Sunday, July 3, 2011


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.

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