Yes, you can, she said. You can reassure me.
Of what? That I won’t think about sex while you’re gone?
No, she said. That you won’t think about sex with anyone but me.
I laughed, and she hung up on me.
And then the other crisis hit. The one that had always been there and kept on hitting. But this time, it hit different. Because there was a graphic, stomach-churning, rage-inducing tape of how things went down. There were a couple days, a few of pure, sickening shock. It was like the collective of Black people in the entire country, maybe even the world, was holding their hands to their throats and hoping it wasn’t real, even while they knew it was.
We were all waiting, right? Ever hopeful people that we are … we were hoping that this time, what we saw with our own eyes would be viewed in exactly the same way by even people who didn’t look like us. But nah. What we got was an official scolding, a warning not to expect too much, that we were being too impatient …
So, all hell broke loose.
Lamar hit me up about the same time my parents did, him calling on one line, my folks on the other.
I picked up Lamar first. I already knew what my parents were going to say.
You believe this bullshit? he said without greeting.
Yeah, bruh. I believe it. That’s the fucked up part. I completely believe it.
Lamar sucked his teeth and I heard the beep of my parents trying me again.
I’m come scoop you, Lamar said. We ‘bout to make a move.
Who’s ‘we’? I asked. And what kinda move you talkin’ ‘bout?
Lamar, being who he is, could mean anything from a prayer vigil to robbing a bank, so clarification was necessary.
Kai, he said, placing weight on his pronunciation of my name. After the bullshit we seein’ is there any move you wouldn’t be down for right now?
I thought for a second. There were a few. But I weighed the odds. Lamar wasn’t stupid. Whatever he had in mind …
Nah, I said. Whatever it is, I’m down.
Good.
When I hung up from Lamar, I called my parents back. I could hear CNN in the background, Wolf Blitzer’s voice—though I couldn’t quite make out his words—conveying the momentousness of what was occurring around the country, along with a very subtle note that sounded almost like approval.
For the occasion, my father was the designated spokesperson as I had known he would be. He has a weighty, dense baritone that could make the ordering a Popeye’s chicken sandwich sound as significant as the Gettysburg Address. That is, if my father was ever the type of dude to go to, let alone eat from a Popeye’s.
Kai, he told me. I don’t have to imagine with you’re feeling right now. Because I’m feeling all the same things. Your mother and I both are. Last night …
He went on to talk about how my mother cried when she finally made herself watch the video; and continued to cry on and off all through the night.
Now I understand the urge to take to the streets … Because the cause is a righteous one, but your mother and I are not willing to sacrifice your life to it. And tonight, the stakes are that high. You could lose your life out there, Kai. If your mother sheds tears, please don’t let them be tears for you.
He almost convinced me. Almost. Because as my parents’ only son, doing something to harm myself is like doing something to harm them. But the thing is … I know my father.
You know how some Black men, when they’re tall, when their voices are deep, when they know they look imposing … how they sometimes make themselves smaller around white folks? My pops is six-four. A big dude with a barrel chest and thick strong arms. He scared the piss outta my friends when I was a kid. And outta some of their parents too.
But he never shrunk himself for anyone. He walks with his head high, shoulders square, chest out. He doesn’t fall back to let the world adjust and accommodate him, he claims his place and space in the world.
So, fuck that. I was ready for whatever Lamar had in mind. Black people have been accommodating for far too long, constantly waiting for the world to make way. It was time for us to claim our place and space.
I hear you, I told my pops. I don’t want her crying either.
There was a pause. Then he said, Lemme let you talk to her.
I think there was permission in that pause. A message between us as men. He wasn’t saying ‘don’t go’ he was saying, ‘be careful when you do.’
I told my mother I was good, and that no, I didn’t see anything happening near my apartment. She told me she loved me, and I said it back.
I hung up and went to change into loose, comfortable clothes. Sneakers.
And then I waited for Lamar.
The back of the van was smelly and crowded. There were about fifteen of us, crouched and sitting on the floor and on the hard benches on the sides. No one was cuffed. Everyone looked dazed. In one corner, a white girl was sobbing while another girl, poured water from a water bottle into her eyes. A kid who looked about sixteen yelled and pounded on the side of the van, making it rock back and forth.
Chill out with that shit, homie! another guy shouted at him. They already got us! Damn!
Shut the fuck up! the young kid, shouted back. And then he kept pounding on the side of the van.
I sunk down, allowing myself to fall on my ass. My legs felt rubbery and uncertain and my eyes were so hot, I could almost believe that what was streaming down my face was them melting out of my head. The urge to rub the
