lewisnotcs

[lewisnotcs]

Lewis entered CHiPS to check on the extension of the business. More and more people started to come to hangout there, and the building had just gotten too small. Lewis bought the building that was attached next door and was having the wall busted out to extend the arcade into a bigger room, so he’d have more room for the computer bars and his counters.

He was walking through the rubble and construction of the new side when the bell above the door caught his attention. Turning around, he walked back into the original CHiPS to find uniformed police officers. Lewis’ body stiffened, palms grew sweaty and his heart raced. Please don’t let them be here for me, please don’t let them be here for me. “Good afternoon! Is there something I can help you guys with?” He asked politely, looking beyond the officers to see a couple of people standing outside the building, phones already out. Please don’t be here for me.

“We’re looking for Lewis Marshall. We have a warrant.” The police officer’s tone was bland, but assertive. Please, God, don’t let them kill me. “That’s me.” Without being prompted, Lewis started to cycle through all of the things his parents taught him. Don’t resist. Don’t ask questions, just comply and hope that it works out. He started praying immediately, heart thudding so loud that he could hear it in his ears. The cold cuffs were tightened on his wrist so tight that he could feel the circulation being cut off. Don’t say anything. You’re fine.

He let them push him towards the door, not saying a word. Please, God, don’t let them kill me. Just short of the front door, Lewis immediately felt a cold, hard wall against his face. Don’t speak, don’t speak. You’re fine, you’re okay. He was panicking internally and there was no one he knew around him. “So you think you’re a tough guy hitting a woman?” They haven’t read you your rights yet. Don’t speak. They know you hit Donatella. Lewis started to sweat, and something cold started to drip down his face. He was pulled from the wall and then slammed back into it, again, again, and again. The more times he was pulled away the more he saw blood on his wall. It was hard to keep silent, especially as he was slammed against the wall.

You’re okay, you’re okay. You just have to make it inside the car. Shortly after, the door of CHiPS was pushed open, Lewis exhausted and hanging his head. The people with their phones were still there. You may live! They still haven’t read you your rights. As they walked to the car, the people followed, one calling out to him. “Hey, brother! You not gonna die today. We got you. We got it all on video.”

Don’t respond. Just look. They’ll know. They know. Lewis was slammed onto the trunk of the police car, scrunching his face in pain. Keep your mouth shut. You will not win. The people who surrounded the police officers with phones were getting closer. They weren’t scared. “Not today! Put him in that car and take him to the station alive!” Lewis was being frisked by the other officer before he was picked up and slammed back onto the trunk. “That’s unnecessary! He’s not resisting, he’s not even speaking!” The man who was speaking got close enough to them to get their badge numbers and names. Why can’t you be brave like him? Like all of them? Lewis questioned himself, trying to keep himself calm as tears welled in his eyes and threatened to fall. You’ve done that for so many people. You’re just like them. Brave. You’re going to live.

Lewis started to take mental pictures of everyone standing around him so that he could attempt to track them down later to get all of their footage. He was pulled off the car and mouthed thank you to the people standing around him. Without y’all, they would’ve killed me. He spoke to the people in his head, wishing they could hear him. “You’re good, brother! They’re pressed by us! They’re mad because we succeed, we own businesses! Live the rest of your life in excellence!” The man continued to shout to Lewis as he was placed in the car. They all shouted affirmations as if his life had been saved. Most lives are taken on the streets, but now you need to focus on living through jail.

When they arrived at the station, he didn’t calm. Instead, his anxiety ramped up even more as they walked in. Slamming the warrant down on the counter, the officers confirmed all of Lewis’ identity before taking the cuffs off. “What happened to his face?” The clerk asked, Lewis remained silent. “We don’t know, we found him like that.” He rolled his eyes. How sick do you have to be? He still didn’t speak. His heart was still racing, and he was scared. Alone. Nobody here can save you. Lewis was taken by another officer to intake where they asked for all of his information, took his prints and his mugshot. They never read you your rights. You have to get that video.

He was directed to a holding cell where he’d be by himself. Something that was both a blessing and a curse. A curse because now if they do something to him, no one will know, and a blessing because it was quiet. “There’s a phone and you can call whoever to get out. Good luck.” He was shoved into the cell and door snapped shut behind him.

Please, God, don’t let them kill me. Please, God, don’t let them come in here and kill me. Lewis repeated in his head, still afraid to speak. He cycled through a list of names in his head multiple times before moving to the phone. There were plenty of people he could’ve called, but in this moment, he was too scared to call anyone but Tavyn. Tavyn always protected him before.

It was a few hours before Lewis could even muster up the courage to call Tavyn. It was a few hours before Lewis could convince himself that it was okay to speak.

