· Suspicious Person: Billy Brassfield ·
Writing Prompt by Sean McArdle
Sean McArdle, Kansas Authors Club member from Winchester, England, recently added to a conversation that began with a question: “Where do stories come from?” He commented about a dispute he witnessed in a store. Sean set the scene:
“Recently I was in a large department store looking at clothes and heard an argument between an assistant and a customer. The customer was aggressive and security was called. It’s impossible not to wonder what had happened. Why was the man angry and aggressive? Upbringing? Recent tragedy? How did it make the assistant feel? Annoyed? Frightened? Abused? What were they arguing about anyway? Trivia? A bad day?”
***
Suspicious Person: Billy Brassfield
By Jim Potter
Billy pressed the tips of his fingers from both hands against his forehead and grimaced. His headache was spreading and the store’s elevator music made it worse.
At least he was shopping. That usually helped.
“Our story must be told,” shouted Billy, attempting to drown out the music and refocus his energy.
Standing beside a nearby clothing rack, a sales clerk observed the prospective customer but hesitated before approaching him. Why was the man yelling? Was he wearing ear buds, possibly listening to music or a ball game?
“Our colors are black and gold,” continued the loud-voiced man.
The customer was African American, mid-forties, about 6’ 4”, with a slim build. He was wearing a Wichita State University ball cap pulled down low, partially covering his eyes, a Shocker sweatshirt, and black sweatpants.
“Stand up and cheer; never fear,” yelled the WSU fan.
The sales associate cautiously approached the customer and asked, “How may I help you?”
“I’m here for the latest WuShock jersey, #14.”
“We may be out of that number; it’s in heavy demand, but I’ll check,” said the sales associate.
“I was here almost a week ago and I was told a new order would be in Monday. That’s today. You said you’d hold it for me, Billy Brassfield.”
“I don’t remember holding that number but please, have a look around at our new merchandise while I check on your item.”
“Shockers on to vic-to-ry. Go Shocks!” shouted Billy.
***
Billy continued shopping. He told the strong-perfumed shoe sales woman, “I’m shopping for my son.” Pointing at a shoe display, Billy told her, “I’d like to look at this shoe in size 13 of the Shocker Collection.”
“Is that your size?” asked the clerk as she studied his shoes.
“I said I’m buying these for my son, Junior. Is there a problem with that?” he asked, confused.
“No problem, sir. Let me check on that size.”
“Our story must be told,” sang Billy while discovering a potential pair of shoes in his size.
Deserted by the clerk, he tried them on. After tightening the laces, he was pleased with the fit.
Billy smelled her perfume before looking up. “Sir,” said the clerk, “I’m sorry but we’re out of that size, would you like to try a size 12?”
“What’s the deal with your store? You don’t keep an inventory of jerseys or shoes anymore? Let me try these out,” said Billy as he started walking away from the clerk, out of the shoe department.
Taking a small step forward, the clerk said, “Sir.”
Shaking his head, Billy ignored her, and continued walking.
Seconds later, recognizing he had left his wallet in the car, he considered his options. Return to the shoe department first or go outside and retrieve his wallet. Recalling a childhood memory, his father’s cautionary advice about “shopping while black,” he returned to the shoe department.
“Ma’am, so far these shoes feel good. I’ll be right back. My wallet’s in the car.”
“But sir,” said the sales lady. “What’s your name?”
“Billy Brassfield, be right back.”
***
The sales lady watched as the customer walked towards the exit. She started to follow him in case he was a shoplifter, to be able to give a description to security or to the police if they asked. She didn’t want to get chewed out by management but she didn’t want another customer complaint, either.
Instead, she returned to her sales counter, searched on the store’s computer for a Billy Brassfield, and called store security, just in case.
***
While unzipping his black gym bag, Billy was singing, “Our colors are black and gold,” when a white security officer interrupted him. “Store security! You need to return to the store right now with me.”
“No problem. That’s what I’m getting ready to do, as soon as I get my wallet and debit card,” explained Billy.
“Sir, put your hands up, now!”
“I don’t have a gun or anything,” said Billy. “I’m just getting my wallet.”
