My Police Encounters . Harlem Day or Night

The police directive must be for at least three cops to post up on both corners of my street at all times. There is one regular officer who is so tall he enjoys grabbing the top of the crosswalk signal to stretch his arms. Today, like most days, I find Mr. Giant Officer mid-joke with a wide, carefree smile and surprisingly high-pitch laugh. He always stops laughing abruptly just as you pass, much like a teenager playing keep-away with a private jeer. The three police block the center of the sidewalk so people sidestep them, cross the street, or move into the road to avoid them. Engrossed in my phone, I mistakenly bump Mr. Giant Officer with my large purse on his gun-side, knocking his hand from resting atop the holster. Fear grips me—I freeze. Yesterday, I saw him tapping it with his fingertips out of impatience or boredom. His hand ricochets back to his pistol instantly. The other officers whip their heads around to face me and two pedestrians slow down to stare. My threat level is being assessed. I don’t dare breathe or look up. He squares his hips to face me directly, leans down, and orders “Move along”.