When the news anchor reported the police had killed Casey Goodson, Jr., I gagged and then bolted up the stairs to the safety of my closet.
What was I doing watching the damn news, anyway? It was bad for me. I had vowed to abstain and hadn’t watched for months. And then, like an addict, I slipped. What were the odds I’d get bad drugs the one time I slipped?
I moaned. I rocked myself for comfort that could not be found. Another one gone. Another one lost. Another future stolen.
No more. No more.
Casey Goodson, Jr. was transformed…
Many of my readers who are BIPOC report similar second-guessing, like mine. I feel validated. So I'm beginning to trust my perception of reality, as far as racism goes. The second-guessing adds an additional heavy burden to the experience.
Me too. The Twilight Zone always gets me. And if I think about Rod Serling's voice near bedtime, it's sure to give me nightmares.
When Mother died a million years ago, I claimed a basket of hers as my inheritance. Round, shallow, lidded, its handle a tall arc. The basket was filled with potpourri. When ruffled, it released the scent of cedar. Ruffle again, cypress. Ruffle again, rose. I didn’t actually see her buy it or watch her lift the lid to enjoy the fragrance. I had no idea of its provenance. As I staggered through high school and college — forays into the world and back to the parental home — Mother’s basket sat on the bookshelf near Wuthering Heights. In 1994, I…
A DOZEN REASONS TO PUT OFF
GOING TO THE DOCTOR
- The pain will go away on its own; it’s only been ten months.
- It only hurts when I get dressed. I don’t need to get dressed.
- As long as it hurts, I don’t have to mop the kitchen floor.
- The office schedules only by phone. The phone triggers memories of collection agencies calling to threaten me about my student loan.
- The scheduling assistant will ask how I injured myself. She’ll judge when I say yoga.
- If I wait two more weeks I’ll be able to say, “Yes. …
When the news anchor reported the police had killed Casey Goodson, Jr., I gagged and then bolted up the stairs to the safety of my closet.
What was I doing watching the damn news, anyway? It was bad for me. I had vowed to abstain and hadn’t watched for months. And then, like an addict, I slipped. What were the odds I’d get bad drugs the one time I slipped?
I moaned. I rocked myself for comfort that could not be found. Another one gone. Another one lost. Another future stolen.
No more. No more.
Casey Goodson, Jr. was transformed…
1. Your pants have cobwebs. 2. Your lungs are bored. 3. Amazon redirected your search and sent you to Debtors Anonymous dot org. 4. You watch television, phone, and computer simultaneously. 5. You lost your shoes six months ago. 6. Your smart speaker spontaneously plays “Walk on the Wild Side.” 7. That’s not a UFO. It’s the sun. 8. You last saw your belt at the bottom of the junk drawer. 9. You talk to Facebook out loud. 10. You’ve memorized the loop on your fake fireplace flames. 11. You’re looking forward to a UPS delivery so you can flirt…
Casey Goodson, Jr. fell onto his kitchen floor, his house keys dangling in the door lock. He’d been fatally shot by a county sheriff’s deputy in Columbus, Ohio. He was…
Dawn Downey
Dawn Downey writes about love and pain. Her latest book is Blindsided: Essays from the Only Black Woman in the Room. DawnDowneyBlog.com.
