A Better Decade for Simone Jennifer Smith Reliving my past trauma Part VII

BY SIMONE J. SMITH

I closed my eyes, and forced myself to calm down. The officers were chatting away beside me. Their voices droned, and eventually it started to sound like babble. I looked down at the handcuffs around my wrist. They were tight. I wiggled my arms a little to ease the discomfort, and closed my eyes again. I have no idea how these officers did not hear my heart thumping in my chest. I began to take deep breathes; in for four seconds, out for four seconds.

It seemed like hours, but I am sure that it was probably only about 30 minutes. I felt the van stop, and the driver jumped out. I opened my eyes and saw that we had pulled up to a small redbrick building. The officer was speaking to the person at the gate. They laughed with each other, enjoying some private joke. It is interesting how in a situation, each person can have a completely different reality.

The officer turned around and headed back to the van, while the other officer opened the gate. He jumped in, and drove through. We parked right after

he crossed over the gate, and as it closed behind us, my heart felt like it stopped beating. What had I done? I forced the tears that were welling up in my eyes back into my head. There was no way I was going to let these officers see me emotional.

Both officers got out and they opened the van door. The indicated to me that I should climb down, so I got up and stepped down. I was led into the building that was attached to the gate, down a long dark corridor, into an office that held about four officers. The officer rolled my luggage beside me, and walked over to the other officers who were leering at me. Again, more babble, but this time I heard my name in there somewhere. They all looked over at me, and one officer pointed to a line on the floor. I guessed that he wanted me to stand there, so I got up and walked over.

As I walked over, I saw a board behind me, and a camera in front of me. I have always like cameras but naturally this time was different. This camera was not going to capture my good side because at this point, there was no good side. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. They were all just staring at me. In that moment, I swore they found what was happening to me funny. They gave me a board with some numbers on it. “Look at the camera,” one of the officers said in broken English. “Okay now turn to your left. Now your right.”

With the photos done, my fingerprints were next. It felt weird. Even though it was just my fingerprints, I felt like my identity was being stolen from me. They now had a part of me. A part of my life story. Only a piece of my life story, and the worst part of it. After my fingerprints were done, then came the questions. There must have been a million of them, or at least that is how it seemed. I had to spell my name so many times, and continue to remind them that my name was Simone, not Simon.

After the administration work was done, two of the officers, led me down another corridor, which opened up into an office. Up in one corner of the office was a television. Right in front of me were two steel doors: one was solid, the other more like a gate. Then came the part of the night that will forever torment me. “You can make your phone call. What number would you like to call?” I gave them the number and they passed me the phone. “My mom answered, “Hey Simone! How are you? Your father and I are just getting ready for bed.”

 “Hey mom,” I said, my voice finally cracking. “I need your help.” In this moment, I changed the course of my parent’s life forever.