I'm Not Dying with You Tonight

by Kimberly Jones

“We are only as good as the five people around us,” Marcus says, up in his pulpit now. “Mostly because we share the same value system as those five. So he with them, then he made a choice on livin’ like them. He can be an eagle, but if he choose to flock with pigeons, he gon’ have pigeon ways.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to your store. But you were there. It didn’t start out about looting or all that. Did them news people show up before, when they was having a peaceful protest? Was anybody listening when they tried to approach things in a civil manner? No. But when shops start burning down, here they come. I’m not defending looters, but you’re not even trying to understand. When you push people to their breaking point, and they ain’t got no power, they’ll find a way to take it. What’s so wrong with that?” I’ve got no answer. Because I don’t know what’s wrong and what’s right. I don’t get this neighborhood or how people here feel. I don’t understand Black’s friends stealing or pulling guns on each other. I don’t get those white guys with their Confederate flags antagonizing everyone. Me and my dad, we’re both caught up in circumstances neither of us understand—something about wrong place, wrong time comes to mind. My father has lived here for twenty years, and I realize I’ve never seen him be friendly with his neighbors or his customers or other shop owners on Seventh, except the Wellses, and he doesn’t invite them to hang out at his house or anything. Maybe he wouldn’t be so surprised to find people think of him as an outsider. I don’t know how he feels. It never occurred to me to ask. Lena’s right—I haven’t tried to understand

this place at all.