“Hands up, now!” repeated the security officer as he grabbed Billy who was standing next to the open front door of his vehicle.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” said Billy.
“Just cooperate and there won’t be no problem,” warned the security officer.
When Billy pulled his arm away from the officer, the man shoved the door hard into Billy, painfully pinning Billy, and knocking Billy’s cap to the ground, revealing a long curved scar on his scalp.
“Help!” shouted Billy. “Someone, help me! Call the police!”
***
Detectives Monroe and Coleman—the partners had just finished their lunch at the Purple Mouse Trap Pizza Joint—responded to the call for assistance from the nearby parking lot.
After advising dispatch of the disturbance, assessing the two-man struggle, and handcuffing the suspect, they started sorting out the chaotic situation.
There were two driver licenses in Billy’s wallet. One identified the 43-year-old suspect as William C. Brassfield. The other photo ID, expired, showed a 21-year-old William C. Brassfield, Jr.
“Officers,” said Billy, “thank goodness you were nearby. This robocop attacked me and I want to file a report.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, but first let’s be sure who we’re talking to,” said Detective Coleman.
“I’m Billy Brassfield; I was just getting my wallet so I could pay for these shoes. I told the clerk I’d be right back. You can ask her. I’m a regular customer.”
“You may not remember me,” said Detective Coleman.”
“Sister Rosie, how could I forget you? I wasn’t dead.”
Gently, Rosie touched Billy’s shoulder and said, “Let me tell you again how sorry I am that your son died in that car accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” replied Billy. “The driver voluntarily got himself high, drugged, and drove into us. I only wish that god had spared Junior and taken me.”
“Well, the driver was convicted,” said Coleman, “but I imagine that doesn’t help you much.”
“You’re right about that,” agreed Billy, “I’d do anything to have Junior back with me right now.”
“Let’s figure this situation out first,” said Coleman, “then we can talk about how much WSU misses B.B. He was a rising basketball star.”
“No, he was already a shining star, on and off the court,” said Billy.
Coleman asked, “You still donating basketball shoes to the poor kids?”
“Yep, I was trying to find a pair before this shopping trip turned ugly.”
“Size 13, right?” asked Coleman.
Billy smiled. “It’s good to know someone besides me, remembers him.”
***
Note: For fun, fictional character Detective Rosie Coleman was borrowed from Author Rock Neelly’s just released novel, River of Tears. Her guest appearance in this writing exercise was approved by Neelly. If you want to meet the real fictional Detective Coleman, check out River of Tears.
If you live anywhere near Hutchinson, KS, please consider purchasing Rock’s novel at Bluebird Books & Cafe, 2 South Main, Hutchinson, KS, phone 620-259-6868.
Until next time, happy writing and reading!
The Kansas Authors Club www.kansasauthors.org is a statewide organization that encourages and supports great writing. It’s divided into seven districts. In Hutchinson, Reno County (part of District 6), we have monthly meetings at Hutchinson Community College. http://www.hutchcc.edu You’re invited. Questions? Contact Jim Potter, jim@copintheclassroom.com
Nice exercise! Thanks for sharing! I’ve been considered suspicious, but it’s usually not that overt. Sometimes you wish it were so there would be some recourse.
Najiyah, thanks for your comment. Is there a phrase for “shopping while wearing hijab”? SWWH? Also, if you’re in town, you’re invited to join us Saturday at the Kansas Authors Club informal gathering. You have time to do the writing prompt, if you wish. You can alter it to SWWH. Let me know. I still have the poetry book to give you. Peace out, Jim
I experience this often. While shopping.
Anthony, being treated improperly for our looks, especially our ethnicity or race, in the year 2019 is one of our societal failures. Individuals have so many rich layers defining who they are that it’s a cryin’ shame we often judge too soon and miss out. In my story, I had Billy being loud which would make him different, not necessarily suspicious. Then the reader learns he’s African American. Was security called because of his race, his loudness, or for walking out of the store with merchandise?
Your storytelling skills pulled me right in. And just like with your book, leaves me with much to think about.
Thanks, Tracy
I spent 20-plus years as a reporter. Does having officers yell “10-12” when I walk in, count?
