Officer Tommy Castillo Character Analysis

Justyce can hear the approaching footsteps, but he stays focused on getting Melo strapped in. He wants it to be clear to the cop that she wasn’t gonna drive so she won’t be in even worse trouble.

Before he can get his head out of the car, he feels a tug on his shirt and is yanked backward. His head smacks the doorframe just before a hand clamps down on the back of his neck. His upper body slams onto the trunk with so much force, he bites the inside of his cheek, and his mouth fills with blood.

“Officer, this is a big misundersta—’’ he starts to say, but he doesn’t get to finish because the officer hits him in the face.

“Don’t you say shit to me, you son of a bitch. I knew your punk ass was up to no good when I saw you walking down the road with that goddamn hood on.”

So the hood was a bad idea. Earbuds too. Probably would’ve noticed he was being trailed without them. “But, Officer, I—”

“You keep your mouth shut.” The cop squats and gets right in Justyce’s face. “I know your kind; punks like you wander the streets of nice neighborhoods searching for prey. Just couldn’t resist the pretty white girl who’d locked her keys in her car, could ya?”

I’m a 17-year-old high school senior and full-scholarship student at Braselton Preparatory Academy in Atlanta, Georgia. I’m ranked fourth in my graduating class of 83, I’m the captain of the debate team, I scored a 1560 and a 34 on my SATs and ACTs respectively, and despite growing up in a “bad” area (not too far from your old stomping grounds), I have a future ahead of me that will likely include an Ivy League education, an eventual law degree, and a career in public policy.

Sadly, during the wee hours of this morning, literally none of that mattered.

I dunno. I’ve seen some pictures of Shemar Carson, and he did have kind of a thuggish appearance. In a way, I guess I thought I didn’t really need to concern myself with this type of thing because compared to him, I don’t come across as “threatening,” you know? I don’t sag my pants or wear my clothes super big. I go to a good school, and have goals and vision and “a great head on my shoulders,” as Mama likes to say.

Last night changed me. I don’t wanna walk around all pissed off and looking for problems, but I know I can’t continue to pretend nothing’s wrong. Yeah, there are no more “colored” water fountains, and it’s supposed to be illegal to discriminate, but if I can be forced to sit on the concrete in too-tight cuffs when I’ve done nothing wrong, it’s clear there’s an issue. That things aren’t as equal as folks say they are.

Justyce can hear the approaching footsteps, but he stays focused on getting Melo strapped in. He wants it to be clear to the cop that she wasn’t gonna drive so she won’t be in even worse trouble.

Before he can get his head out of the car, he feels a tug on his shirt and is yanked backward. His head smacks the doorframe just before a hand clamps down on the back of his neck. His upper body slams onto the trunk with so much force, he bites the inside of his cheek, and his mouth fills with blood.

“Officer, this is a big misundersta—’’ he starts to say, but he doesn’t get to finish because the officer hits him in the face.

“Don’t you say shit to me, you son of a bitch. I knew your punk ass was up to no good when I saw you walking down the road with that goddamn hood on.”

So the hood was a bad idea. Earbuds too. Probably would’ve noticed he was being trailed without them. “But, Officer, I—”

“You keep your mouth shut.” The cop squats and gets right in Justyce’s face. “I know your kind; punks like you wander the streets of nice neighborhoods searching for prey. Just couldn’t resist the pretty white girl who’d locked her keys in her car, could ya?”

I’m a 17-year-old high school senior and full-scholarship student at Braselton Preparatory Academy in Atlanta, Georgia. I’m ranked fourth in my graduating class of 83, I’m the captain of the debate team, I scored a 1560 and a 34 on my SATs and ACTs respectively, and despite growing up in a “bad” area (not too far from your old stomping grounds), I have a future ahead of me that will likely include an Ivy League education, an eventual law degree, and a career in public policy.

Sadly, during the wee hours of this morning, literally none of that mattered.

I dunno. I’ve seen some pictures of Shemar Carson, and he did have kind of a thuggish appearance. In a way, I guess I thought I didn’t really need to concern myself with this type of thing because compared to him, I don’t come across as “threatening,” you know? I don’t sag my pants or wear my clothes super big. I go to a good school, and have goals and vision and “a great head on my shoulders,” as Mama likes to say.

Last night changed me. I don’t wanna walk around all pissed off and looking for problems, but I know I can’t continue to pretend nothing’s wrong. Yeah, there are no more “colored” water fountains, and it’s supposed to be illegal to discriminate, but if I can be forced to sit on the concrete in too-tight cuffs when I’ve done nothing wrong, it’s clear there’s an issue. That things aren’t as equal as folks say they are.