There was so much speculation about this raid. People accused the cops of trying to make their quota for the month since it was July 30. Other folks wondered who had been talking to the police about the Buchanans’ operation. It was such a mystery, but I’ll always remember this date as the day in which I lost my brother and my crew of friends fell apart forever.

I watched them walk him into the back of the truck with the rest of the chained gang. They moved at the pace of herded cows. Mama steered me back into the building with a tighter grip this time. On the way up the stairs, we saw another group of police. We slid to the side, and they walked by us with a Buchanan parade: Gail, Roady, Peach, and Pumpkin. It didn’t occur to me that Sweat was missing; my heart only had space for Meechie in that moment. We had lost him again to the police, and it was clear that this time they could keep him.

Twenty-One
Last Tag

That night, as if our bodies were broken, Mama and I slumped in both posture and spirit. She didn’t have words of encouragement, just hugged me and told me to go to bed. It was a little too early for bed, but I knew not to argue with her. From inside my room, I heard her wailing. It was all that we could do, give in to the sadness and loss and cry until we exhausted ourselves and fell asleep.

Mama slept through the whole night. Maybe, as a mom, she had heavier guilt and stress about losing Meechie, and it dragged her down into a deep slumber. My eyes eased open in the middle of the night, and I went to look out the window in the living room. At three something in the morning, I didn’t see anything outside. The shell of 4946 stood there, haunting the block, but there was no movement at all: not one car driving down State Street, no lone soul walking around. It was as if the police had locked up everyone, and Mama and I were the only two people left in the entire neighborhood. It would continue to feel that way in the coming weeks.

I didn’t see Precious that next day. I knocked on her door that afternoon, but no one answered. I wondered what happened with Mr. Brown; was he out of jail? Did Ms. Patty and Precious stay at the police station all night? Why weren’t they home? The police would have no reason to hold Mr. Brown because he didn’t have a criminal record, I rationalized. I worried about him, though, and how Precious was doing. I knew she had to have been torn up about seeing her father abused like that by the police.