He picked up the phone, and dialed Tavyn’s number, waiting, hoping he would pick up. As soon as his voice rang in Lewis’ ears, Lewis cried. “Y-you have to come get me before they k-kill me.” He attempted to sob quietly. He tried to regulate his breathing and listen to Tavyn’s words. “I-I got arrested. I’m in a holding cell — yes, by myself.” He spoke, nervousness flooding back as the other male’s voice reflected the same. “A few hours.” The phone conversation continued, Tavyn ultimately able to calm him down. “I’ll be there as fast as I can. Just try to stay calm.” Lewis nodded instead of answering, and told him to hurry again before hanging up.

He sat, and waited, and waited. Please, don’t let Tavyn get hurt. Please don’t let him get arrested. Lewis paced the cell until he called Tavyn back. “They won’t let me come see you. Are you okay? Giorgina is trying something. Just give it a few more minutes.” The longer he waited, the more anxious he grew and the more pain he felt in his chest. About ten minutes went by before an officer approached the cell door to unlock it. “Come on, Marshall, you’re going home.”

You’re not home free yet. Don’t speak, get your stuff, and get out. He collected his things and sighed some paper work before being escorted out to the waiting area. Lewis’ eyes immediately landed on Tavyn, who was pacing and it was dark out. Once Lewis was officially released he didn’t bother to acknowledge Tavyn until they got outside of the jail. He dropped his things and wrapped Tavyn in his arms sobbing into his chest. You made it. They didn’t kill you.

"I’d never known what was going to come to me that day, and I never knew that it would be so traumatizing."

[lewisnotcs]

Irishman throws a tantrum

[lewisnotcs]

[lewisnotcs]

