Raid on James Avenue

	I awoke one morning to the panicked voices of my parents. I got out of bed and headed to my living room, where I saw my parents and my neighbor, Jerome, gazing out the single-pane windows on the old Oakland craftsman house in which I spent the first 7 years of my life. I could hear crashing and yelling in the distance. I approached the window, only to be sent back to my room by my parents. The few glimpses of the raid I saw were images of men with guns, dressed in black, thick clothing, wearing masks and helmets. They were in a line preparing to enter a house down the street.
	Instead of returning to my room, I made my way to the back of my house where I opened the door and went into the backyard. Ever so stealthily, avoiding the igneous gravel which crunched beneath my feet, I opened the side gate and hid behind a wall as I watched the raid take place. The men, presumably, were inside the neighbor’s house. A  few moments later, two men exited the house with my neighbor in hand. The men threw my neighbor in the back of their big black van. After about 20 minutes, the rest of the raiders were still nowhere to be seen.
	The earsplitting crack of gunshots startled me as it echoed between the solid concrete buildings which occupied the bustling northern-California skyscape. Weaving through the various hedges and fences my neighbors had erected, I arrived at the perfect vantage point, directly across from the house which was being raided by the team of armored men.
	I could hear the wailing sirens of an ambulance speeding towards the scene. After pulling in front of the house, the ambulance dispatched a team of two paramedics carrying a stretcher. Almost immediately they emerged, with the stretcher occupied by a body, covered with a white sheet. The SWAT team followed, and each entered their respective vehicles and left the scene. Annette, from who’s yard I watched the scene unfold, discovered me hiding behind her lilac bushes. She picked me up and brought me back home.
	My neighbor was a pretty chill dude. He would cheer me on while I rode my bike down the street at unsafe velocities, he taught me how to play pool, and he always had something interesting to show me. I never saw that neighbor again, and although I never new the charge, this event has always made me question the nature of justice.