Routine Stop
Original Post Date: February 17, 2024
“The concern of my grounding returns. I hope he doesn’t make me get out of the car. I hope he doesn’t mistake my umbrella or one of the frivolous items, in my car, as a gun. Most of all I just hope he doesn’t pull his. ”
In honor of Black History Month, today’s post is going to cover an experience that’s reserved for black people. At fear that’s instilled from the moment the DMV issues your permit to the moment you leave this earth. It’s a routine that black parents prepare their 15-year-olds, and their babies to embark on every time they hit the road. It’s what makes black mothers sit and worry at night. Today, unfortunately, isn’t about comfort it’s about exposing the anxiety that black people have to endure with the simplest of activities.
*Tick, Tick, Tick*
That’s the only sound I hear as I leave the gas station and head to campus. I prepare to turn on my music, I’m hoping I’m not causing traffic, as I find the perfect moment to merge into the busy intersection. I see that another driver has followed suit, but he’s not the company I like to keep. Maybe it’s a she. All I noticed, before the routine began were the obvious top lights and extra side-view mirrors.
I turn at the intersection and now they’re following close behind. The first thing I feel is my body tense. My legs tremble as I lightly press on the gas. My hands shake as I grasp the wheel at 10 and 2. It feels so hard to be steady but I need to ground myself. I just hope my feet don’t reach the ground today.
What had I done? Was it my speed? No, I just turned out the parking lot. Was it my brake lights? No, I just got those fixed.
Was it my windows? Did their lack of tint expose how tinted my skin is? There’s a possibility I did absolutely nothing but was about to lose everything.
I should call someone now. My momma. I should call my momma.
If she doesn’t answer. Granny! Wait no she’ll be too frazzled. Dad, I’ll call my daddy. He’ll be more calm.
At this point my mouth is dry. I need some water but I don’t want to break my perfect stance. On the other hand, it’s only going to get worse when he approaches my vehicle.
The concern of my grounding returns. I hope he doesn’t make me get out of the car. I hope he doesn’t mistake my umbrella or one of the frivolous items, in my car, as a gun. Most of all I just hope he doesn’t pull his.
I need to keep my calm, but how do I do that with my heart beating 100 beats per minute? Oh wait let me check my speedometer one more time, just for safe measure.
I look and notice that he’s switched lanes. We part ways as soon as the light turns green.
This time it was just a scare, sometimes we come face to face. Each time, thus far, I’ve gotten off with a ticket. Every time I go through this routine of preparing to defend my life.
With Love,
Allie
