so, this is a shot from that time a fella called me nigg-er on a train -
for defending a young black boy he’d drunkenly pushed out of the way for a seat.
This morning, I had a sudden inspiration to write.
Though he could barely see above the dashboard, the sunlight drowned his already brown, round face. Too short to reach the visor above, he used his hand to shade his eyes from the penetrating rays. The heat, though, was inescapable. “Stop it.” Shane said, as the boy tried to turn the knob that…
He only remembers any of the situation because of its strict deviation from patterns observed. He’s forgotten most of the details of how it made him feel. But it obviously impacted him, to where this memory runs in a loop in the depths of his mind’s archives, ever-on-guard for a situation…