Yes, by definition reporters are suspicious but because of their profession, not for their looks. I still remember being introduced at social gatherings by my profession, not so much by my name. It was as if the host was giving everyone a warning not to do anything illegal in my presence.
Jim, liked your blog. Once I was a suspicious person.
At the University of Denver, someone at the bookstore was stealing cash from registers. The school decided to give everyone polygraphs. I luckily was not a suspect, having been out of town for one of the thefts, but was included in the polygraph for the event. The giving the test was drunk, visibly so. He failed me and accused me of the crimes (for which I was in California).
Huge problem for the school and very scary for me. Accused of a felony …
Hence my penchant for justice.
Wow! I still remember being unjustly accused of doing something when I was in 6th grade! Imagine the emotional baggage people have to carry with them because of a single injustice. Then multiply that many more times and it’s a wonder we don’t have another American revolution.
My husband and daughter get treated suspiciously daily. My husband had had guns drawn on him from law enforcement for sitting in his truck while he’s waiting for varnish to dry, while he’s working at a business. After they found out he was a contractor they said he was called in as suspicious. It’s happened way too many times.
My daughter was at a garage sale on Saturday. The older lady in an affluent part of town wanted to have her two one dollar bills checked because she thought they looked suspicious. I’m not quite sure if suspicious should be the word. I think the word that people hate to hear is racist!
Kathleen,
Man, of course unfair to your husband, and at times unfair to LEO because of the ways calls are broadcast. Regarding the woman and the “suspicious” one dollar bills, how can one person be so ignorant? OK, I mean racist.
It must be a real challenge to teach your children to respect others when they’re being disrespected.
That could be a topic for a future blog.
Thanks for sharing, Jim
Man, of course unfair to your husband, and at times unfair to LEO because of the way calls are broadcast. Regarding the woman and the “suspicious” one dollar bills, how can one person be so ignorant? OK, I mean racist. It must be a real challenge to teach your children to respect others when they’re being disrespected.
Kathleen, just to warn you, I have this idea in my head that hasn’t gone away yet. Maybe I’ll google my question and be satisfied or maybe I’ll need personal contact. Here’s my question: How do parents raise their children to be respectful of others when their children are consistently racially profiled or forced to experience racism firsthand? This is an age-old question, of course; it’s not new. And, I know, there are a million different answers because everyone’s different and every experience is different. Later. Jim
Jim, have you met my daughter? Lol, you know exactly where yo stand with her. She has the attitude, if she’s being treated differently because of the color of her skin, she will either respond, too bad you have that problem because I’m awesome, or cuss the person out. My parents taught me to be respectful. I try to respect everyone. I have tried to pass that on to my daughter, but sometimes it’s very difficult when you’re put in certain situations. When dealing with difficult people it seems you can usually find some common ground. I like to educate even though that doesn’t work every time. You have asked a very good question. The most important thing I taught my daughter is to speak up, don’t ignore it if someone is disrespecting you.Kathleen
People are suspicious of me when I’m too nice. And I have a job that requires me to be suspicious of others.
Earl, In your job if you believed everyone was an angel in church choir, then that would be a big problem for everyone’s safety. Jim
I think a better word might be respectful. Officers who are respectful, even nice, can certainly be professional. People who underestimate nice officers are at a disadvantage. Ironically, officers are sometimes put in impossible situations where they can’t be everything to everyone.
Fabulous story, Jim. You had me at Billy Brassfield !
Jerry, thanks for the feedback. I appreciate your support. Sincerely, Jim
Enjoyed this, Jim. Nicely done.
Thanks, Nancy. I know you are always recommending that writers participate in exercises and competitions. Jim
Jim, Love what you did with the origin if the story. Sean
Sean, thanks. We had our monthly KAC meeting yesterday. I gave you credit for the writing prompt and read my blog. I also told anyone who didn’t know that Phil and you had met up in London. Four people shared stories or poems about skunks.
Phil read his story about his erroneous belief as a kid that skunks couldn’t squirt you if you grabbed them real quickly by the tail and got their feet off the ground.
My next blog will be about an armed bank robbery in 1924 in Lamont, OK.
Jim