Lakewood - Megan Giddings Page 0,26

white woman with large eyebrows that moved three times more than the average person’s. When the woman was listening to Lena’s questions about call logs and spreadsheets, her face fell into an expression Lena decided was best called why-are-we-people-not-meteors-or-dirt?

Then it was morning break. All the office workers went into the break room, where a large box of donuts was waiting for them. A younger guy, the only other black person Lena had seen since coming to Lakewood, introduced himself as Charlie, the supervisor. His voice sounded so Michigan—he pronounced Charlie with a long, nasal “A.”

He was born in Lakewood, lived there his entire life. He had hazel eyes, and Lena knew that, at least based on looks, Tanya would have called him an absolute yes. As Charlie reached to shake her hand, he knocked over a cup of pens. While picking up the pens, his cell phone fell out of his pocket. Tanya wouldn’t have cared that he was clumsy. She liked men—clumsy men, or with a slightly weird voice, or who were shorter than her—who might have to work a little harder.

When Charlie was standing again, and everything was where it should be, Lena told him she had never lived somewhere so small. Charlie lowered his voice and leaned close enough that she could smell his coffee breath. “Not everyone is as redneck as they might seem.”

She laughed, hoped it didn’t sound as painfully high pitched and uncomfortable to him as it did to her. Lena took a donut and looked around the room, then realized Charlie had probably said some variation on that to everyone in the room except Bethany.

In the afternoon, Dr. Lisa made the group watch a video of a computer-animated man doing a comedy routine. Sitting on opposite sides of the room were two white men wearing khakis and polo shirts and watching the group watching the video. When they flicked the lights on, everyone filled out surveys about how comfortable they felt about the computer man’s appearance. Did his voice synch with his face? Did they think their responses were at all shaded by how other people in the room seemed to be feeling?

Next, everyone returned to their desks and were given similar videos to watch while wearing headphones. One of the performers looked more like a reptile than a person. He told jokes about air travel that should have been tired, but the idea of a half-chameleon, half-man having the same boring complaints as everyone else about aisle seats made her laugh. She watched videos and filled out surveys for the rest of the day.

Lena’s apartment was fully furnished, and less than 10 minutes away from work. There were pots and pans in the cupboards, a bag of towels with tags attached in the bathroom. A brand-new dishwasher. Hardwood floors in the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom. It looked like a place where someone would want to live. She wanted to post a picture of it on social media, but that felt like a bad idea. Instead of unpacking—because the apartment felt so clean, so new—Lena took a drive through town.

She liked seeing large, white wildflowers poking up out of the ditches along the highway. The air alternated between smelling like sewer and the sweet joy of corn growing under sunshine. Unexpected graveyards surrounded by fields told Lena that Lakewood had been around for hundreds of years. She didn’t feel ready to stop in any of the small diners or restaurants. Maybe people would leave her alone, but she was worried about drawing too much attention—“It’s a small town and people like to talk”—or worse, feeling trapped. Every time she had been in a place like this in the past, at least a few white people would stare at her or do double takes. It would be hard to stay under the radar if she said to someone, “Yes, black people are real.”

Lena passed a field with green stems rising out of the dirt. Wooden signs announced it as home to premium Michigan sunflowers. She was used to a Michigan that was cities, vacant lots, and boarded-up houses. Cute university towns, billboards that reminded you to brush your teeth for four minutes a day, looking across the river toward Canada. Here she felt like an explorer. There were roads where she saw no one, only dull-red barns and green fields.

When she started to get hungry, Lena turned back toward Lakewood. As she drove past one of the downtown parks, in her rearview mirror