“I’m twenty-two.”
“I know your age.”
“Then why am I turning around?”
“Because your collar is crooked.”
It had not been.
She fixed it anyway.
Then she touched the ribbons.
Her eyes filled.
He pretended not to notice.
Now the same uniform was becoming evidence against him in a shopping-center parking lot.
The officer leaned closer.
“Hands where I can see them.”
The young man placed both hands loosely against his thighs.
The officer pointed at the insignia.
“Where’d you buy this?”
The young man looked up.
“I didn’t buy it.”
“What, somebody gave it to you?”
“It was issued.”
“By who?”
“The Georgia State Emergency Services Corps.”
The officer laughed.
“There is no such thing.”
The young man stared.
For the first time, he almost smiled.
Not because the situation was funny.
Because the certainty was extraordinary.
“Yes, there is.”
“Don’t get smart.”
“I’m not.”
“You expect me to believe you’re some kind of officer?”
“I never said I was a police officer.”
“You’re wearing a badge.”
“It’s an agency crest.”
“That’s impersonation.”
“No.”
The young man’s voice remained level.
“This uniform does not identify me as law enforcement.”
The officer’s face hardened.
“You know a lot about the wording.”
“I know the organization I belong to.”
That answer irritated him more.
The officer’s palm struck the young man’s shoulder.
Not hard enough to knock him down.
Hard enough to force him lower.
“Stay where I put you.”
Several bystanders gasped.
The teenager recording took a step closer.
The young man’s expression changed.
He looked down for a second.
Then back up.
His voice was quieter.
“Please don’t put your hands on me unless you need to.”
The officer pointed near his face.
“I decide what I need.”
The young man said nothing.
Across the parking lot, an older woman whispered:
“Oh, no.”
Her daughter asked:
“What?”
“That boy isn’t doing anything.”
The daughter held up her phone.
“Mom, don’t go over there.”
The officer turned toward the bystanders.
“Everyone back up.”
Nobody moved much.
A woman near the cart return said:
“We’re on public parking property.”
The officer pointed.
“Back up.”
People backed up a few feet.
Phones stayed raised.
The officer returned his attention to the young man.
“How’d you get those ribbons?”
“They were awarded.”
“For what?”
The young man’s eyes lifted slightly.
“Service.”
The officer smirked.
“At twenty-two.”
“Yes.”
“What service?”
“Tornado recovery.”
“Where?”
“Three counties.”
“Names.”
The young man gave them.
The officer seemed annoyed that the answer came immediately.
“You memorize that story?”