The Soulless Lot

Gramma,

Drove the truck to a motorcycle event the other night.  It's a good time to catch up with old friends.  It was too rainy to ride.  We parked the car and headed to the bar.  There was a big fat white cop who felt the need to yell and heatedly gesture at us to walk to a distant tent instead of to our nearby destination.  It was confusing that he was making us go that way.  The people in the tent were also  not clear on why he did that.  He was a cop rented for the evening.  The attitude from the man with the gun served to perpetuate the current negativity towards officers.  Way to alienate people for next year.  Put me in a mood for the evening.  When we left, the officer was enjoying a jovial conversation with a Barbie doll. 

For the most part, I have been a law-abiding citizen, but cops are a fickle bunch and I have serious trust issues with them.  For years, I needed to pop Xanax every time I saw one in my rear view mirror.  They betrayed me completely when I was most in need of protection from my ex-husband.  They falsified police reports.  They said I wasn't being followed by a suspicious person, that it was probably someone who wanted to get to know me.  I said, "I am very approachable.  There is someone following me wherever I go."  It was someone stalking me on behalf of my ex.  The police refused to take any action.  I didn't realize they were all in the same bed. 

I was terrified after my daughter and I were shot at and the police declined to help me.  Two of my dogs were already missing/killed and another was taken to the vet with a gunshot wound.  My heart was racing all the time.  I put nails in a piece of plywood and laid it across the driveway at night.  I called a private investigator to document what my ex was doing to me.  When I found out she was a friend of the county sheriff, who was a friend of my ex's family, I canceled her services.  In retrospect, I wonder if she would have stood her ground in defending my claim. 

In my search for one of the missing dogs, I met a man who turned out to be a convicted child molester.  I told him what was going on.  He said he could help me.  Instead, he contacted my ex and a plan was put in motion to set me up for solicitation of murder.  The police facilitated a "Squeal for a Deal" with the child molester.  In exchange for his testimony against me, they would keep him out of prison on his latest offense.  The molester couldn't keep any of his stories straight.  He and my ex were deposed separately.  Their lies didn't match up.  Of course, no action was taken for perjury. 

So, yeah, I have trust issues with police.  I know other white people who have had equally disastrous experiences with law enforcement.  I don't like attorneys either.  They seem pretty much like a soulless lot. 

PTSD

Gramma, 

Hail predicted.  Parked the car where there are no trees, so it would get the max damage.  That pretty much insures we won't get any weather.  Can't believe anything these hacks say.  First round of storms was supposed to be around 3:00 p.m.  It was sunny and hot.  We need rain.  My grass is shredded wheat. 

The yard is an explosion of color, flowers blooming everywhere.  I deadhead every morning.  All weekend, there was this young finch outside one of my picture windows, tapping on the glass.  Elvis, my canary, is in his cage watching this.  The windows are open and he is singing away. 

Dave and I had a staycation over the Fourth.  My three kids came over Friday late afternoon, about three hours late.  They spent the night.  We grilled and drank a lot of beer.  The kids had a fire in the pit.  I tripped on a step and was impaled by a gargoyle wing.  There is a bruise on my ribcage.  I had been drinking since noon, so didn't feel it until the next morning. 

Party at my son's the next night.  He bought the house and land where he was raised.  I planned to spend the night, but only had three beers, so went home.  I had my daughter's dog while she and her boyfriend were off doing some things.  Poor Huxley shook uncontrollably from the sound of gunshots.  It brought me back to a dark summer day in 1990. 

My six-year-old daughter and I were in the yard with a German shepherd  given to me for protection after my border collie was found shot and left in a ditch.  Bullets flew past us.  The shepherd went down.  I grabbed my daughter and ran towards the house.  "Get Baby," she yelled.  Baby was the lamb she got for her birthday.  Baby was wearing a bonnet.  I scooped her up with my other arm and got to safety. 

When the gunshots stopped, I took the dog to the vet.  Later, I called the Sheriff's Department.  An officer showed up and blew me off.  My husband's family had the police in their pocket.  I went to the D.A.'s office to ask for help.  He too ignored me.  I didn't know then that they are all in the same bed. 
I have these kinds of flashbacks all the time.  I have PTSD from this and other things the legal system did to me. 

Much later, I would see the falsified police report that was filed.  I was quoted as calling my ex-to-be a son-of-a-bitch.  That terminology had never been part of my vocabulary.  My daughter wants to ask her father why he did this, but hasn't found the right time.  Is there ever the right time to ask your father why he shot at you and your mother?