I am Black, and my life matters. I don’t write to convince anyone of this; I write to celebrate my Blackness, to explore it, to embrace it, to uplift it. I write as I live, and I live as I write.
It has been easy for people to forget, ignore, or overlook my Blackness, no matter their own skin color. I suppose, in some ways, this story is in response to that erasure, among other things. I’ve not much more to say on it, other than I hope it makes you think.
“You actually got the third coffee free,” the barista says, flicking blue bangs out of her eyes. “We’re doing a prime special.”
“Oh dope!” Brianne says. “That’s neat.”
“Thank heavens no one has ordered more than fifteen things off the menu,” Blue Bangs says. “I mean 17 is prime, but after that?”
“Nineteen.” Shadow says.
Brianne glances at them, half-surprised that Shadow had said anything. Shadow, of course, is looking elsewhere. Did the special only count if you ordered more than two coffees? Shadow thought zero was a prime number too–and an odd number, and an even number. Zero was everything, in a weird and wonderful sort of way. Shadow loved that number.
“Touché.” Blue Bangs says.
“Anything higher than that and I haven’t got a clue,” Brianne laughs as she signs the receipt. “It’s just, random-ass numbers. Thirty-seven, maybe. Forty-one? How the fuck should I know?”
Blue Bangs grins at that. Brianne slips her a wink and adds a seven-dollar tip for the hell of it. Shadow sips at their frozen latte, making room to add their iced mocha. Vanilla caramel mocha…they were never sure about mocha, but maybe it would taste alright, mixed with their other favorite flavors.
Browsing through the donut cases, Shadow picks out a sour creme and crème brulee one, plus a giant cinnamon roll. Three croissants—two chocolate filled, one plain. And then they add a few ham and cheese ones, for lunch. While they’re milling around, getting napkins and sneaking samples, Brianne’s phone rings.
“Hey Feeb! You up?”
“I should manage a semblance of presentability in about an hour.”
Feeb is Felix Baldwin, who would much rather his nickname rhyme with dweeb than let anyone find out too soon that he’s a bit of an intellectual. Except it’s pretty apparent that he is one, as soon as you have any sort of conversation with him. Shadow has never talked to him, in-person, but the two of them have messaged a few times. Group chat interactions count as being friends, right? Are they friends?
“I hope I’m not making you wait too long? I don’t want to derail any of your other plans for the day.” Feeb stretches, letting out a noise like a hyena halfway through labor. “Sorry, crazy night, I’ll tell you about it when you’re over. But I have to take Studsy for a walk and, yknow, get this gross feeling off my skin. Gods, I’m horrendous. Okay, maybe an hour and a half?”
“Weird question—you can say no if you want—but can we join you and Studs on your walk?” Brianne is watching Shadow, whose gaze has fixed on the trash can by the door. “I think Sha would like it.”
Shadow glances up at Brianne, a smile brightening their usual publicly-blank expression. Shadow hums, gaze drifting outside the window. The heat wave isn’t set to crest until two or three. A walk would be good before then.
“You’re a genius. I’ll take Studs out to do his business but I can promise him a longer walk once you’re here.”
“Dope! See you in a bit.”
Shadow flinches, and Brianne hangs up. Despite the crowd, it’s not too hard to find a table. It turns out that Shadow wasn’t looking at the trash can after all, but at a table on the other side of it that Brianne wasn’t tall enough to see. Having successfully combined their coffee-concoction, Shadow slowly munches their way through half a donut. The condensation from the plastic cup makes for good enough handwashing, relieving them of their sticky fingers. They’d spotted the sign for bathrooms on their way in to the indoor market, but getting there was impossible. Too many aisles, people, eyes, everything.
A space of time passes—maybe fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour. Shadow’s blank face is back, lips tucked between their teeth. They split the other half of the donut with Brianne, sip some water, and then they’re trekking to the metro. It’s only a few stops, not long enough for the prickling feeling along Shadow’s shoulders to turn into a loud sting that makes them want to scream.
They have two blocks to walk. Shadow blinks and starts to slow down. Brianne glances over her shoulder, tilting her head, but adjusts her pace.
“You good?”
Shadow bites at their lips, takes a sip of coffee.
“It needs cinnamon.”
Saying something before saying something. That’s the only way they know how to do it. Their heart is pounding in their chest, so they take another sip. Caffeine caffeine caffeine. Cinnamon sugar dessert fueled caffeine buzzing thoughts and bright lights and the breeze reminds them—
“Do you know what dope is? I know it’s like saying sweet or cool—I know I know I know, but. Other people assume people like me are on it, or make it, or sell it. Or their mother or brother or father or sister or cousin did, or died from it, or are in jail for it. If anyone overheard me saying that—they would assume I was talking about drugs or was on them.”
