I don't even want to talk about it.
Actually, I will. Let me share a personal story. I couldn't sleep a single minute last night, so forgive the sloppiness.
When I was in culinary school, in Pittsburgh, our dorms were in the middle of downtown. Shit was eerie because at night after all of the businesses had closed, it was completely abandoned, like we lived in a ghost town.
Anyway. I got a job washing dishes at this Japanese spot, across the bridge at Station Square, and by the time I got off, the rail wasn't running so I had to foot it all the way to the crib. I was used to walking in dark places, and I had a reputation for being a 6'3" legit martial art ass nigga, so I swallowed my fear every night and made that walk. Fuck it. Plus I carried the 6 inch boning knife out of my school knife kit just in case.
This one night I started walking across the bridge, and this little red two-door started following me. I knew it was, because I was walking slow like a cool dude does and he didn't speed past. I was dying to get to a street, and I turned left at the first one I got to, and looked back over my shoulder. The car got to the street and stopped. I could see a 40-something white guy in the driver seat, because of the street light and the fact that his window was down. He When I was a quarter of the was up the street, he made the turn behind me. Now I'm from Akron, and common sense says the only white people who shadow 6'3" black kids are cops or people looking for trouble. I'd made this walk a hundred times and never saw a cop around midnight. I cut a sharp right at the next street, since it was a straight shot to Penn Ave and my dorm. So now I'm walking faster . Again, he paused, then followed me but he was closing with pace. My legs felt heavy, like they wouldn't run if I had wanted to. And I was getting more and more mad, like why the fuck is this dude on me. I wasn't scared. All that was on my mind at that point was what to do when he finally made his move. I just kept telling myself, "He's dead. He's dead. He's dead when he gets out of that car." I got to this courtyard that I always did, by these tall glass buildings, when I heard his engine rev up like he finally wanted to get up to me. As he pulled up on my side, I grasped the blade in my pocket extra tight.
This dude leans his head out of the window and says...."Can I suck your cock for money?"
The fuck?! I lost it. Nah, I LOST IT. The invitation to get paid for a bj went all the way over my head. I just laid into this dude about following me, I had an iron grip on the knife still, and it just came out. I told him he was a dead man and didn't know it. I basically told him he was the dumbest motherfucker breathing. If I'd had Gamma rays in me, his shitty little Jetta or whatever would've been punt kicked across the Allegheny River, I swear. When I stopped, he was terrified, damn the look on his face is one like I've only seen one other time. He garbled a "S-Sorry!' and sped off.
I was just so wound up and ready to kill. Because when you're being followed, you have to decide in your head what's going to happen BEFORE the confrontation begins. Again, who follows me, a relatively large typical hood dressed black kid for over a mile, in the dead of the night?
I shared this story, because when the Trayvon shooting first happened, it immediately took me back to 2001, and the psychology of being chased. I just know exactly what Trayvon felt leading up to the altercation. I knew he knew that when that motherfucker leaves their vehicle, it's time to fight, no questions asked. This case has been so weird for me, because I constantly feel like I could've been in the coffin or the defendant's chair.
Bet my life they wouldn't have come back with a 'Not Guilty' today, not for me.