by David Weaver
“We the jury find the defendant, George Zimmerman; not guilty.”
The words echoed through Jawan’s small home as if someone had thumped a seashell. Not guilty. Jawan’s eyes turned red as he stared at his television with eyes wide shut. He was there, but not there. He was light-headed, but blacked out simultaneously.
Meesie stared at her man nervously. She knew how hard he had been following Trayvon’s case, and how strongly he felt about the incidents that had occurred. She knew that his father had been killed some years ago by a white man, and that this particular case; although different, had many similarities. Her hands started sweating and her knees started shaking while trying to gauge what he was about to do. Finally, unable to take the mounting tension; she stood up and walked out of the living room silently.
Jawan stared at the television screen without blinking. Tears wrapped around his eyes as if they had been laminated. His forehead started sweating and evil thoughts raced through his mind effortlessly. He had done everything in his power to put faith in the United States’ justice system, but he’d finally saw things the way he always knew they were. There was no justice for people like him.
He had never been a bad person. He didn’t smoke or drink, didn’t hang in the streets, and didn’t have a thing for violence; hell he didn’t even care for rap music or fancy rims. Although he didn’t care about the typical things, the one thing he did care about was equal rights.
He glanced at the newspaper clippings on his living room wall. A clipping of his deceased father, who was killed trying to deliver a newspaper, was posted above his television. He thought back to how it happened and a tear fell from his eyes and absorbed into his cheap carpet.
His father had left for work one day and never returned. He remembered staring into his mother’s burning sadness as she tried her best to tell him what happened. His father had been killed for nothing. It had taken place when he was 14 years old, almost ten years ago to the date; and no matter how much he tried to suppress it, there were always going to be situations that reminded him just how much his skin tone was hated.
He gently placed the remote on the coffee table and walked outside in a trance. He stood on the porch of his single family home and stared at the crowd outside in disbelief. There was a crowd of black men gathered, but he was soon to learn that the crowd was for the wrong reason. One guy mentioned the Trayvon verdict, and another guy responded; saying “He gon’ get his bruh.”
And that was it. They pulled out dice and started their weekly Saturday night dice game as if nothing had happened. Jawan felt his heart skip a beat as he watched the same people who spoke of rioting, gamble their night away. Anger shot through him like lightning as he stomped back into his house. He went into the bedroom and pulled out the bottom drawer. Sitting on the floor underneath it was a black Glock 40 and a box of ammunition. He picked the gun up and tucked it between his belt and his body, and then placed the ammo in his pocket.
Meesie jumped up off of the bed alarmed by what Jawan had just done. “Baby, come here please! Come here and talk to me!”
Jawan stopped in the doorway and took a deep breath as he listened to his fiancé plead with him. He loved her dearly, and he always wanted to show her the same level of respect that she had shown him. “Please put the gun back Jawan. You remember when you first got the gun….” She started, as she came over closer to him.
“You remember when you first got the gun… I asked you why you would buy the same gun that was used to kill your father? I asked you that Jawan, and you answered me. Do you remember what you told me?”
Jawan turned around and stared into her brown eyes. “I do remember. I told you that this gun was for my protection and-”
“No! You said that gun was for our protection! So it’s only right that if you’re walking out of this house with that gun, that you take me right along with you! You will not leave me here alone Jawan!”
Jawan’s tears fell as he stared at his fiancé. He shook his head and tried to force a smile to reassure her that everything was going to be ok. “Baby, I’m just going to the courthouse with the rest of the protestors. I just wanna see what’s going on, and if they start tripping I don’t want you to be around that shit.”
Meesie wrapped her petite hand around Jawan’s wrist. She returned his stare and shook her head at his suggestions. “See now… it doesn’t work like that Jawan. I don’t want to live my life without you in it. So if you’re going to be around danger, then I want to be around it also. Furthermore, there’s nothing in the world that can stop me from going down to the courthouse, even if you say no. I love you, and I’m a part of you.”
Jawan looked at what Meesie had on and just knew that she wouldn’t leave out of the house like that. He smiled at her strength, kissed her on the lips, and turned around and left out.
***
By the time he started up his car, Meesie was running out the house with her sneakers in hand. She still had her hair wrap on her head, her cell phone was in her hand, and was still wearing his huge t-shirt that she only wore to bed. The t-shirt was so big that it fit like a dress on her petite body.
“Jawan! Wait!” She screamed as she ran towards the car as fast as she could. Jawan saw the dice game stop and saw the men stare at his fiancé run, and knew he couldn’t just drive off like that.
