They were graduates from Michigan State University and their college basketball team was in the NCAA tournament. Omar was hoping they’d lose. Partly because everyone else cared so much about it, but also because he knew there’d be a riot. They were preparing in Omar’s apartment. Dan did inappropriate things and Omar asked him about his girlfriend and why she wasn’t coming over.
“Where’s big-head?” Omar asked.
“Why the fuck should I know.” Dan over-reacted.
It was a nick-name that Dan himself had bestowed upon her. He’d never taken her to Omar’s, either because he was embarrassed by her or because he didn’t want her to spoil something he had going on at Omar’s.
Their bar was packed and their team lost. The university had a reputation of rioting and had caused thousands of dollars of damage in the past, including burning cars and couches. And the city itself had put strange restrictions on the students, like no street parking after two am. Which meant kids would have to drive home drunk, either that or have someone stay sober, which was unlikely in the saturated atmosphere.
They stumbled out onto the streets and were shocked to see a line of cops on horses. Waiting for them. The streets were shut down and empty so they started walking down the otherwise busy lanes.
Someone threw a bottle and the horse-cops took their cue, they advanced in a line like a British army. There was swearing and a few more bottles being smashed but nothing any more extreme.
They turned the corner and people were simply standing around, waiting. Then a car drove past the three and a blonde kid with a baseball hat turned backwards and a button down shirt rolled up yelled out the window, “Hey Saddam! Fuck you!”
Omar turned as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a Zippo, throwing it as hard as he could at the retreating car. It hit the glass in the back and shattered it. The car slammed on its breaks and Omar grabbed V’s hand and pulled her away, they ran through an alley and through a mob and were lost to the pursuing vehicle. The streets were growing busier and busier and everyone was standing around in front of the closed bars.
“Where do you think Pete is?” V. asked as they puffed heavily, catching their breaths.
“I don’t know. He’s probably out with his lady, I don’t know.” Omar replied.
“He should have come out here.” V. insisted.
“He should have. It’s a long drive though. And nobody asked him.”
“Let’s fucking do some shit.” Dan interrupted, charged with the recent action but also annoyed that they’d talk about Pete when he, Dan, was right there.
They walked on and took another right, coming back to the main road that ran down the side of the campus.
“Oh shit. Look at that.”
There was a line of policemen dressed in black with full riot gear: helmets and clubs and shields, then florescent vests like they were crossing guards. Omar stopped and Dan and V. kept walking. Omar reached out and grabbed his girlfriend’s hand, pulling her back. She looked back at him with a face demanding explanation.
“Fuck that.” He said. “My brown ass ain’t getting involved in that shit.”
Dan stopped and turned around, refusing to advance without his friends.
“What, let’s go.” Dan protested.
“Go where. For what? Run up there and play Red Rover. What’s the point, why are we here? There’s nothing happening.”
“Let’s fuck some shit up! Look at all the people.” Dan exclaimed and waved a hand at the mass of people slowly advancing toward the police line.
“Go ahead. I don’t give a fuck. I’m staying here with my baby. Go ahead. Get your head smashed in."
They were on the sidewalk, separated from the inevitable clash by a thin line of grass and singular, adolescent trees. Dark and vacant store fronts were behind them. Then they heard the smashing of glass and turned and ducked their heads from the sound of cascading sheets. It was only 50 feet away from them and they saw a man with a black hooded sweatshirt and low baseball hat raise his hands in triumph and shout.
The crowd of people in the street took this as a signal and they proceeded forward toward their abstract goal. They marched as if in the protest that they should be able to march in that direction.
Omar reached to V. again and took her hand tight. It was getting confusing as people ran past the three and the police were advancing, trying to dispel the crowd. An officer with a clear shield would hold it in front of him and raise his club in the air menacingly, then advance at a quick scuttle and then retreat to the line of policemen, in the process, causing a dent in the civilian mess. It reminded Omar of a crab on the beach.
Omar ran with V. and Dan begrudgingly followed. Omar couldn’t help think it was exciting. It was. It was rare, riots for no apparent reason besides spontaneous misanthropy, a group of people united by the fact that they didn’t like people. Nonetheless, he’d rather be making his way across Nebraska to climb the 14’s in the Sawatch range in central Colorado.
