Tonight, while I was driving home, two black men, dressed in all black jumped I front of my car.
They saw it on my face, I’m sure, immediately turned it into a game. They’d get to the side, I’d start to go and they’d jump into the road again. Or wave for me to go ahead, then dart out in front of my car again. They were each on one side and would take turns; one would be clear and then the other would run out.
I was stuck in the middle of an intersection in the busy downtown area for two full light cycles, worried about hitting these men, and worrying about being hit myself.
I was hysterical, crying, hyperventilating, shaking, fortunately, it was only about 2 blocks from home, I doubt I’d have made it otherwise. The minute I got inside, I threw up, then collapsed on the floor.
I wrote about it on Facebook, and one, random, elementary school friend, understood right away.
Even though it’s been 15 years since a man in a vehicle stole the life away from a little boy on a bicycle, moments like this one continue to knock the wind out of me, like an unexpected punch.