She climbed into the car, slammed the door, and put her seatbelt on as she braced herself for the ride her future husband was about to take her on. She knew that Jawan had an anger issue, but she also knew that his anger had never been directed towards her. She felt she was fortunate to have found a man of his caliber, and nothing short of death would allow her to leave his side.
They drove down the block, made a left turn, and made it approximately 3 blocks before a police officer shifted from the left lane and into the lane that Jawan was driving in. The police officer was following Jawan closely as he made his way towards the Sanford courthouse.
“Damn!” Meesie said as she dropped her head into her palms. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Jawan glared at her briefly. “Get it together girl, you’re making me nervous.”
“He’s gonna pull us over Jawan. I forgot to pay the car insurance.”
Jawan panicked. He couldn’t get caught with a firearm because he had been convicted on a felony theft by receiving charge a few years prior. His friend at the time had stolen some $30,000 Rolexes, and wanted him to hold onto one of them until things cooled down. As soon as he dropped off the Rolex, the police came through shortly afterwards. That was the last time that he considered himself as having a friend.
Jawan was a felon, and a gun was the last thing that needed to be in his possession. He tried to pull the gun out of his waistband discreetly; but before he could get it out, the police officer had turned the lights on.
“Give me the gun baby.” Meesie said as she reached over and pulled it out of his pants for him.
“No, give it back Meesie. I got it.” Jawan said gently and without looking in her direction. “If he mentions anything about getting out of the car-“
“Do you realize that you’re driving without any insurance sir?” The officer asked as he flashed a light into Jawan’s face and around the inside of the car. He flashed a light on Meesie’s face also as he listened to Jawan’s answer.
“I didn’t even know until just now Officer. I only live three blocks away, so if you’ll just let me turn around; I’ll park the car until I get the issue fixed.”
The officer flashed the light inside of the ashtray and back into Jawan’s face. “Have you been drinking?”
Jawan was offended. There was nothing in his ashtray that could have made the officer feel like he
was smoking, so the light shouldn’t have been in his face. There were no empty bottles in the car and there was no erratic driving on his behalf to make the officer feel like he had been drinking, so he was definitely confused. “I don’t drink officer.”
“Do you smoke? You been smoking reefer?”
“Reefer? I don’t smoke officer. I don’t-“
“I hear that shit every day. Step out of the car. Your eyes are red and swollen. You’ve been smoking or drinking and I just want to make sure you’re not under the influence. Young lady, put your hands on the dash. Young man step out of the vehicle.”
In an instance, Jawan saw his life as he knew it flash before him. He saw his freedom removed from him for seven years, and his fiancé gone off to marry someone else while he sat rotting in prison. He tried to imagine his father’s gravesite unattended for seven years. He thought of his mother, and how much she depended on him. He loved his life as it was. There were things he disagreed with, such as the Zimmerman verdict; but for the most part, he was content.
Tears leaked down Meesie’s face as Jawan started unbuckling his seatbelt. Jawan placed his hands on the door handle, and just as he was about to open the door; he heard some words that forever changed his life.
“I’m pregnant Jawan.”
The words set off an explosion. Three shots left the pistol and went into the officer’s body. The cop stumbled back and reached for his service weapon, only to be met with three more shots from Jawan’s pistol.
Meesie’s mouth dropped open wide as she stared at her fiancé. Her mind was racing and she couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. “Jawan! You killed a police officer!”
Jawan started the car up and pressed his foot against the pedal. He had never taken a life before, let along imagined hurting a peace officer; but his life was on the line. He knew in his heart that he would die before he let something happen to his family. He was his father in the flesh.
He drove through the backstreets of Sanford swiftly. He drove behind a grocery store, parked the car and got out. Meesie got out and followed him as he walked back around the store. “Jawan you just killed a police officer! They’ll give us the death penalty for that!”
Immediately, Jawan snapped. “So what! I killed the officer in order to save my family. I knew the procedure! I was going to prison to be caged up like an animal for the next seven years! Zimmerman killed Trayvon for nothing! He chased down and killed a black teenager for no fucking reason whatsoever! Zimmerman was grown! An old man! What old man let’s a teenager beat him up so bad that he has to kill him? It’s some fuck shit! They took my father away from me the same way!”
Jawan’s words touched Meesie deeply. She knew how he felt about equal rights, and after being with him for so long; she had grown to think like he did and feel the same feelings he did also. “Jawan, where are we going baby? We just killed a police officer.”
Jawan stopped in front of the store and stared at the still atmosphere. There was nobody looking their direction, and the mood was relaxed; despite their dilemma. “Shit… we gotta get the fuck out of Sanford. We gotta take the bus to Miami I guess. Don’t nobody know we killed that officer. At least not right now, they don’t. Fuck Sanford! I love you Meesie.”
