My Katrina: Part 22

Previously: The national guard and I continued to talk on the balcony at the projects. He a white guy, but he opened up to me about going to prison for possession of weed. After that his parents made him finish high school and go to the military. People talked to me like that but I wasn’t hearin’ it. My gramma was like a mother-father to me. We real deep together. She passed when I was in prison. The guard say how people at the Convention Center lying on the ground, needing medical help, crying. I shook up to the bottom of my stomach…
At the projects where the guard and I were talkin’, some people’s windows was broken out even before the storm happened. Some folks had put up plastic. Those that had windows blown out during the storm put up cardboard boxes or plywood for windows. Some people had hub cap, like hub cap from cars blocking they window. Others had sheets of tin or aluminum.
Meanwhile, the guard and I still talkin’. He askin’ me questions about different things. Have I finished school and things like that. Me and the guard got so close. I told him about finding Butch a day and a half ago. I told him, “We got a guy on the other side of the building who a dope fiend. He got shot by a rookie bullet.” (That’s how we say stray bullet.)
He asked me if I’m willing to go with him where Butch at and I say sure.
A whole bunch of National Guard came with us. It was like a SWAT team surrounding me, the way they would if they were telling a bank robber holding hostages to come out of the bank. The only thing different about a bank robber is they tell him to put his hands on his head.
This time though they were tryin’ to protect me in case there be shootin’.
We got into the boat to go to the other side of the projects to check on Butch. When we climbed out of the boat, the guards were wearing knee guards and holding shields. They had their guns drawn. There was like three of them ahead of me and several others followed me up the stairs.
They turn the doorknob and push the door open, and we enter the living room and then the bedroom. We seen blood all over and flies everywhere. The guards rushed over to Butch, who was lying dead there by the closet. I stood back. All I could do is shake my head and look.
I was thinkin’, Damn this is crazy. I hope and pray I make it out of here and everybody that with us in the projects too.
Then the guards ask me did I see anybody that was shootin’.
I say, “No, because we on the other side of the projects. We heard the shots and then the next morning we came over and that’s when we know Butch got shot. He got hit once, but there were a lot of shells on the balcony. We talked to Butch, but he just say there was a shootout.”
About two nights before Butch was shot, the National Guard say they were chasing a bunch of young boys that was shootin’, but they didn’t catch them.
One of the guards wrote some stuff down and said, “We’ll get someone to come rescue the body.” After that we got back in the boat and headed back to the other side of the projects.
Once we got back, we went up on the stairs to the third floor. An old lady come up to the guard and say, “Sir, when they comin’ back to get more people?”
And without waiting for an answer, she tell him, “I’m not tryin’ to get on no helicopter—I’m scared of heights. I’d like to be escorted by boat or on a truck.” That’s when a lot of people come up and say they also scared of heights. I myself ain’t ever been much higher than the fourth floor of the projects.
The guard answered, “We gonna make it as safe as possible for everyone here. We’ll be back at sunrise to start gettin’ y’all.” But we all worry about being taken up on helicopters.
(to be continued)