deadname. || narrative

There are so many other things I would rather do today.  I would rather cut the grass, do homework, or even go out for cheerleading. Today is the day my life changes forever. I hope that it doesn't change in a bad way, or a negative way, but in a good one. I hope they understand.. I hope they don't react like the people in the movies. There are so many other things I'd rather do today...     Mary signed the page with her small, cratchy signature and shut the journal, wrapping the band around its cover. She set the pen down and tucked her hands together between her thighs, trying to calm her heartbeat to a normal pace. Mary stared at her desk and the piles of homework she had left to do.  She'd been sitting in the same place at her desk since she got home, trying to do her best to finish her homework. It wasn't even that much.       The female turned in her big, black desk chair to investigate her bedroom. There were pictures of her and her parents hanging on the wall, some of her in jean overalls and a baseball cap and some of her in dresses with the frilly white socks that she hated more than anything. A small smile stretched across her lips as she reminisced. She hoped they wouldn't hate her tonight. As much as she tried she couldn't get her heartbeat to a normal pace.. but how could you when most of these situations turn into life and death or parents and no parents? She had more faith in her parents, but if they'd taught her anything that she would carry with her forever, it was to hope for the best but expect the worse.     It was Tuesday, which meant that tonight was Taco Tuesday, something her father started after his work friends invited the family to a block party one year for Cinco De Mayo. It was one of the best days of her life. It wasn't often that they met many other "minorities" who lived in the area, but she felt as if she was fortunate to learn a lot about another culture that she wasn't often exposed to.  Mary's dad always made tacos the exact same way that his friend did. Their house was always stocked with the spices and other ingredients that would make their Taco Tuesday authentic. It was Mary's favorite dinner.     "Mary! Dinner's ready!" Her mother's words echoed up the stairs and through her closed door. Slowly, Mary stood up and started to approach the door. Before she opened it, she stopped, eyeing herself in the mirror, giving herself a last minute confident boost, even if she wasn't confident in her body. Pulling the door handle open and making her way down the stairs, the weight that laid on Mary's chest only got heavier. Just as she turned the corner, she painted a smile on her face to hide her nervousness, hoping they wouldn't catch on before she was ready.     She took her seat at the table, in her designated spot and built her tacos quietly while her parents discussed an issue her father had at work today. "...and so I told her if the ladies bathroom was being cleaned, she was more than welcome to use the men's and I would happily stand watch for her so she was comfortable." Mary's head snapped up as her father finished the story, and her eyes darted between her parents, both smiling at each other. It wasn't much longer that she was able to be quiet when they started to question her about school, and how her classes were going -- they knew, they just liked to hear her brag about her grades.  "Y'know, we are so proud of you, darlin'. You just.. you go to school and you do your best. You don't cause any trouble.. on purpose," her mother looked at her, referring to the time when Mary was hit with a piece of paper and she threw it back and it accidentally hit the teacher.     Her gut wrenched as they continued to praise her. If there was anything she'd learned from being in therapy, though, it was that Jordan was right. It was okay to accept compliments. It may be weird, but it's good for the mind to hear them, no matter who they come from. The only issue with the compliments she was receiving now was that she was afraid they'd be taken away as soon as she spoke again. She cleared her head as her parents started to eat again, their mouths falling silent as she swallowed the last bit of food in her mouth. Mary felt a sharp pain in her chest but knew it was time. She took a deep breathe laid her arms on the table.     "I have something to say." The beating of her heart was now in her ears, her fingertips, and even her toes. Her parents nonchalantly looked at her as if she wasn't about to drop the biggest bomb on them. The silence around the table told her that they were listening, and waiting for her to say what she needed to.     "I...I...I'm sorry if what I'm about to say disappoints you." Tears sat in her eyes as she began to talk, her voice cracking a little bit more each time. "I talk to Jordan a lot, and Jordan.. She knows that I haven't been feeling myself lately, as in the last couple of years." Mary couldn't look them in the eyes any longer. She dropped her gaze to the table cloth that she didn't realize she was grasping so tight, her parents now looking concerned. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth to speak again, tears starting to squeeze their way out of her eyes and slipping down her cheeks.     "I don't think I'm Mary." She shook her head. "I know I'm not Mary." She tried to take a deep breath but it only led to quiet sobs as her father reached over to rub her back. She squeezed the table cloth between her fingers even more until she felt her mother's hand lay atop of hers. "I'm.. I prefer the pronouns he or him. I like men and women and as of right now I am not sexually attracted to either." In an attempt to catch her breath, she opened her eyes to see her parents looking at each other and back at her. Multiple times.    Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh no. Her mind raced as they continued to not say anything. Her breathing got harder and she was only a few breaths away from breaking out into a full blown panic attack. Her father rubbed her back again as he adjusted in his chair to face her. "You.. are a girl.. but you prefer to be a him? Am I right?" Her mother laid her hand on her father's arm, Mary assuming that she thought he offended her. "Y-yes. That is what I am." Her father frowned. "You are." Mary nodded nervously. "And you are attracted to both men and women?" Her mother asked, head now propped on her hand, in full focus mode. Mary nodded.     The longer the silence was around the table, the more nervous she'd gotten. Neither of them smiled, or even showed a glimpse of happiness. She wanted to run, she wanted to run as far away as possible and crawl under a rock. Not only did she hate her body, and feel so insecure about her entire existence, but now it was looking as if her parents were about to be rid of their child.     "So you are our son?" Her father asked, his hand now off her back and in his lap. Mary squeezed her eyes shut as her bottom lip quivered and nodded her head.     "What would you like us to call you? Have you picked a new name? I don't want to keep using your deadname if you have already decided on a new one." Deadname. She referred to Mary as my deadname. Mary frowned, looking up at both of them, her mother eyeing her directly and her father reading something on his phone. Was he angry? Mary nodded her head, parting her lips to speak, but still stuttering.     "I would like to be called Lewis-" her father interrupted as soon as she spoke. "Like Lewis Lattimore?" She smiled weakly, nodding her head in excitement. "Y-yeah, like Lewis Lattimore, and my middle name.. I want to be called Frank. Like Frank Hampton?" She said almost questioningly. Her father dropped his phone to the table and smiled. "Frank Hampton of the original Black Panther Party." Mary nodded her head again and watched his hand extened out, almost flinching. When his hand stopped in the air, she recognized that it was a high five. She smacked his hand like she did when she was a kid. "Lewis Frank Marshall." Her mother stated to no one in particular. "It has a nice sound to it." She was hoping that this was it, that it was all it was going to be.     "Says here a name change is only fifty-dollars.  We can take him to do it tomorrow." Him.     Lewis smiled, looking between them. "Y-You're not mad?" He asked more nervous than before. He watched his mother laugh quietly and her father do the same. "Why would we be mad for figuring out who you are? If you're a him, that's what you are, if you like men and women, then you just do." His father cleared his throat and cleaned his mouth from the bite he'd just taken.      "God does not love you any less, and neither do we. You're our son."     The rest of the dinner and evening went better than Lewis could've ever imagined. His father discussed teaching him to shave, both of them taking him to start testosterone, and teaching him to do other manly things. His mother, on the other hand, was more than willing to take him shopping for an entire new wardrobe. "I think that would help with the body dysmorphia a lot." Lewis spoke from the loveseat. His mother smiled. "Well, in that case, we'll go bright and early to get started."     Later that evening, Lewis retreated to his bedroom, taking in all of the pictures of him as a little girl... again. Being Mary was okay, but he was more than ready to be who he really was. Lewis Frank Marshall.