I learned MaKhia Bryants name in late April 2021.
I didnt want to dig.
I didnt think I could handle reading the details of yet another police killing.
But I felt a duty to bear witness.
It was too close to home.
Within minutes of scrolling and clicking, I learned that the victim of the shooting had died.
I saw a tweet about the victim being a teenager.
Soon, reports of it being a Black girl surfaced.
Hot tears streamed down my face.
Not another Black person.
Not a Black child.
She felt compelled to defend herself.
She armed herself with a knife.
Just a little over three weeks later, the 15-year-oldtried once moreto get some help from the police.
This time they fatally shot her sister, MaKhia.
Violence against us often occurs in the spaces where we love and make love.
We instantly noticed something disturbing.
From the cars side-view mirrors, we saw a young, Black couple arguing.
Traffic, at this point, had briefly come to a stop at a red light.
In my mask, I quickly went over to her right before he pulled off.
Tears streamed down her face as she kept calling for him to come back.
The van was already at the next light, nearly out of sight.
She couldnt get up off the ground.
One of the couples from a car that pulled over noticed her inability to move as well.
Her breathing became labored.
Shed just been released from the hospital.
She struggled to reply, Montana.
Her next words nearly broke my heart, I cant breathe.
Garner told the officer again and again, I cant breathe.
Looking at Montanas frightened face as she uttered those words, I feared what might happen next.
Within seconds of informing me of her name and inability to breathe, Montana began seizing.
We didnt want her to choke.
Hot tears of anger and sadness poured down my face.
Someone picked up her discharge papers to get some insight into what might be happening.
He leaned over to me and said, Shes epileptic.
I immediately began internally timing the seizure, so I could inform the paramedics about the length of it.
Every few seconds, her seizing appeared to get more and more erratic.Where was this damn ambulance?
Cops responses to Black women in distress too oftenresult in carceral or fatal outcomes.
He headed toward us.
It was him, the guy who assaulted Montana and threw her out of that white van.
He ran over to her and knelt beside her still seizing body, commanding her to get up.
My fear of what would happen when help arrived quickly transformed into fury as I lay next to Montana.
He then started asking those of us who pulled over, What happened?
Before I could even say, Shut the f*ck up.
You know you did this, an ambulance and two cop cars arrived.
One of the helpful bystanders interjected, just as the paramedics walked over to me and asked what happened.
I wanted to yell, Do you not see a whole ass person seizing and vomiting?
But I knew that would only negatively affect the level of care Montana might receive.
Two paramedics began assessing and assisting her.
Another paramedic asked me again what happened and how long shed been seizing.
He seemed caring enough.
All of us took turns reluctantly and sparsely informing the police about the events leading up to Montanas seizing.
Paramedics got a still-seizing Montana onto a stretcher and put her into the ambulance.
Two bystanders left at this point, relieved that medical assistance had arrived.
The cops surrounded him.
His gestures became more and more fitful as he denied any wrongdoing.
Someone began filming the encounter on their iPhone.
After several minutes of questioning and taking our statements, the officers let the young man go.
As soon as I got back in the car, I cried again.
I didnt know Montanas fate.
I didnt sleep well that night, or the following for that matter.
Both can be true.
Provided courtesy of University of California Press.
