Different people, same problem.

“We can't think of changing our skin ... Change the world—that's how we gotta think.” - The Secret Life Of Bees

 A day to relax. To take a break from the struggles of my daily life. Up keeping day to day appearances can be tiresome. I’m wearing a lovely sleeveless floral print dress with my honey blonde locks pulled into a neat bun, missing only a few pieces perfectly placed along the left side of my forehead, A cool outfit for a hot day. It’s ninety-two degrees outside however, the sun beating down on me is less effective due to the shy breeze gently cooling me as I drive down the dirt road into town. Once parked I take off my sunglasses and step out of the convertible. I stroll the path to the door and walk-in. When I open the door the bell jingles, the sound of it surrounded by quiet chatter. The diner is the best place to go on a hot day like this. I walk over to a booth next to the window and sit down. A waiter is approaching, no doubt to ask for my order. Strawberry milkshake or lemonade? “Hello, Can I take your order?” Both are good but I think cold lemonade will better quench my thirst on a day like this. The same waitress who took my order with the name tag Milly sits my lemonade down on the table in front of me and is off to her next customer. I sip on my beverage and look at the window at nothing in particular. I hear the faint music in the background and the chime of the bell. All the seats are full though they persist in finding a spot. A man with the same fair skin as me, but our similarities end there. His hair is jet black and slicked back and he is wearing a suit. Probably taller than me by at least a few inches and he has bright jade green eyes in contrast to my dull blue-grey eyes. Milly goes to him I assume to inform him of an apparent empty seat towards the back. That’s when it starts. He is pointing at something in my area. Next to me. An African American boy and girl, judging by their similar features they’re likely brother and sister. They both have dense curls and deep brown eyes even the same round face structure with a slim nose and thick lips. The girl looks about thirteen and the boy looks about seventeen. The man and waitress walk over to the table now close enough for me to hear what’s going on. “They HAVE to give ME their booth. They have NO choice. They are BELOW me.” I turn my head to the window and squeeze my eyes shut trying to tune out the vile words he is spitting at them that only get worse by the minute. I flutter my eyes open and turn back to see just the top of the girl's hair and the boy's head being seated in the back. At least it’s over. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something move quickly. The man’s arm is raised in the air to signal his waiter. They talk quietly for a minute and she walks away. Within a moment she returns with another pale man who’s name tag says manager and he whispers something to him. In return, the man replies with an increased volume not quite yelling, but loud enough for everyone to hear him. Including the people in the back. “Remove them. They are dirty. I do not want to eat near them. They are an eyesore.” I squeeze my eyes shut again and tune his cruel words out. Why does this bother me? It’s natural. How things should be, so why does it feel wrong? I take a peek and see the boy standing in front of the girl now by the door about to leave as asked. “No.” Everyone is a bit taken aback. Did he really just say no? How? “What did you say to me?” He takes a deep breath and continues, “No. We were here first and we paid just like you did. You can’t even see us from where you’re sitting and we did nothing wrong.” I see the smallest glint of fear in his eye as he braces himself for what I'm unsure of. The man in the suit walks up to him and grabs him by his collar dragging him out the door. The girl shrieks and calls out to him and he tells her no. When the man gets out the door he doesn’t even go out of sight. He stays right there making an example of the boy by beating him. I don’t even know if he’ll live. The girl is standing there, tears silently streaming down her face. I close my eyes as tight as I can, but I can’t tune it out this time I can’t even stop seeing it. Even with my eyes closed the image of him bruised and bloody burns in my mind. This feels so wrong, but I don’t know why. It’s not like I can stop it. I think back to my ridiculous thoughts of being tired. As if socials are anything compared to that. This isn’t wrong it’s how things are and how they should be, isn’t it? I don’t understand why all I can feel is immense guilt seeping through me. I can’t pick apart the emotions, I can’t even grasp why tears are threatening to fall down my face. “Please, someone” she whimpers as she rushes to his side once the man finally leaves. Between her silent sobs, she calls out “Help him please.” Some turn away, some look satisfied, some look disgusted, but no one is doing what part of me feels they should. A call for help that no one will answer.

*60 years later*

I’m walking down the street just to go outside and get some exercise and fresh air. I pull my phone out of my to check the date, May 25th, 2020. I can barely see the reflection of my brunette ponytail and hazel eyes on my phone screen. It’s warm outside and I’m walking so I’m wearing some Nike shorts, a t-shirt, and some Air Force 1’s. With the sun out like this my fair skin will tan soon, so to avoid sunburn I decide to get some sunscreen and head towards Speedway. I turn onto its road on the intersection of Chicago Avenue and E. 38th Street. I go in and the air conditioning hits me as I open the doors. I walk over to a random aisle and it happens to be there on the third shelf. I grab it and a water and check out. I go through the doors and feel a wave of heat hit me instead of air, so I pull the sunscreen out. It’s in a tube with a green cap that twists off. I’m applying it and walking back to head home. It’s still about 20 minutes back so the sunscreen is worth it and the walk was nice. I look up and see a Minneapolis Police car. It looks like a white cop pulled a black man over. It’s no surprise, that’s just how it is. Luckily I don’t have to carry that burden. One or two people are standing around it with their phones out of course. Then the man pins him down with his knee on his neck. He calls out saying he can’t breathe and he calls for his mama. Crying out for air while the officer on his neck taunts him telling him to stand. I stand there in shock and terror listening to it, watching it happen. This is wrong. But it is how it is, isn’t it? I don’t think this is how it should be. This isn’t okay. My stomach gets upset watching the cruelty. As he cries for his last breath I feel from my throat up to the bottom of my chin and I gasp with him for that last breath like it’s mine too. I realize tears are streaming down my face and I have to make myself breathe in and out slowly. What just happened? Why didn’t I do anything? Officers are blocking off people, but I could have tried. I could have helped him. Given him that breath he was gasping for. I drop to the ground and sit there tears falling down my expressionless face. I can’t even understand what just happened. He died right in front of me and I did nothing. How is it fair that I’m breathing and he’s not or that the officers are and he is not?

“Change will not come if we wait for some other person, some other time. We are the ones we’ve been waiting for. We are the change that we seek.” - Barack Obama