shoving me. Apparently my fingerprints didn't seem to want to take and she kept blaming me, telling me I had attitude problems, and then shoving my fingers harder onto the ink.
I started crying, and she threatened to throw my sorry ass back in the holding cell if I didn't shut that shit up.
I sucked it in and tried to cooperate the best I could. I had the strange sensation I was walking the plank.
"Do I get a phone call?"
"You'll get it, just shut the hell up and wait."
I couldn't feel my legs when I walked.
When I did get the call it turned out I couldn't make it because it was long distance. They let me call collect , though. They weren't going to, and then one of them looked into my eyes and changed his mind.
I had to tell my mother where I was, but I didn't know how to tell her what to do to get me out of there. She just sounde d angry. I was wanting comfort.
Back in my new cell they made me change into an orange jump suit so uncomfortable all I could do was endure it. It was scratchy, and I wasn't allowed to wear my bra underneath it because it had wire in it.
"Could somebod y tell me what I did?” I asked.
After a hostile, unbelieving stare I got, "You threw a brick through Zak's Tavern.”
Zak's Tavern?
Oh my God. Zak's Tavern. The Transistors had played there twenty years ago. I remember the night we drove there. A whole car full of us, we were hauling the band equipment in a van driven by Krishna's brother, listening to tapes made by Krishna and Ziggy. Laughing through the streets of Milwaukee, laughing at billboards with strange, black faces and cartons of milk, billboards we didn't see in Oshkosh, laughing because we were so stoned we laughed at anything that moved or stood still. So much laughter. Twenty years ago.
That's where I was?
That night I lay on the hard mat thrown on a metal, human-sized tray that stuck out from a cement wall. There wasn't much left of the night by the time I was brought to my cell. I could see the dawn breaking through a long, narrow sliver of glass. I was alone in there at first, with a metal toilet, a tiny sink, and they gave me a tin cup. I imagined clanging it along the bars, like in the movies.
I lay there in the half-light for a while and then the silent officer man brought a very young black girl to my cell and took out his big set of keys and undid her cuffs and gave her a tin cup too, and a blanket. She slunk over to the bunk, pulled down the mattress, tossed it carelessly against the wall, and lay down.
"Damn fuckers left me in there —took forever. Dey took you right off. Fuck's up with that?"
I had hoped she was asleep the few minutes she'd lain silent. I tried not responding. A minute or two more went by and then, "Fuck's up , huh?"
"I don't know."
"Hell you don't.” She rolled over and faced away from me. She mumbled something else, but I didn't know what it was.
"I heard they said it was because I was white."
At this she turned her head to look at me. Then she put her head back down.
"They said you didn't even know why you was brought in,” and at this she started giggling to herself.
"It's true, I didn't, but then I asked them what I had done and they told me. I must've been in a total blackout when the cops cuffed me and put me in the back of their car. I don't remember any of it,” I said.
"You were sure talkin' a lot when they first brought you in,” she said, still laughing.
"Really? What did I say?"
"Shit, girl? You wa s screamin' you was dead and shit like that."
"Saying I was dead?"
"Yep."
I started to remember something. I could see the image of the cop, standing tall and blue. I remember lying on the floor of the bar.
"Did I say anybody's name?"
"Kept talkin' to some people that weren't there, I can't remember their names, they had weird names. I think one of them was Gay."
She was starting to sound sleepy. Some of the memories were indeed coming back. Lying on a beer-soaked floor, talking to them, even though I knew they
I started crying, and she threatened to throw my sorry ass back in the holding cell if I didn't shut that shit up.
I sucked it in and tried to cooperate the best I could. I had the strange sensation I was walking the plank.
"Do I get a phone call?"
"You'll get it, just shut the hell up and wait."
I couldn't feel my legs when I walked.
When I did get the call it turned out I couldn't make it because it was long distance. They let me call collect , though. They weren't going to, and then one of them looked into my eyes and changed his mind.
I had to tell my mother where I was, but I didn't know how to tell her what to do to get me out of there. She just sounde d angry. I was wanting comfort.
Back in my new cell they made me change into an orange jump suit so uncomfortable all I could do was endure it. It was scratchy, and I wasn't allowed to wear my bra underneath it because it had wire in it.
"Could somebod y tell me what I did?” I asked.
After a hostile, unbelieving stare I got, "You threw a brick through Zak's Tavern.”
Zak's Tavern?
Oh my God. Zak's Tavern. The Transistors had played there twenty years ago. I remember the night we drove there. A whole car full of us, we were hauling the band equipment in a van driven by Krishna's brother, listening to tapes made by Krishna and Ziggy. Laughing through the streets of Milwaukee, laughing at billboards with strange, black faces and cartons of milk, billboards we didn't see in Oshkosh, laughing because we were so stoned we laughed at anything that moved or stood still. So much laughter. Twenty years ago.
That's where I was?
That night I lay on the hard mat thrown on a metal, human-sized tray that stuck out from a cement wall. There wasn't much left of the night by the time I was brought to my cell. I could see the dawn breaking through a long, narrow sliver of glass. I was alone in there at first, with a metal toilet, a tiny sink, and they gave me a tin cup. I imagined clanging it along the bars, like in the movies.
I lay there in the half-light for a while and then the silent officer man brought a very young black girl to my cell and took out his big set of keys and undid her cuffs and gave her a tin cup too, and a blanket. She slunk over to the bunk, pulled down the mattress, tossed it carelessly against the wall, and lay down.
"Damn fuckers left me in there —took forever. Dey took you right off. Fuck's up with that?"
I had hoped she was asleep the few minutes she'd lain silent. I tried not responding. A minute or two more went by and then, "Fuck's up , huh?"
"I don't know."
"Hell you don't.” She rolled over and faced away from me. She mumbled something else, but I didn't know what it was.
"I heard they said it was because I was white."
At this she turned her head to look at me. Then she put her head back down.
"They said you didn't even know why you was brought in,” and at this she started giggling to herself.
"It's true, I didn't, but then I asked them what I had done and they told me. I must've been in a total blackout when the cops cuffed me and put me in the back of their car. I don't remember any of it,” I said.
"You were sure talkin' a lot when they first brought you in,” she said, still laughing.
"Really? What did I say?"
"Shit, girl? You wa s screamin' you was dead and shit like that."
"Saying I was dead?"
"Yep."
I started to remember something. I could see the image of the cop, standing tall and blue. I remember lying on the floor of the bar.
"Did I say anybody's name?"
"Kept talkin' to some people that weren't there, I can't remember their names, they had weird names. I think one of them was Gay."
She was starting to sound sleepy. Some of the memories were indeed coming back. Lying on a beer-soaked floor, talking to them, even though I knew they
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