Luster

by Raven Leilani

I was not popular and I was not unpopular. To invite admiration or ridicule, you first have to be seen.

I was pretending not to worry about the consequences of my isolation. But whenever I talked to anyone, I found myself overcompensating for the atrophy of my social muscles.

But there are moments when she looks over my shoulder and hums her approval, which of course I resent, but also, a little bit, love.

What if I make the appointment and they ask if I’ve done it before? What if I am a woman who has to do this twice?

She puts her arms around me and says, I am so happy right now. I do my best to be cool about this contact, but it has never happened before, and I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder, terrified that a too-enthusiastic reciprocation will alert her to her error, like the way a white person might raise a jungle cat from birth and be pals for a time until the cat turns five and realizes it is, in fact, a carnivore.

And the truth is that when the officer had his arm pressed into my neck, there was a part of me that felt like, all right. Like, fine. Because there will always be a part of me that is ready to die.