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I feel like now is a better time than ever to tell my story. A story from about four years ago. A story I vowed to never tell because of shame and embarrassment. What would people think if they knew? Because the ones who knew judged me from the beginning. This is not a story for praise. This is not a story for sympathy. This is a story about someone who survived and remained silent. This is a story that was triggered by George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Trayvon Martin, Sandra Bland and countless others who have died at the hands of police. This is also a story for so many of us who survived police brutality — those who made it out alive and then were made silent.

My sister, Jennifer, and me, along with my friends Mary and Ebony, all piled into Ebony’s Nissan Pathfinder. Ebony’s pathfinder could fit about seven passengers, so fitting four girls and all of their luggage was not a problem. Though it was meant as just an overnight trip, all the girls understood that multiple options were necessary.

We drove to the city for the fabulous night I had planned to celebrate my 23rd birthday — a night that would later take a horrific turn. We made a few stops for gas, food and other incidentals. Finally, we made it to the hotel and checked in. We carried all of our things up to our room.

It was time to get ready to go out. I decided to take my shower first in order to have more time to do my makeup. After my shower, I wrapped my body in a towel. My wig was not on and my braids were out. I opened the window and sat on the bed. I packed my pipe with weed and proceeded to smoke before continuing to get ready. The room was non-smoking, but that did not stop me. Mary made me a drink. Between the drink and the weed, it’s safe to say I was feeling myself.

I started getting dressed with my girls. When it came time to put my makeup on, Mary noticed that I was struggling, so she helped me to complete my look. All I had left to do was put my dress on and my wig.

It was finally time to hit the club. We all climbed in an Uber and we were on our way. We pulled up to the Cellar nightclub. I approached the bouncer to let him know that I had reserved a table for bottle service. A host greeted us and escorted us to our table. The music was loud and the club was packed. They brought out our bottle of Ciroc and a bottle of champagne. We all toasted and began to turn up. The party continued. The bottle service girls came over to wish me a happy birthday. Many people came to our table to celebrate with me. I continued to drink, dance and have a good time.

Then, a security guard came over and told me that I was dancing too sexually.

Jennifer told me to tone it down, but I was confused because we were at a nightclub. The same security guard returned and once again said that I was dancing too sexually. He threatened to kick me out if I continued. I was still confused, but tried to continue to have a good time.

Jennifer and I went to the restroom. I remember talking to some girls in the restroom. I also remember vomiting in the toilet. Jennifer left the restroom, and I am still not sure why she left me. This is the part that gets a little fuzzy.

The next thing I knew was that I was outside. It’s still unclear how I got there, but Jennifer says I was kicked out.

I was enraged for being kicked out. I spent so much money, and to top it off, it was my birthday.

It is important to note that at this time I was dealing with undiagnosed mental issues which I believe contributed to the following behavior.

I became belligerent. The club owner’s car was parked in front and I kicked it. The police were called. They asked me to stop. The police told Jennifer that if they can get me a ride home then they would not arrest me. Well she could not get an Uber quick enough and I was arrested.

I remember the next part perfectly.

They brought me into jail. They brought me into the cell. They tackled me to the ground. It was three or four cops. One officer had their foot so far into my back, to the point that I could not breathe. I begged them to stop. They told me to shut up. I remember thinking that I would die in that cell. I lost control of my body and peed on myself. They snatched my wig off and removed my jewelry.

I woke up in the cell. I was freezing and naked. I asked the guard why I was naked. They told me it was because they cut my dress off of me after I peed. I was embarrassed, ashamed and wanted nothing more than to go home.

After an interview by a psychiatrist, I was able to go home. I called Jennifer and they came to pick me up, after having my photo taken and getting my jewelry back. I was given clothes to wear home. I had no shoes and was given a pair of paper sandals, similar to the ones you would get after leaving the nail shop.

I stood at the front of the jail waiting for my friends and my sister for what felt like forever. Eventually they pulled up in the pathfinder. I sat in the car and buckled my seatbelt. The car was silent. Then suddenly everyone was laughing. I bursted into tears and told them what happened to me. I then began to laugh with them — but I never thought it was funny.

I went on with my life, pretending like it never happened. I only told a few close people, but I am constantly reminded. Every time I see the image of George Floyd, I am reminded. When I think about how Sandra Bland died in jail, I am reminded. I am reminded that I survived. I always ask myself, “What if I had died in there?” No one would have been laughing then.

It’s easy to say that I was drunk and belligerent, but that does not excuse what the police did to me. I was not a threat to the police.

nikkid

Writing since December 2018 · 1 story contributed