“Oh for Christ’s sake. Ma’am. Can you please step out of the car?” The officer looked at me with shifting intensity. Oh Lord. Oh my God. This is how it starts. I remembered the video of Breaion King’s traffic stop, where the police threw her tiny doll-like body onto the ground with the shattering force of unexplainable rage. I tensed and held on tighter to the steering wheel. Oh my God. He’s going to hurt me. I felt the stinging in the back of my throat as tears of helplessness threatened and pushed against my eyes. I tried to fight them back. I tried to breathe. I tried to remain calm and maintain clear thinking. My life depended on it. My life depended on everything that I would say and do next.
“P..p...please…” I struggled with this simple word as my trembling had doubled in intensity and had moved up to my neck and creeped into my jaw. “I’m…I’m on the news—I’m on T.V. I’m just trying to get to work. I don’t want you to hurt me. I just want to go to work,” I pleaded. It felt as if I were begging for my life. I thought of my grandmother—my mother—even my father. But none of them could protect me from this moment. In this moment, I had no right or ability to protect myself. I would become his victim.
“Ma’am. Get. Out. Of. The. Car. I am not going to hurt you. Do it slow and do it now. Unlock the door. Unlock the door. I am going to open it. You’re going to get out. Ok? Do that now.” I felt his growing impatience. Dear God. Please help. Please help me now. Please please please help me. Please. I’m going to unlock this door God. Please be with me. Please. Saying nothing, I managed to nod my head ok, and slowly, slowly reached my left hand down to unlock my car door. The officer took the outside handle and pulled the door open. “Now unbuckle your seatbelt and step outside please. Just here. Step outside of the car.” I replaced my left hand on the steering wheel and peeled my right hand off of the leather to slowly reach for the seat belt release. There I was again, reaching.
“I’m just going to put my hand down to unbuckle,” I said. “I don’t have anything anywhere on me. I’m on television. I’m a reporter. I’m on television….I…” I forced the words out with heavy labor. Anything more than a whisper felt like I was going to unleash the scream of terror that was building inside of me. And I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream so badly with my entire soul—LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! WHY WON’T YOU LEAVE ME ALONNNNEE! But I said nothing. I held it in. I held my breath and unlatched my seatbelt and let it release across my body. And slowly I turned and pulled my shaking frame upwards and outside of the physical protection of my car to face the officer. Oh God please help me. I closed my eyes and lingered in one final prayer that I released to float outwards on my exhaled breath.
The officer stood in front of me briefly—I could tell he was considering me, even from behind the emotionless stare of his mirrored aviator sunglasses. He took in a breath and his rigid posture softened a bit.
“I can’t believe it has come to this,” he said with his hand reaching upwards for his sunglasses.
“What?” I said, frightened about what that could mean for me in the next moments. The officer shook his head and pulled off his sunglasses. Officer Mallory. M--A--L--L--O--R--Y. I tried to commit that to memory and looked for the badge number. 13247. Mallory—13247. Ok, got it. Oh no, I forgot the numbers. He looked at me with blue eyes squinting to adjust to the light. He leaned forward just slightly to repeat himself.
“I just said, I can’t believe that it has come to this. This. Look at you—why are you so afraid?” he asked with seeming earnestness. “I’m not going to hurt you. Listen,” he hesitated. “I’m going to touch you. Is that ok? I’m not going to hurt you.” I paused, confused about what he was asking me to allow. I was not certain that I had any true agency or choice in the moment. I shook my head, saving my energy in case I would need to scream. He slowly lifted his hands up, placing them gently on my shoulders. I caught the glint of a gold wedding band on his left hand. Maybe he had a family—a daughter. Maybe he could understand what it was like as a parent to think about his innocent daughter not making it back home. “What is your name?”
“Tabitha…,” I said, struggling with even my most familiar words against the violent trembling in my body. I felt unsteady in my heels. Strangely, his hands stabilized me slightly. “Tabitha Abigail Walker. I’m a reporter on KVTV news. I’m just trying to get to work…” I said, trying to make a case for my safety—to make him understand that mine was not a name that would just disappear. If that registered with him, I didn’t notice. He continued just as before.
“Ms. Walker. Seeing you…like…I…I just can’t believe this. Look…” he said, searching for his words as he sought out my direct eye contact. He moved his head until his eyes met mine directly. “I’m a third generation cop. Ok? Third generation. My grandfather was a cop—and my dad. They’re the reason I put this uniform on every day. Every single day. To them…to me, this uniform means service. It means honor. It means everything opposite of whatever it is that’s making you stand here in front of me like this.” He paused again, and then continued. “And don’t think I don’t know—I do know…I’ve read the stories—seen the videos, too. The same ones you have. But that’s not what this uniform means to me. Ok? That’s not what it means. Do you understand that?” I struggled to take in his words. All I could do was look him in his eyes and let the tears fall from mine.
The air hung heavy between us for a moment and neither of us spoke. I couldn’t say anything, even as some of the tension started to drift out of my body. There are just some moments where words cannot perform their duty. There are just some thoughts that are bigger than words. It was in this space that we stood, in consideration of each other until we could find the next space of our shared reality. It was my turn to speak.
“I’m sorry…I’ve just seen so much…I didn’t mean...it’s not disrespect…I’m just…afraid…I know I maybe shouldn’t be this afraid…but I am,” I tried to explain. His words had touched me because I could see them echoed in his eyes. I wanted to believe him, so I started to allow his reassurance to calm my racing thoughts. “What happens now?” I asked. He took another long breath and dropped one hand from my shoulder but kept his eyes locked with mine.
“I pulled you over because you were driving erratically. You missed a light back there and it seemed like you might have been on your phone.” He broke eye contact with me and glanced over into my open car and returned to meet my stare. “From the looks of things, you probably weren’t, but you also weren’t paying attention. I want to let you go—but I need to make sure that you’re going to be safe driving. You said you’re heading to work. Just take some time and collect yourself before you get back on the road. Can we agree on that?” He paused to search my eyes for a response.