Ghost Crossing Geneviève Hicks
Walking away from the hospital after a long day’s work, crossing over the Lake Washington ship canal on the Montlake bridge. He’s coming towards me quite quickly, too quickly, as far as I am concerned.
I hold my breath.
I can feel his irritation through his mask despite the distance between us. Most likely he is not even aware of me because he seems so focused on trying to get the oncoming traffic to slow down. Traffic won’t stop for him even as he uses obvious hand signals to influence oncoming drivers. He begins to motion more aggressively then leans his body into traffic to force the slow-down.
I swallow fear.
I keep walking and move farther away from the road towards the edge of the sidewalk, as far away from the scene as possible. My waist is touching the cold handrail of the bridge. I am worried for myself and also worried for this black man. His face is friendly and intent. Will the friendliness of his face be an adequate buffer for his black blackness? Running while black is dangerous.
Danger zone.
***
Hand signal guy steps off the curb into the roadway, onto the grate of the drawbridge and cars finally start to slow down.
Walking across the metal grate of this bridge always feels like walking through a danger zone. I am afraid that somehow I’ll slip through one of the small holes into the water beneath. I know this is physically impossible but spiritually, it can happen, it has happened.
Next, I notice a black guy. A really black black guy with his face mask in hand, instead of on his face, who is jogging towards me and white hand signal guy.
The ghosts of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd back to Emmit Till and beyond. The unknown and never to be known. Alongside them are the ghosts of the
I taste fear.
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