“I love you too Jawan… I love you too,” Meesie said with great passion. She watched as Jawan paced back and forth and wished she could do something to ease his pain. Jawan brought his hands up to his head, let out an exasperated sigh, and headed inside the store.
“Jawan! Wait a minute! Where are you going?”
Meesie quickly ran behind Jawan and her eyes immediately popped open in shock. First it was the police officer and now this. She looked around to see if anyone noticed what was going on, but everything and everyone was calm. She rushed to Jawan’s side and tried to pull him away before he went further with this trumped up plan of his.
“Ja—”she started, but caught herself. She didn’t want to give out his government name. “Baby, let’s get out of here! What are you doing?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Jawan snatched his arm away from Meesie and kept his stare on the cashier. Fire burned in his eyes as he pushed the gun closer to her. “Hurry the fuck up. Don’t make me have to use it!”
Jawan’s heart roared beneath his chest. He hated that he had to resort to such measures, but this is what it had come to. They didn’t have family in Miami, nor did they have any money so to him, this was the only option. So much had been piled upon him at once that he didn’t even have time to process it all. Zimmerman’s ass getting off, the police officer trying to take him down, and Meesie being pregnant. All he’d wanted to do was join the protesters in front of the courthouse and express his displeasure for the verdict. He had never anticipated any of this. His emotions ran deep and he began to perspire.
The cashier’s hand trembled as she handed Jawan all the money that was in her register. He stuffed the money and the gun in his pocket, grabbed Meesie’s hand, and rushed towards the door. Soon as he was about to step foot outside the door, the grip he had on his fiancé’s hand was disconnected. He turned around to see two men standing before him, one black, and the other one white.
“Now, just where do you two think you’re going?” the white one asked.
“Just mind your own business old man,” Jawan said, and reached for Meesie’s hand.
Meesie ran around the two men and stood behind Jawan fearful of what was going to happen. She gripped her arm around Jawan’s and whispered in his ear, “Jawan, let’s get out of here. Let’s just go before the police come.”
Jawan nodded his head in agreement and proceeded to back up out of the store. He didn’t want to shoot the two men, but he would if he had to.
“Now, we done called the police, so you just wait one minute until they get here. Nobody needs to get hurt,” the black guy said.
“We?” Jawan questioned. “So, you on his side? You some kind of Uncle Tom or something? A house nigga, huh?”
Meesie had begun to look at Jawan strangely. Even with her knowing how passionate he was about his father being killed and his dire want for everyone to be treated equally, this was something she’d never seen in him before. She knew in her heart that the situation was only about to escalate and with good reason it scared her.
“We just trying to help you, son. You making some bad choices and we can’t let you get away with it,” the white guy said as he took a step closer to Jawan and Meesie.
“You just like him! Just like Zimmerman! You think I’m gonna let you give me some vigilante justice?! You gonna try to make a citizen’s arrest, huh?” Jawan had had enough. He whipped the pistol back out and swung it between the two men.
Each of the men held their hands up high and slowly stepped away from Jawan. They knew that this trial was gonna cause all types of mayhem, but they didn’t expect for it to pour within their store. They were equal owners of the neighborhood grocery store and had been partners for over twenty years.
Everyone loved and respected them. Many times neighborhood kids would come into the store with not enough money to suffice a purchase and they would let them make it. The only kind of trouble they had was petty stealing, that most times they were able to turn their backs on. Robbery had never been an issue until now.
“I’m no Zimmerman,” the white man tried to assure him. He kept his hands high and looked over at his partner who was just as frightened as he was.
“Let’s get out of here baby. Everybody is looking at us and I’m sure somebody has called the police by now,” Meesie said trying to reason with him.
She could see tears gather in his eyes and knew that he was either thinking about his father or Trayvon. The trial had hurt him deeply. It was a pain that she couldn’t relate to, but she felt for him all the same. She tugged at his arm hoping to get him to just leave.
Jawan lowered the pistol and backed up out of the store never taking his eyes off the two men. Once he and Meesie were all the way outside, they
turned and headed for their car that was parked around back.
“Alright, I’m gonna pick up some beer and we’re gonna celebrate tonight!” the guy cheered. “Yes, I knew it! I told you honey, Zimmerman was gonna be a free man! Justice was served! Not guilty! Yes!”
Jawan stopped in his tracks upon hearing the Zimmerman supporter. He had spent countless hours on Facebook, Twitter, and all over Google reading stories and comments about the trial. Each time he ran across someone that made a prejudice statement against Trayvon, it bothered him. He didn’t understand how someone could support Zimmerman and make all of those hateful comments about that seventeen-year old boy.
