The Watchful Eye

Tevia took a deep gulp of air that filled her lungs and quieted her mind. She eased the breath out of her lips and then parted them so a gust of “negative air”, as her yoga instructor called it, filled the room. How is that supposed to make a difference? She thought.

She pushed her bedsheets from her sweaty body and walked to the bathroom to take care of her daily business before starting another long, long day. When she stared at herself in the mirror, she could see the tiny lines growing thicker around her eyelids, and her warm, almond skin was blotched with little chocolate spots.

She slipped on her black, Armani pant suit and poured her first cup of coffee, inhaling as each drip tapped her “World’s Best Teacher” mug. But she wasn’t a teacher. She had been promoted to principal of Marquette High School. A job she thrived in but resented simultaneously.

When she got on the elevator, she did what everyone in Westview did on elevators – she looked up. There they were: three black eyeballs that mimicked recessed lights protruded from the ceiling. She shook her head and let out another puff of air – this one clearly negative. She didn’t care that it filled the room this time.

“Jacob, Anna, Marquette!” Brenda bellowed from the bottom of the staircase, hoping that this round of wake-up calls would be the one to nudge her kids out of bed. It was 6:45am and too close to the time for their morning commute. “Jaay-cob…!”

“I’m up! I’m up,” he called back.

“We have 30 minutes to get out of here!”

Jacob made a y-shape with his spindly arms and turned his attention to his alarm clock. It was a round shaped analog clock to which he added googly-eyes and a fake nose and mouth. Behind those googly eyes though, were real ones. Two tiny, black dots stared inside the mechanical board of the clock, and a tiny microphone sat behind the fake smile Jacob had attached to the contraption. He slammed his hand on top of the bell before it could explode in his ears and started his morning routine. Anna and Marquette, the twins, also had clocks with eyes, but they gave theirs names – Holmes and Shaggy.

The kids made their way downstairs to breakfast and watched their mom at the stove, humming to herself while bacon grease crackled in the skillet, grits bubbled, and sunny-side eggs built crust around their edges.

“Mama, Mia!! That smells good!” Jacob teased. Brenda shook her head and smiled, loving that her son loved her cooking this early in the morning yet confused by his ample energy when she had to pry him out of the bed moments before.

During the drive to school the Magenta family sang to Shakira and Beyonce and as many pop artists that could sustain the 10-minute drive. Marquette always sang off key, but Brenda never corrected her because she knew those were her genes.

“Sshh…Sshhh! It’s your dad.” Brenda quieted her band of gypsies.

“Halo, honey. About 5 minutes from the kids’ school.” She looked down at the air vent as she said this, taking small peeks every few words.

“I’m just seeing how the morning went. And to tell you there is another meeting. I think this may be the one Brenda.”

“Goodness, I hope so! I don’t know how much more I can take of this.” She cranked the radio a bit. Loud enough so the kids couldn’t make out the conversation but quiet enough to hear herself.

“Well, I do too. We can keep the kids in afterschool care for the meeting. I’ll call you later.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And they hung up. Brenda snuck a few more peeks at the air vent and took a deep breath. I sure hope so, she whispered to herself.

When the Magenta’s pulled into the parking lot they were met with Tyler, Brandy, and their mother, Markesha Bryant. Markesha gave a wave that jerked the bones in her elbows, but she couldn’t help it.

Today could be the day.

“Did you hear?” Markesha said.

“Si…yes.” My husband told me this morning.

“Today could be it, Brenda.”

“I can feel it.”

The kids had found their way into the school, which left the adults with space and room to talk more easily. Markesha struck a sharp point at the sky and said, “Imagine what life would be like without that creeping in like a stealthy ass cat!” She made another motion to the four drones that circled Marquette High School. They looked like hawks circling prey.

Brenda let out a dense breath. “I know. Boy, do I know.”

Markesha pulled her in for an embrace. “You just stay strong sister, you hear me?” Her eyes narrowed as she peered into Brenda’s. “We are going to put an end to this.” Her tone grew serious and quiet as if she were telling Brenda a deeply held secret. As if Brenda didn’t know that a year ago her son had died by the hands of police. She gave her another sugary squeeze, and the ladies parted ways.

Tevia rubbed her thumb and pointer finger in a circular motion that created enough friction to peel her skin. Her eyes danced across the room of her 400 sq ft office – first to the air vent, then to a glass vase, then the thermostat. All had eyes. All pointed at her and glared unflinchingly lest she made one wrong move. When she first became a teacher, she dreamed of the day she would be principal of her alma mater. She believed in providing freedom and opportunities to students, listening to their issues, and connecting with their families. But all of that got washed away in the tidal waves of crimes that plagued the town of Marquette a year prior.

Five armed robberies.

Countless Vandalism.

Four assaults.

Two attempted murders.

One successful.

