“Are you kidding me, Jen? Destroying you? First of all, this isn’t about you. And second, talk about hitting close to home? Or it being personal? Every time a Black person dies an unwarranted or unnecessary death, it’s personal to me, Jen! It cuts close to home. All of it does. All the times I’ve been followed, questioned, second-guessed, judged, scrutinized, deemed inferior. All the vile comments I have to deal with—for the last ten years of my career, for a lifetime, not just for a few weeks. Everything that happened with Shaun! I mean, just weeks ago I learned that someone in my family was lynched, Jen. Strung up from a tree and riddled with bullets! So don’t talk to me about fair or how life is hard for you, okay? I’m not diminishing what you’re going through, and I want to be there for you, I do, but you’ve got to realize that you’re not the only one struggling.”
We both sit in a sort of stunned silence at all I’ve unleashed.
“I’m sorry, Rye. Okay. I’m sorry I haven’t been a better ally. That’s all they’ve been talking about this morning—ally this and ally that.” Her condescending tone irks the hell out of me.
“But there you go again, Jen. Yes, you could actually be a better ally! They’re using that word because it means something. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. And that starts with looking at your behavior and your biases. It’s like when you slammed the door in that reporter’s face and screamed that your best friend is Black and that’s why you can’t possibly be racist. Come on! And I debated calling you out on it, but I didn’t, and maybe I should have just said something right away instead of letting it fester.”
Jen looks confused. “But you are my best friend and you are Black. So what?”
“It felt like you were using me as a shield. And by the way, you don’t get points for having one Black friend. I mean, you’re not hiding any others anywhere, are you?” My sarcasm is a low blow, but Jen isn’t the only one who’s “really mad” now.
“Jesus, Riley. Ouch.”
“I’m sorry, Jen, but it’s the truth. It’s weird to me that all of your friends these days are white.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do? Go out and introduce myself to every Black woman I see on the street and say, ‘Heya, want to come over and watch The Bachelorette with me?’？”
I can see Jenny’s knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. She looks like she’s trying to focus on her breathing, to calm herself down. She glances at the clock. I know she probably has to get up to Chase and maybe this is enough for now. I’m at the end of my rope.
“Maybe I should just shut up, then. I’m never going to say the right thing.”
“That’s not what I want either. The last thing I want is for you to be silent and pretend none of this is happening.”
“Well, it’s not me that doesn’t want to talk about things, Riley. You’re the one that’s always so closed off. You’ve never said anything like this to me before, and yeah, it totally sucks to hear it, but it sucks even more that we’ve been friends for almost thirty years and suddenly you’re unleashing on me like I’m your enemy. Like you’ve been thinking all this shit and keeping it inside forever.”
She’s not wrong. “Look, Jen, I’m sorry if you feel this is coming out of nowhere. But put yourself in my shoes. I didn’t want to be the Black girl always talking about race. That’s no fun. And I don’t know what your reaction would be if I told you about all the shit I have to deal with because I’m a Black woman. What if you didn’t have the right reaction?”
“What’s the right reaction?” She seems genuinely curious and confused, like she truly has no idea.
“Like showing me you get it, Jen. Or at least that you’re trying to.” I want to reach over and grab her by her ratty sweatshirt and shake her.
“Well, maybe you need to give me the benefit of the doubt. You never give anyone the benefit of the doubt. Maybe I haven’t been all politically correct and perfect, but maybe I’m scared too. Maybe I’m scared of saying the wrong thing or something stupid and everyone pouncing on me and calling me a racist because I use the wrong words. Even you.”
I feel a pressure to explain myself, but I also have to get to work and Jen needs to get to Chase; we don’t have enough time. I wonder if we’ll ever have enough time. “I don’t know, Jen—do you really get it? Do you get that my life and experiences as a Black woman have been completely different than yours as a white woman? Do you understand why people are destroyed right now, Jen, destroyed by Justin’s death? And not just the Dwyers. It’s what it signifies—all the ways that Black people, people who look like me, aren’t safe. Everything you’re saying about the shooting makes me question whether you understand any of this. And maybe it’s not fair, but it just brought up a lot of stuff that we never talk about or acknowledge. Like I talk to Gaby about race all the time and I never do with you. And we’re supposed to be best friends—that’s a problem.”
“I never said I didn’t want to talk about race with you. I just don’t even think of it most of the time; I don’t even think about you being Black.”
“That’s exactly my point, Jen!” I yell so loud a woman walking by looks over her shoulder. I watch her for a minute and try to summon some perspective and calm. “I need you to think about it, especially with what’s going on. You’re so blindly focused on Kevin, which I get, that you’re not seeing the larger implications or issues. It’s a privilege to never think about race. I don’t have that privilege. I love you, Jenny, but I just need you to, I don’t know, wake up a little more.”
What I really need is an out. I need out, period. I’m exhausted and I’m going to be so late to work.
“Look, the reason I stopped by was to bring this for you, and let you know I was thinking of you.” I thrust the bag at her.
“Thank you,” she says sincerely, but tosses the bag in the back seat without looking inside.
“How’s Chase?”
“He’s okay. I’ve gotta get upstairs. The pulmonary team is coming at nine to test his breathing and then more doctors will be there to try to take out his feeding tubes, and then a CAT scan. It’s a busy morning. It’s a terrible day. But I don’t know if I’m allowed to say that.”
“Of course you can say that, Jenny.”
Neither of us moves though; neither of us knows how this conversation ends. Or even if it is an end. Maybe, just maybe, as hard as it is, it’s a beginning. Who knows.
* * *
I’m so hopped-up on adrenaline from my conversation with Jen that my finger can barely connect with the elevator button as I jab it over and over.
“Girl, pushing that button isn’t gonna make the elevator come one bit faster.”
In the corner of the lobby, the octogenarian janitor teeters on a stepladder unwrapping the lights from the towering Christmas tree. I adore Sid; he reminds me of my dad. Both are tall, with thinning salt-and-pepper Afros, the kind of men who exude dignity while doing a job a rung or two below what they would have aspired to had the world been a different place.