Life In A Day

You wake up early in the morning and sigh.

- Jennifer Fatogun

Sometimes, one day can seem like a lifetime. You sigh again and get out of bed and put on some shoes to head out to watch the sunrise. You realize you like your hometown in the Northeast at this time because its streets are empty, devoid of people. No one stares at you at this precise moment; no one calls you ‘nigger’, ‘iong’, ‘Negro’, ‘kala’. No one calls your hair ‘steel wool’. Such things sting, but you smile anyway because you’re the new kid in school and the last thing you want is an incident. You don’t protest when people grab your hair or throw chalks or paper missiles at it (and at you) or stick stuff into it. You’re new, you’re the only black kid, and you’re alone. You don’t want to get into trouble; you have zero experience in handling this shit and your ma tells you to take the higher road by ignoring it. At 15, you’re already an angry kid and the rage inside you is real and you take it out on your family. So real is this rage that your therapist tells you when you’re 25 that you don’t allow yourself to process anger. She asks you why this is and you tell her, ‘I was very scared that my anger would translate into violence, so I’d literally run or walk it off while thinking and rationalizing my way out of it.’

But hey, it’s 5 am, and the streets are still empty. It’s perfect.