All in one year.

Marquette had been a quiet, peaceful, and safe suburban town with residents-turned-families for dozens of years. After the pandemic wreaked havoc on the economy, school performance, and overall well-being, residents ran amok. Add to that, an influx of guests from nearby cities crowded the place, and so the recipe for disaster was mixed, baked, and served without sprinkles.

Brenda was on the worst end of it. Hers was the one. Her son Antonio was out with friends when a fight broke out between two of them. They were at Sarden Lake, a small park with a concession stand, a dog park, and playscapes, when a police officer heard the ruckus. It was midnight, and Antonio, who was a bit drunk, tried to explain what happened as the cop approached with his flashlight. The cop was about 10 feet away, and all he saw were four boys, two with bruised up faces, and alcohol. He called for back up and told the boys to hold their hands up.

Don’t ever put your hands down, Antonio’s father had told him. But he had had a beer in his hands, and he felt he had a good window of time between the cop getting close enough to arrest him and putting the beer down. There was no window of time. Before the beer could reach the ground a barrage of bullets laced his chest and his body melted into the pavement. The cop got closer and realized there was no gun. Just a shattered brown beer bottle at Antonio’s feet.

There were four witnesses to the incident. Antonio’s three friends and the body camera the cop wore. The camera was the key witness. The officer had made no arrest, had only given one verbal warning, and could not argue that he’d been in any imminent danger. Officer Galvenston’s badge and freedom were taken from him after one month of protests and three months of litigation. The Magenta’s were left with a deep hole but felt that some form of justice had been served.

When Mayor Pedigru addressed the public, he prattled about the role of police, the crimes that had littered the town, and how the police body cameras had been the best investment the town had made in decades. With that, and with the support of his cabinet, he decided on 18-hour camera surveillance for one year.

LET’S CLEAN UP OUR STREETS!

MARQUETTE DESERVES PEACE!

No one had ever heard of such a thing before – constant surveillance. Cameras in decorative vases, in lamps, in television sets, and in furnaces.

There were some rules: there were no cameras allowed in bathrooms, either in public or in homes; and there were no cameras between 10pm-4am. Except for a dozen families, the tiny town erupted with discontent. People stormed the streets with Molotov cocktails and smoke bombs. They broke windows and vandalized buildings. They spray painted battle cries of corruption. But the riots, pandemonium, and chaos couldn’t match the army brigade nor the mayor’s resoluteness. Plus, there were enough moneyed, old friends of the mayor that could wield enough power to push the pendulum to the far right. So, the experiment would commence. Marquette would be flawless again. Even if it did have to lose a few residents.

The meeting was to be held at 4:30pm in Tevia’s office. Behind her desk was a cabinet of painstakingly ordered, vertically stacked books that she didn’t have time to read. The office was decked in oak furniture, and the cement walls were painted an off-grey that gave a feeling of subdued affluence. As principal of a public school, she couldn’t flash her opulent tastes bright white, but she couldn't disguise them altogether either. The surveillance ordinance helped with the latter anyway, but hopefully today would be the day that would all change.

“We should stage a coup!” Brenda called out.

Get them all out there! There is no way they should be getting away with this. My family has suffered enough, and now my other two children can’t have a normal childhood. Knowing their every move is being watched. How are they supposed to enjoy their high school years? Go to games? Make new friends? What about having a boyfriend or a girlfriend? Or hell, get into a little bit of trouble? How are they going to make mistakes?

“That’s right,” Markesha chimed in. “Tyler and Brandy are honor roll students. But they have so much anxiety, I start to shake! We have to do something.”

Tevia listened intently, nodding, and taking notes on their lamentations.

“What about a blackout?”

“A blackout?” Brenda echoed.

“We blur the lens. We wear all black. Everyone. Everywhere. Until they see us.” Tevia pressed her thumb and pointer fingers together and rubbed them until her fingerprints dulled. How could a school principal convince a town of 3,000 people to stand up against their government? How could a girl afraid of everything follow through? She opened her hands and returned to the room. “That’s how we do it. We come together and protest.”

“But we already did that Tevy? Do you remember last year? That’s how we got into this…this mess,” Brenda said.

“That was a riot,” said Tevia.

“What’s the difference?” added Brenda.

“No vandalizing buildings, no hurting anybody or anything. No destroying property. We won’t even say a word. We’ll completely shut down.”

“Hmph,” said Markesha. “I like it.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Brenda added.

In one week, Tevia held a community meeting at the high school gymnasium and invited anyone with ideas on how to improve Marquette Schools. In the middle of the meeting, the fluorescent ceiling lights were dimmed and were replaced by a dark room and bright strobe lights on the stage. The crowd of parents let out gasps and exchanged quixotic looks.

Brenda, Markesha, and their spouses joined Tevia on the stage. From head to toe they were draped in black clothing. Their faces bore blank expressions, except their eyes, which were fixed and eager for war.

