Might learn a couple things I’m no different than you!
You call for the good guys when you meet the bad men,
I’m wearing a blue shield and I still feel the reactions
When I patrol the block, I can sense dissatisfaction
There’s distrust, resentment in every interaction,
Whether the beat cop, lieutenant, sergeant or the captain We roll our sleeves up and we dig our hands in
I joined the force in order to make a difference,
Swore to uphold the law, protect men, women and children,
These life and death situations, we make split-second decisions
All for low pay, budget cutbacks and restrictions
Not just a job—it's a calling, a vocation,
My wife’s up late pacin’, for my safety—she’s praying,
I see what you see on all the cell phones
I’m just a man with a badge trying my best to make it home.
We all BRUISE, It’s that black and blue
A dream deferred, Nightmare come true
In another man’s shoes, Walk a mile or two
Might learn a couple things
I’m no different than you!
GRIP
“YOU WERE AMAZING.”
Bristol’s soft encouragement soothes some of my uncertainty about the performance. Performing “Bruise” in a roomful of cops and community activists is much different than in front of screaming fans.
“She’s right.” Greg, who is dressed in his uniform, smiles, even though his eyes remain solemn. “We still have a lot of work to do so people feel like we’re a part of the community. To protect them, not out to get them. ‘Bruise’ is exactly the kind of message both sides need to hear.”
They’re holding a reception for me to meet and greet people. I think I’ve shaken every hand here tonight. The stream of traffic is finally slowing down some, but I smile when I see my mom walking toward me. I didn’t even realize she would be here tonight. The smile freezes on my face when I notice who walks with her. My cousin Jade and my Aunt Celia, who hasn’t spoken to Greg in years.
“Hey, Marlon,” Ma says softly, reaching up to hug me. “Bristol, Greg.”
Greg lowers his eyes to the floor, not meeting my mother’s eyes and certainly not his mother’s.
“Hey, son,” Aunt Celia says, her voice hesitant.
Greg looks up, and suddenly, he isn’t the decorated officer. Not the strong man in uniform. In his eyes I see the young man he was all those years ago, wailing on my front yard with his brother dying in his arms. That young man’s guilt and pain saturate the air around us. The look he gives his mother seeks something that only she can give him, and she does. She stretches her arms up, and he doesn’t hesitate, folding his height in half to burrow into her neck, his tears and hers making peace, forgiving.
“Let’s give them a minute,” Ma says softly, tilting her head for us to step away.
“It’s good to see you, Ms. James,” Bristol says once we’re a few feet from them. “You, too, Jade.”