Well, we both know how that worked out in the end, and suffice it to say that both of us know that I am never going back, except for with my family on Christmas and Easter. Apostate as I may be, I am not a bad daughter.
Mom made fajitas for dinner that night. I’ve never been so aware of the texture and toughness of food—I kept trying to gum it down, stubborn, spitting it out in the napkin, going again.
Let’s start in a coffee shop where a middle aged woman has just been told that there are no more blueberry muffins. She reacts badly.
Then MOses set OUT with JOSHua his AIDE. And MOses went UP the MOUNtain of GOD.
If you’re looking for a redemptive ending, I don’t have one.
As a white person, it’s easy for me to assume that my way of viewing the world is normal. And not just normal, but best. That my way of talking is best. That my way of keeping time is best. That my way of doing church is best.
I will battle against my own impatience and distrust as I remember that people are not exchangeable puzzle pieces.
“We should totally hang out.”
The lie comes easily. Situations such as this feel like they require politeness and kindness more than truth.
The man: “Wow, how great. Now you be sure to take super special care of that beautiful baby. What’s her name?”
Random man: MY REAL NAME IS DONALD J. TRUMP AND YOU’RE FIRED!
