‘Suspect Was Wearing a yellow hoodie.’
An unexpected encounter with the police in America.
Original Publication Date: Jan 21, 2023
“Why did you run from the accident?”
“Sir turn around and face the car. Put all your stuff on the car there?”
I put my Ocean State Job Lot plastic bag on top of the grey police car bonnet. A freshly purchased checkerboard and a receipt are its only contents. I have taken down my hoodie hat and my black beanie hat. All this is happening in a rush of seconds.
I’m beyond shock, and my heartbeat has become more present than the actual present moment itself. I can hear it. I can feel it. The police officer proceeds in a very stern voice and sharp look, “You ran from the accident scene. The suspect had on a yellow hoodie just like the one you have on.”
“I just came from Job lot”, I respond with my body pressed against the police car, hands behind my back, and only my head turned to plead my case.
“There’s a receipt in there,” I add. My accent has zeroed down to its African origins. Words are scrambling out of my mouth. He starts patting me down. “Don’t move”. “I need to see that you don’t have anything on you.” I have ceased to respond. I now just want it to be over. I know I have just been caught up in some big developing crime because, apparently, I’m wearing the same hoodie as the man who ran away from the accident scene. Or crime scene to be exact. Still, how did I end up here?
“You’ll have to sit in the car here for a moment while I confirm it’s not you”, he says as he escorts me to the back of the grey SUV. All this time, I’m now just silent. I might be innocent but maybe not in these people’s eyes. Yeah, these people. Because my mind is now just thinking I could’ve been a statistic. I’m just a law-abiding immigrant trying to make the best out of what my forefathers built and probably suffered for. One minute, you’re in the house, with your two brothers having fun, the next minute you match a random description, and you must be temporarily detained. Life, right?
I left home thinking; I’d just get out, get some air, and come back. While I’m taking a breather, why not walk to the Job Lot? It's only 15 minutes away from the house. I can get a checkerboard and teach these boys a lesson. And so, I journeyed to the location wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time. All is well under a good dose of soulful Amapiano and Reggae tunes sounding from my Bluetooth ear pods. I’m deep in my thoughts and day visions, my presence in the real world is very partial. When I got to the store, I noticed a lady smoking outside the store. She seems invested in what is going on by the highway. The police sirens and firefighter trucks are a hard spectacle not to notice. Seems like there’s something happening over there. Could be a car accident, I say to myself as I continue with my mission.
Armed with my newly acquired checkerboard I make my way back home. These walks bring an aura of peace and serenity within me, and I cherish them deeply. Today, the devil chose to temper with my spirit. As I’m walking up towards the main road exiting the centre where the shops are, the gym, and other retail stores, the grey car approaches. From the front, I assumed it was any other random car. As it got closer it started slowing down. Is it stopping for me? I don’t know anyone with this type of car. At that very moment, while I’m still juggling the realities in my head, the car stops just next to me.
He’s saying something but I cannot hear it because of the music blasting in my ears. As his big brown ugly boots step out, I immediately take off my earphones assuming he wants to ask me something. Well, I was wrong. I ended up with my body against his car and my mind replaying all movie scenes about police brutality.
In the car, he takes his radio and begins communicating with the other police on the search.
“I have a black male suspect with a yellow hoodie, and he matches the description. OVER”.
“I must keep you hear Sir until we confirm you’re not the person we’re looking for. I’m sorry but it’s just circumstances. The person ran down this way and was wearing the exact same hoodie. “
I don’t respond. I’m just sitting there at the back of the car silently. My mind is still racing. Maybe I have to call someone so that they can know I’m not a criminal I’m just an innocent young man. What if they detain me? Wait, but I know I did no such thing. My thoughts continue to run wild.
The silence in the car is very loud too. I just took off my ear pods and popped them into my hoodie's front pocket, and, in the silence, I could hear the melody crescendoing from them. Not as sweet as it would sound in a different state of affairs. We’re waiting for the response from the other end. I can see my shopping bag and the beanie through the windshield. If they could feel they would be feeling sorry for me as they helplessly cling for their lives, in the cold breeze, on top of that bonnet. There’s hardly anyone on this road and that’s even troubling.
“Yellow hoodie …” says a lady over the radio. I couldn’t make out the rest of it. I just heard yellow hoodie.
“The hoodie had a black print on the back. That’s all we saw.”, repeats the lady. “It was a yellow hoodie with a black marking on the back.”
That’s a relief. My hoodie is plain all around. “I’ll have to come around and check the back of your hoodie,” he echoes as he aggressively gets out of his front seat and walks around towards my door. Does he think I’ll jump out and run? The car is comfy by the way. I can give them that. Good leg room for a tall handsome man like me. Clean and leather cushioned or whatever those seat covers are. There’s a clear plastic divider right next to me and when I first saw it the images of George Floyd just flashed back into my head. I take off my jacket at his request and he acknowledges the non-existent marking. Gotcha son! The mind gets that moment. Click, Clack, Click, Clack he goes, booting back into the front seat.
“… Yellow hoodie with black marking on the back, the suspect will be negative.”
“Again, sorry for bothering you, it’s just protocol and the circumstances.”
I still lack an appropriate response.
He then asks for my first name, last name, and date of birth which he proceeds to type into his computer. A picture of me shows up and he silently reads some information on there. I’m impressed by the system, but I must focus, we’re not friends.
After another standard apology, he comes around and lets me out. The was-empty road now has cars driving by. I pick up my solemn possessions from the front of the car and I take my walk of shame back to my humble apartment, away from the world of uncertainty.
I don’t know how to feel.
I think I’m happy I’m recalling this experience in black and white given the dreadful realities of similar circumstances.
He was white, not that it has anything to do with the story hence the identification being at the end.