The room was still, and suddenly Tevia spoke.

“The time has come Marquette! I am here as a representative of Marquette’s education system, but I am also a friend, a sister, a daughter, and a proud resident of this town! Today is the day we stand together!”

The nervous crowd grew strength in their bellies and their eyes stayed fixed on Tevia, absorbing every word, waiting for more.

“We let this government. Our government oppress us. Quiet us. Silence us. Not anymore. Today we take a stand. No cameras! No More!”

“Yeahhhh!” The crowd of 500 people roared.

“As you can see, me and my friends here are blacked out. We wear black to signify what we feel inside and what our government is doing externally. They use black lenses to control us? We black them out! They use cameras to watch our every move? We black them out!”

“Yeahhh!” Bellowed the crowd again, this time with more urgency.

Brenda grabbed the microphone.

“My name is Brenda Magenta, and I am the mother of Antonio Magenta. Last year, my son was struck by a policeman unlawfully and illegally. That policeman has since been arrested and convicted. Body cameras did that. Cameras gave me justice. But not anymore. I do not stand here for pity. No. I stand here as a mother of three more children who want to live in a society where forced peace is destroyed and true harmony is the norm. We can’t have peace if we are controlled. That is why today I stand together with my sisters and ask that you join us and black out these unethical, dangerous, and unlawful cameras! I want justice and I want freedom! Black out the cameras!”

“Black out the cameras! Black out the cameras!” The crowd sang in a fierce song. Soon everyone was on their feet, their fists clinched and punching the air.

“If you are ready to black out, meet us here in all black, Saturday night, 8:00pm. We are taking it to the streets. We will not be silenced. We will be seen and heard,” Tevia cried.

The thunderous crowd continued to roar their battle cry well into the night. Tevia knew it was happening. The birds in her belly would be quieted and she could lead and live without the watchful eye.

She knew that change was coming.

It was Saturday. Tevia, the Magentas, and the Bryants sat in the empty gymnasium and waited for a shadow of a soul to walk through the door. As if it heard Tevia’s pleas, the door crept open and Tony Rodriguez walked through with a candle between his fingers. He held the door open, and in walked Sally Vanderwalde, then Charlie Amsterdam, then Nakita Johnson, all with candles pressed between their hands. They were silent and dressed in black, and when Tevia and crew advanced toward the door, a sea of people in black, clenching candles, met them. They stood in silence with bowed heads with one or two holding signs that read, “Justice for Antonio”. The scene nearly brought Brenda to tears, but she had no time to be despondent. She knew she had work to do and for whom. One by one the town of Marquette blew out their candles and lifted their heads. They were ready.

They marched the streets of Marquette as the clock went from 8:00pm to 9:00pm to 9:30pm. Almost ten. The march would be over once the cameras were shut off. They marched down side streets, through the Town Square, in neighborhoods, and through parks. They did not know where every camera was, but they knew they were there. Some fought the urge to upturn a light post or destroy an oversized vase. This had to be peaceful. They emptied the streets when the clock struck ten.

The next day, they met at the same time. Rallying together, solidifying their purpose, and taking to the streets. There was still no word from the mayor, but the media had come.

Yes thought Tevia.

She spoke confidently and assuredly into the camera. Imploring the Mayor to come join them or reap the consequences. Soon, the marches wouldn’t be restricted to nighttime. The town would join in the middle of the day, where every camera could see them.

The silent marches went on for five days, but the cameras continued to peer, and the mayor remained aloof. Until one day, he spoke.

The entire town sat glued to their televisions as Mayor Pedigru addressed the screen in a blue pin striped suit.

“People of Marquette. I hear you. I see your struggles and feel your pain. I see that you feel controlled and manipulated, but it is for your benefit. The cameras have mitigated crime by 85%! No robberies in 8 months. No assaults…no…,” he took a gulp, “…murders. Bear with the cameras. They are meant to prote…”

Tevia punched the power button on her remote. She couldn’t bear hearing another word.

“Brenda.”

“Yes, Tevia.”

“It’s go time.”

The families met again in Tevia’s office as she paced and grunted before forming conscionable words. The meeting didn’t last long before the crew was on its feet ready for war. Ready to march. Ready to destroy.

They walked in their normal clothes until they entered the Town Square where Brenda spoke into a bullhorn. Her voice shook with a violent force that screamed peacetime was over. Before she knew it, a crowd had gathered, and when she said her final word, the first light post tumbled. Then went the large, porcelain vases that decorated the Square. Soon, townspeople were storming buildings, snatching air vent covers and destroying the wires that operated the peering cameras.

It was over.

They knew there would be consequences, but they didn’t care. They’d never have to hide from a camera again. Justice was theirs.

Finally, they knew freedom.