What Never Happened

by Rachel Howzell Hall

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. —Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom

The Obituary of Colette Sienna Weber Colette Sienna Weber of Los Angeles, California, is no more. She left this world on Sunday, March 22, 2020. The woman didn’t heed any of our previous warnings. That is why Colette was taken to the highest point on Santa Catalina and shot in her fingers, toes, and then knees, living agonizingly long enough to suffer until one final bullet between the eyes ended her for good. We warned you, Colette. You fucked around—and you found out.

The only Black people these island kids knew lived on TV. Sassy Moesha and wise auntie Oprah. The perfect Huxtable family and you-so-crazy Martin. Colette’s family was none of that and all of that.

“You have to stop and face your demons before you can win the game. You may get a little bloody, even lose a limb—or a few fingers—but know this.” At a stop sign, he looks over to me. “Running ain’t gonna make it go away.”

We may live on an island, but we’re not yokels. I went to freakin’ UCLA for a communications degree, and damn it, I’m gonna use that expensive paper to shake shit up.”

If you believe that the heel of a loaf of bread is tasteless, or that beef shank is good only for soup, stop for a moment and think of Paula Ellen Paulsen. Known as “Pep,” the longtime resident of Avalon loved tough bread and tough meat. Her favorite saying: “Give it some love and it’ll fill your belly and get you through life’s bullshit.”

I turn to see that his eyes are on my ass. Behold, dude, and wonder.