. I put my hands up. I even looked him in the eyes. And I only responded with yes, sir and no, sir. I can’t believe you guys actually have to tell me these things in the first place. I didn’t think you guys would have to tell me to be respectful, I mean come on. I thought you guys should’ve just stopped worrying when I got my license. I didn’t think that that could happen to me. It won’t happen to me, not again. Do you guys remember that time, that time when I was like eight and dad was finally coming home from Minnesota. I stood by that door waiting for him to show up after a few weeks of him being gone, traveling for work and all. He was in a business suit and tie, and got pulled over. People get pulled over all the time. fines are just fines, tickets just tickets. You break a tiny law and get fined for it, not shot. That officer he threatened you. Why would he, why would you let him? Dad, don’t you know. Those are the words that were created to oppress us. You know what! What if next time I hear the sirens I-I don’t give them respect. They don’t deserve it. If they think they can treat me differently just because I was labelled, then they’re wrong. If they’re disrespectful then I’m disrespectful. I’ll give it to them. WAIT! But-that’s that’s what they want. They want me to act that way, then they have a reason. I would’ve given them a reason. And that’s what they want. I forget that not all officers are bad, but they seem to forget that not all folks with a bit of melanin in their skin are either. You could of been wearin’ the richest Armani suit, and yet all that cop would’ve seen was the pigment of your skin. A pigment that classifies you. He didn’t see you, Dad! He didn’t see! Not a person with a darker pigment that was just trying to catch his flight home. He didn’t see! A flight home to a wife and kids. Kids that were waiting by that door. NO! I DIDN’T GROW UP LIKE THIS. I didn’t realize. I didn’t know this fear before. Other kids they fear little things like test-taking or their parents finding out they weren’t exactly at the library last saturday night. They don’t fear for their life. And of all people they may fear, they don’t fear an officer. Yet I do. I fear for my safety all because of a color. My color. I was labelled, to them I was labelled, like some piece of rotten, fly-infested fruit that expired before it even got to the supermarket. They may not even know my first name. They won’t say it on the news. What if next time, something does happen? I hope they say my name. I pray they say my name. I’m scared of what they could do to me and my name. Any gesture that they might think is a threat could end up with my body lying in the streets. In the streets for hours. When I say they-they isn’t just the police, it’s our whole society. I might get a bullet right through the chest because maybe I was walking down the street with my hoodie up and I had some skittles in my pocket. Or maybe I was just trying to get home to my wife and kids, like you, just like you. Dad what you’re telling is that I was labelled. Everytime I hear that stupid list of what to do I feel labelled. I don’t want to be labelled. No. This isn’t fair, I didn’t know before. When I got pulled over I thought I did EVERYTHING RIGHT. I went through that stupid checklist, you and Mom drilled into my head for months and nothing happened. I’m home, I’m safe now. That has to be good. It’s good that I’m okay. But is it good how scared I was? I was shaking, Heck I still am. When I saw those flashing lights in the rearview mirror I swear my heart dropped. I kept eye contact the whole time, but man, was it hard. He stared down at me with such a presence I felt my sweat begin to stick, you know, like-like heavy south humidity, to my back. I probably seemed shady because of how nervous I was. This cop he-he didn’t hurt me. He let me off with a warning. I didn’t, I don’t understand. This is how I’m suppose to act, like everything's okay. Like they can’t,they won’t hurt me. It’s an act, an act that can protect me. I thought they were suppose to protect me. They are suppose to save me. Not everyone is bad, though. This doesn’t mean they will all hurt me. I just-I never know. I don’t know if my car will flip over and they might think I was drunk. I don’t know if I’ll get beaten in the streets, and I don’t know if they’ll think I was with a gang. I just don’t know. I don’t know if a cop will see me as a stereotype or see me as me. I just don’t know. I understand now. I understand the what why and how. I understand that it’s for my safety. For my protection. I will always put up my hands. I will always look in their eyes. I will always say yes, sir and no, sir. I promise.
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