There was background noise

My walk home from the train station, the dusk red/pink showing me the way, is a standard one. Turn left after the trellis onto Paulina; walk passed the Currency Exchange; the small, Jamaican shop that is undoubtedly a front for the sale of drugs; and passed the Belizean Restaurant. I always stay on this side of the street, claiming to Jon that it’s better lit. In reality, I just feel safer and surrounded by more people. Passed the vacant storefronts and Post Office, passed the Howard Street Academy, and the boarded up doors leading to, one would surmise, the office of the folks that worked in the approaching shelter. But today, as I cleared the parking lot for the Academy, I saw a man walking passed giving someone a look. When he got a few steps from him he did much then same, furrowing his brow, and looking at me with worry.

I craned forward in wonder at the first person he gave the look to, a young adult male, red track jacket with blue piping, black shorts with red pinstripes, red Kedds, and a black, rayon bag. My first thought was of bewilderment; which I’d have to say was on the gentleman’s mind before. Who was this young man walking down Paulina in the same direction? His posture pulled back, arms akimbo with hands around the rope straps of his bag, and arrogance in his step. What business did he have in my neighborhood?

Gentrification, I thought. That must have been going through the older gentleman’s head. He looked at this swaggery mf, acting like he could buy and sell everyone on this street. Taking a stroll, like the sidewalk was being paved just for him. And then he saw me…but he didn’t see me. He saw my face and his reaction was immediate. I was his white friend. I was here to gentrify with that mf that just walked by. I was here to push all the black folk out of their houses and turn North Howard into the new Hyde Park, Up- or Boys-town; that’s who I was. Only I wasn’t.

I followed this buck, watched him push through a crowd in front of the shelter. Congregated and jovial, blind to what the older gentleman and I saw. He continued this way and made the turn directly ahead of me at Jonquil Terrace, staying on the south side of the street as I crossed to the north, and passed both schools. He ran in front of a car that wanted to turn left, ignoring its presence and took no notice of the children on my side of the street. They walked like they had sticks up their a- as they looked over at him and giggled. One girl put her arms at her sides like thinly drawn, black triangles, and puffing out her cheeks, as she couldn’t mimic this cat’s beard.

He kept going after I turned down the alley. More people noticing. I unlocked the backdoor to my apartment, and locked it behind me, saying hello to my smoking, short-haired neighbor that I had helped two nights before. When I got to my door, the keys hanging from my fingers I wondered if I was a racist.

I quickly changed cloths and entered the bathroom, turning on the light above the center of the room and turned on the hot water. I washed my face furiously with hand soap, paying special attention to my forehead and chin, and I prayed. Not just the normal prayer I say after a day at the office or when I’m struggling. The kind of prayer that made the water washing over my face matter.

Afterwards I just stood there looking at myself, and wondering if what I was becoming was helpful to anyone.