The interview room wasn’t anything like the movies or television shows. There was no cold metal table, no dim lights, no two-way mirror at all. It was a simple room, no windows, with a cheap, old table about four feet wide and three feet deep in the middle surrounded by three worn leather chairs, one on my side, two on theirs. There was only one picture that hung on the wall next to the one door to my right, above the dirty light switch. I snapped a pic
The mission of the Atlanta Police Department is to create a safer Atlanta by reducing crimes, ensuring the safety of our residents and building trust in partnership with our community.
We are a source of pride for the residents of Atlanta, admired among law enforcement agencies worldwide, recognized for our professionalism, integrity, and service to our communities.
Taking pride in our actions, duties, development, and appearance
Adhering to moral and ethical principles at all times
Striving for excellence, accountability and effectiveness in our performance
Instilling trust and standing for justice in the face of danger
It was 72 degrees in the room, if I were to guess, and they were kind enough to put a bottle of cold water in front of me, which I could sip at any point given that I was not in cuffs or shackles. A box of tissues stood at attention in the middle of the table. I wore my new KD shoes, simple jeans, and a dark blue Ralph Lauren polo, untucked, so I was comfortable enough. I figured comfort is everything in this type of situation. I was going to be here awhile.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and I could feel my hands slightly trembling under the table. As thoughts raced through my head, I couldn’t help but play the incident over and over again in my head, but sometimes the details would change here and there. I had to figure this shit out before the detective came into the room. He would want details, I knew, but everything happened so fast. Again, unlike the movies or television, things were not planned out step by step from beginning to end; rather, the first steps were planned and whatever happened thereafter was in the heat of the moment, an uncontrollable emotional high governed by mob rule. I should have known better.
I took another deep breath and held it for three seconds. When I got home last night after the protest, I experienced a feeling I had never before felt. I was part of something big, part of a monumental change, a paradigm shift, and now, unfortunately, a participant in what could very well be considered by many to be a crime, maybe a serious one. There was a rush, a feeling of righteousness and primal fear all at once. I didn’t know whether to party or part ways with the world.
I slept about two hours last night, if you could call it sleep, and was unsurprisingly summoned back to the living by APD pounding on my door. Nothing will sober anybody up quicker than that. I knew why they were here and better to face the music than risk getting shot. Atlanta didn’t need another martyr. I opened the door, invited them in, and politely asked if I could get dressed. My demeanor must have knocked them on their heels; I think they were expecting me to be combative. But I’m not a violent person.
They were quite professional, saying that they just wanted to talk to me about what happened the night before and I believed them. They let me dress, granted they watched my every move, led me to an unmarked car without cuffs and even let me sit in the passenger seat rather than in the back. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as I had thought. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe.