I have this nightmare where I call the cops to handle a library incident and they shoot me five times because I fit the description. In that nightmare, no one administers aid. In that nightmare, the library is full of witnesses. In that nightmare, several people record it on their phones. In that nightmare, the media spins the story to find fault with me for not wearing my name tag when they can’t find any criminal record. In my nightmare, my mom tries (through tears) to convince them of my goodness, my humanity. In my nightmare, my coworkers – who were present – want to wait for the facts. In my nightmare, the cops never serve any jail time. In my nightmare, my life doesn’t matter.
And then I wake up and it still doesn’t.