Not Just A Paper

Three cop cars, a van, seven police, two undercover, arrested two boys under my window this afternoon. Mid-sentence, typing, at my desk, The Racial State section of my dissertation, a few paragraphs above the role of defense counsel in juvenile delinquency court, I heard the woop-woop of sirens that don't intend to travel far, feet against the pavement, a scuttle, a man's voice command, "Get him down," and a boy cry, "Why would you do that?" 

I made a bee-line for my window. They had him down on the ground in handcuffs. Pinned tightly to the pavement below. Shoving hands in his pockets and patting down his thighs. He cried, "Why would you do that?" I held my breath, waiting for the gun. There wasn't one. 

Two undercover cops wearing bullet-proof vests walked the other boy within feet of the one held against the ground. "Why would you do that?" "Why would you do that?" The seven police officers put the two boys into the van and drove away. 

Boys. 

I sat on my bedroom floor, under the window, and exhaled the tiniest sob. Without tears. Without a second. Walked myself back to my computer and continued typing. 

The racial state. The role of defense counsel. Boys. 

Two boys.