How would I feel….
How would I feel if I saw on my Facebook feed yet another story of
32 year old
of Irish and Italian decent
getting killed in day light going about her business.
Sure, with a gun in her hands — one she believed she was able to have
a gun that promised other people would stay away, a right to declare
“please, not me today — ok?”
She would have my dark eyes
My thin lips
My round belly
and wavy long hair.
Memories of the same childhood TV show theme-song in her head
Humming to pop-songs on the radio
Crushes in school that never materialized
Dreams that seem both in and out of reach
…if only things were a little different.
A nagging sense she’s not wanted — but no idea where to go.
Back to her ancestral grounds?
Back in time to a place where she belongs? How far back is that?
Out of sight as not to offend the vision of what a “nice neighborhood” means?
How would I feel if I kept seeing her be damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t.
Would I tell her “sorry” and accept the loan easily offered to me by the bank for that dream house in the nice neighborhood?
Would I reminder her “Well, if you just listened to the officer…” as I sped through a stop sign, knowing I’ll easily talk my way out of a ticket
Would I correct her “If you didn’t have anything to hide, why were you acting like it?” as I tuck my long hair into a hooded jacket; no reason for concern.
What would I do if I kept seeing someone so similar to me, so much like me, be convinced their pain isn’t real, their fear isn’t real.
Secretly, hushed, “Whew, I’m glad that’s not me…” — until someday it is.
And I’d be looking at the folks in a higher position above me, pleading “...what about me?”