Resistance - Nia Forrester Page 0,18
stuffed it into her backpack halfway through our walk to my apartment, so I saw how delicate she was. Like a lily, probably easily bruised.
“When we get down there,” I said. “Let’s not split up, okay? Stay close.”
She didn’t answer right away so I looked at her, worried that she might think I was trying to boss her around or something, but she nodded.
“Look in the bottom pocket of my bag,” she said stopping for a moment and turning her back to me. “Open it.”
I unzipped the compartment she told me to and inside found a length of cord, about twice as thick as a shoelace. On either end were loops with snaps that allowed you to open and close the loop. I looked at it, confused.
“Here,” Lila said, taking it from me.
She attached one end of the cord to a loop on her backpack, and handed me the other.
“Wait,” I said. “Is this like protest chic or what?”
She laughed. “Tianna made it. Isn’t that cool?”
“Who’s Tianna, and why …?”
“Not that we remembered to use it, but it helps you not to lose your buddy. It’s a tether. You’ll feel the tug when you’re getting separated, but it isn’t so secure that it won’t release you if one of you falls, or has to run.”
“And what happens if someone steps between you?”
Lila shrugged. “It’ll snap apart, easy-peasy.”
“So, it’s basically …”
“Useless. Yes.” She laughed again. “But Tianna thought … I’ve never … this is my first …” She caught herself and blushed.
“Okay, I gotcha. She decided to treat you like a toddler for your first big march,” I said nodding and hooking my end of the tether to my belt loop.
It gave us about two-and-a-half feet of slack, so that I naturally walked closer alongside her, and our shoulders and arms occasionally brushed.
“If you think it’s … weird, or stupid …”
“Nah, it’s a cool idea,” I lied.
But when I looked at her, she was wearing a cute little sad face.
“It’s cool,” I said, again. “‘Cause I definitely don’t wanna lose you.”
She looked up at me.
“Out here,” I added. “In this … you know … because …”
But she was biting back a smile, having peeped a hint of my real meaning.
While we walked, I thought about all that stuff I’d let spill while we were outside the diner. I didn’t talk about my parents much to anyone. Mostly because when I did, the questions were so damned predictable. People skirted around it, danced close to it, but the crux of what they wanted to know was the generally the same—what was different about a Black man who’d been raised by a white woman? What was different about a man who had married one? It’s tough not to get defensive at questions like that and exhausted by them. It’s harder still not to get angry when you know what people are getting at, but just won’t say.
But Lila has a neutral listening face. I couldn’t tell much from watching it as I spoke, except for when she occasionally nodded or made a quiet sound of assent. I think I told her all that because I felt like I was on an accelerated timeline. I mean, we’re in the kind of times where the words ‘tomorrow isn’t promised’ feel like the truest thing ever spoken.
You can go to a corner store for some snacks and booze and wind up having the life crushed out of you by a dickhead with a gun, a badge, and something to prove.
Or you can meet a girl who feels like everything right and let her walk away just because you’re too cool to admit that from the second you saw her, she made your heart quake.
“Who’s Tianna?” I asked, trying to revive the conversation.
“My best friend. She leads the campus racial justice group.”
“Like the Black Student Union president,” I said.
Lila shook her head. “No, she would never be part of the BSU.”
“Oh, for real? Why not?”
“They’re all about respectability, playing it safe. They distribute petitions and stuff.”
I laughed. “What’s wrong with petitions?”
“Nothing. Just … I’ve never seen one that produced sustainable change, have you?”
I thought about it for a second.
“Not sure,” I said. “Can’t say I paid much attention. I mean, if the petition is something I’m all for, then I sign it.”
“And then move on with your life, right?”
I tried to detect judgment in her tone, but there was none.
“I guess.”
“And that, Kai, is what’s wrong with petitions as a strategy.”
I nodded. “Does it gotta be either