I saw ‘Quan at the Family Dollar last weekend Chidinma Opaigbeogu the one in southern PG by the Popeyes, the liquor store. he darted inside, Helly Hansen dark, and slick with rain, white Air Maxes, the leather turned gray, durag-smoothed waves. with his fingers bunched under his cuffs, his eyes scanned the rows of cans before he chose an Arizona, fingers leaving thin streaks in the condensation as he turned the can over in his hands looking for dents. he said something that made the cashier laugh, pretty light-skinned with a blonde ‘fro. I stepped into line, reached for a pack of Big Reds, said Hello ‘Quan, do you remember me? he looked at me hard, snapped his gum, said Nah, I don’t think I do, ma’am. oh, but you must remember a summer camp in a church down the street, how you baby cussed on the basketball court, raised your fists against the other six-year olds, threw a gang sign, said you learned it from your daddy, how your milk teeth dug into my palm as I whispered in your ear: it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay, how the older Sisters hissed: Black boys like you get called aggressive, challenged, ain’t able to do good, don’t bother. he unfolded a twenty from his pocket, laid it crisp on the counter. I waited until he had gathered his bills, his penny, said I’m praying for you. he nodded, cracking the tab, crumpling his receipt, said Take care, Sister. -after Eve L. Ewing’s I saw Emmett Till this week at the grocery store
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