When No One Is Watching

by Alyssa Cole

People bury the parts of history they don’t like, pave it over like African cemeteries beneath Manhattan skyscrapers.

Cranes loomed ominously over the surrounding blocks like invaders from an alien movie, mantis-like shadows with red eyes blinking against the night, the American flags attached to them flapping darkly in the wind, signaling that they came in peace when really they were here to destroy.

Clammy sweat dampens my skin and anxiety fizzes through my body like an Alka-Seltzer tablet made of fear.

I bust out laughing, imagining white people chastising their kids for literally describing a person’s race. I guess if you think being Black is an unfortunate affliction, of course it would seem rude.

“The alternative is not dropping the research center and the adjoining headquarters of a major corporation dead in the middle of a community that still gets overpoliced based on War on Drugs bullshit.

I’ve gotten so used to apologizing for being too weak to carry my own burdens—I don’t know if anyone’s ever apologized to me for how heavy they are, even if they couldn’t do anything to lighten the load.

Not being able to call the police when you need help really sucks, I’m learning.