I Fucked Up And Watched That Dash-Cam Footage Again…
To be honest, I watch every time. Every angle. I tell myself I need to do it.
If this person lost their life, the least I can do is bear witness and speak on it, right?”
I think a part of me, subconsciously, believes that if I study the footage I’ll find some cheat that will buy me an extra life. Some subtle detail that will ensure it won’t be me. But, I know it isn’t there. I know it’s just a matter of time.
I wasn’t supposed to make it past 25; jokes on me I’m still alive. Now I find myself counting down the moments, wondering which will be my last. I’m on borrowed time and these trigger happy cops are the grim reaper coming to collect.
If you’ve never had that light shined on you as you walk home at night because you “look suspicious,” you don’t know. If you’ve never stood terrified as a cop’s hand twitched towards their holster, you don’t get it. If you’ve never sat awake at night, drinking away your fear, because you stared down the barrel of a drawn gun and survived, don’t tell me about how coverage of police brutality is overblown.
And I have it good. I have these interactions twice, maybe four times a year. I got out the hood. I don’t have to deal with that specter every day anymore. But that doesn’t mean that it’s gone. No Ghostbusters for these spooks. The clock keeps ticking. Counting down to my tragic demise. I lay here laughing at myself as I change the lyrics:
And before I’ll be afraid, I’ll be buried in my grave,
And go home, to my lord, and be free…
I fucked up and watched that dash-cam footage again…