The Test of Times

It's already been a year since the Tim Garretson case. That was when the Hispanic cop shot the black kid in the Mustang in front of God and everybody in a packed intersection during lunch hour. "The kid had a gun on the seat," according to CNN. "We can't ask our police to say 'please' after every word!" MSNBC got that quote from a witness who was stuck in the traffic that day. The consensus was that Mr. Garretson should have "just complied." I remember it like it was all yesterday. Man...we had excuses yesterday.

Today, over in Lawngate, they buried the cop. Buried the cop and resurrected the story— and also the communities' pain that went with it. Resurrected the obsessive fact that Timmy was black, and the cop wasn't. I thought then, and I think now, that the difference in race was more important to people than the fact that that a young man died. Anyway, Timmy was buried out in Juliet county a year ago today. They're both dead, and love and common sense seem to have died with them. But in spite of all the politics and posturing, we had the funeral today.

I stayed up to watch the news. Nothing from coast to coast but stories of The Killer Kop and Tiny Tim. Stories of oaths and threats, calls to arms and plans of action. I wish I had just gone to bed, that I hadn't seen the newest terrible brewing. We don't just get to go on living after tragedies anymore. First there's a crucible we must survive. Tomorrow, society won't just "go on." With all this rhetoric, tomorrow could be the beginning or the end, depending on each of our choices.

You see, we have a test tomorrow.

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