A Mistake in Brooklyn

In mid-2000, we visited some friends in Brooklyn. I had some wine and quickly got drunk. A few hours into the evening, we heard a car honking. Our friend went out and was met by a neighbor angry about her car blocking the driveway. Our friend quickly ran back inside, took her car keys and her dog—meaning to take it for a short walk after she moved the car—then ran back outside and put the dog in the back seat. But even after parking his car, the neighbor continued to yell. Apparently, she answered. He lost it and tried to punch her in the face. She moved her head forward and the neighbor hit her dog instead. Distressed and shocked, she went back inside and told us what happened.

Drunk and over-confident, I went outside to face the neighbor, but the closer I got, the more I realized how big he was, and by the time we faced each other and he was holding my shirt collar and me pretty much on tip toes reaching to grab his, I knew there was no turning back, and I kind of knew I was in trouble.

When the man realized Honey called the police he simply let go of my shirt and walked away.

Twenty minutes later, two police officers came, a black man and a white woman. They took a statement from our friend and walked outside to look around. Did anyone know the man? Had anyone seen him before? Suddenly one of our friends shouted, “There he is, he’s getting into his car,” pointing at a person getting into a car at the end of the darkened block. The car pulled out and started driving toward us and the police officer moved to the middle of the road, took out his flashlight, and waved it for the car to stop. The car continued. Now, the officer was waving his flashlight with one arm while the other was pulling his gun out. Suddenly, the driver realized what was going on and slammed on the break. When the officer aimed his flashlight at the car we saw an old couple with their hands touching the roof of their car, shaking.

“Sorry,” my friend told the police officer. “It was dark.”

“Well,” he said, in a city still reeling from the Amadou Diallo shooting, “Now you see how mistakes are made.”