The brick sidewalk—it is always strange to Shadow that the sidewalk is made of bricks, but maybe that is because this city is older. The city is not as old as Shadow. Shadow eyes the tree roots through the cracks, mentally reaching for them. It’s like a prayer, like needing a hand to hold.
Back in your body, back on your feet. The roots don’t let Shadow down; trees never fail to help them, whether it’s to reach higher or stand firm in what they know. The whipped cream of their coffee has sagged against the sides of the cup. Melt a little bit. It’s just that–white people can say things so easily. They don’t have to think about what their words mean. They don’t know the depth of things. They have no concept of the vastness of their own emptiness.
“Sha?” Brianne raises an eyebrow.
Shadow realizes they have stopped walking but they never started talking. Brianne’s face is carefully neutral. Shadow blinks, chews on their straw. The breeze reminds them to breathe and they’ve been breathing and Brianne is looking at them because they’re just standing there. Everything they wanted to say, thought of saying, rerouted—
“What does it mean?” Shadow asks. “When you say dope?”
Ask, don’t accuse. Where did that come from? Why were they supposed to assume good will from their oppressors? Was it too dramatic if Shadow said they felt oppressed? They didn’t, not really. It wasn’t like segregation in the 50s and marches in the 60s. It was just that everything meant something different when your skin was dark and your hair was thickly loc’d and your ancestors had been enslaved and you still were too.
Was it that? Was it the ancestors, churning Shadow’s stomach, taking hold of their tongue, voicing what, when alive, they themselves could not have said? Except some of their ancestors had said, and died for it. Most had died for less. The ancestors would accuse and curse—and rightfully so.
Shadow tries to speak with them in mind, balancing it with maybe something like pity. The hardest part about empathy is feeling everything. Fuck white people. If the burn of that thought flashes in Shadow’s eyes, they’re not sorry for it.
“Uh—it’s like saying great? Or that I think something is cool? Like a pleasant surprise?”
Brianne starts to stammer because Shadow has been looking at her the entire time, since first asking the question. Shadow can trace the confusion, maybe a vague sense of caution. Brianne didn’t mean anything by it. No one ever means it. It just happens. That’s just the way things are. Shadow looks to the passing traffic, reaching for Brianne’s hand. Gives a little squeeze and a tug.
The two of them start walking again. The quiet is different than before. The thinking quiet. Shadow wonders—but they decide not to say anything else. Maybe later, once they were both back home, they would try to explain—but were they supposed to explain? It hurt, but not in the way of outright rejection or hatred. It was just a little ripple in the bottom of their stomach. An invisible worthlessness.
Shadow feels better for having asked, even though they didn’t explain where the question came from or why asking had mattered. Brianne laughs, tugging on Shadow’s arm.
“You don’t even know where we’re going. Wait up.”
Shadow blinks, slows a little. It breaks the ice, or the spell, or the thinking. Shadow is an expert at moving between the thinking and the day to day normalcy, mostly because they are always doing both.
“Studs needs a walk.”
“Feebs isn’t worried about us being late.”
“Bathroom.”
“I mean, there are plenty of shrubs around,” Brianne teased.
Shadow stuck out their tongue. Before they went inside the lobby, in the shade offered by towering condos, Brianne leaned in and kissed Shadow’s cheek.
“I love you.”
A little hum, a glance away as Shadow’s hand tightens on Brianne’s. While Brianne dials Felix’s number, Shadow sneaks their arms around her middle and pulls her close. Squeezing her tummy, holding Brianne snug against her, nibbling at her ear and smiling at the giggle it elicits.
I’m sorry, was what Brianne meant. A willingness to see, and accept the uncomfortable things. Whatever you’re feeling—you’re allowed. Was that enough? Shadow sometimes wondered if there should be more, but there wasn’t a way to undo all the damage they’d lived through. Brianne hearing Shadow out was at least a start.
“You here?”
“Is it too late to request V.I.P. treatment?” Brianne asks.
“I’ll be right there.”
It’s a running joke. A sort of code. Hurry up, because I have to pee. Shadow had been the one to come up with it. It’s very important to say, and it’s very hard, too. Shadow is certain most things are like that. Maybe everything. At least, it is for them.
“Awesome, you’re the best!”
Brianne hangs up and leans back into Shadow’s shoulder. Shadow, who still hadn’t let go. Both of their shoulders relax, sharing reassurance from the closeness.
“Thank you.”
Brianne tilts her head back to meet Shadow’s eyes. Then she nods. Shadow smiles a little. There were things Brianne would never fully understand, but she listened. She took things to heart and thought them through. That was more than most people did.
Or maybe that was unfair for Shadow to think, since Shadow usually didn’t say anything. They couldn’t expect Brianne to see invisible things. But when they risked pointing it out to Brianne, it was worth it.
V. H. King's Ink 