The train doors open. Gingerly, gingerly, she turns. Takes in a camo jacket, a black toque, the back of the only other passenger. He’s leaving. The man who’d been whispering behind her. She sets a long-held breath free.
Then begins to run. From the car, up the escalator, pushing, weaving past the other passengers, chasing Camo Jacket, every cell in her body wanting this – whatever “this” was – face-to-face.
She reaches him, turns on him.
He’s Black. Huh? Black and saying, “Go back where you came from”? It was no time for irony. “You called me a cunt,” she accuses, furious.
For what happens next, see Safe.
For what happened before, see Back.
Then begins to run. From the car, up the escalator, pushing, weaving past the other passengers, chasing Camo Jacket, every cell in her body wanting this – whatever “this” was – face-to-face.
She reaches him, turns on him.
He’s Black. Huh? Black and saying, “Go back where you came from”? It was no time for irony. “You called me a cunt,” she accuses, furious.
For what happens next, see Safe.
For what happened before, see Back.
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