Living while Black part One
The bookstore is quiet—low music, soft page turns, the hum of air conditioning.
Speedman Styles Freeman Freshwater stands near the children’s section, flipping through a brightly illustrated book while five-year-old Kyle Gennaro sits cross-legged on the floor, absorbed in another.
A voice cuts in.
“Excuse me.”
Speedman looks up.
A silver-haired woman—Clara—stands a few feet away, arms folded tight across her chest, lips pursed like she’s holding something back.
“Yes?” Speedman says.
She hesitates.
“I… don’t mean anything by this,” she begins, “but something about this just doesn’t look right.”
Speedman’s eyes narrow immediately.
“What doesn’t look right?”
Clara falters. “Well, I just—he’s very young, and it’s late, and—”
“No,” Speedman cuts in. “Be specific. What doesn’t look right?”
Before she can answer, a security guard approaches—Shiloh Woodson.
“Sir, is everything alright here?”
Clara exhales in relief. “I was just telling him, something feels off. I thought it might be better if someone checked—just in case.”
Speedman lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“Oh, I get it now.”
Both of them look at him.
“You saw a Black man with a white kid and your brain filled in the rest.”
“That’s not what I said,” Clara snaps.
“No,” Speedman replies evenly. “It’s what you meant.”
Shiloh steps forward, adopting a neutral tone.
“Sir, what’s your relationship to the child?”
“I’m babysitting him.”
A pause.
Shiloh looks him up and down.
“…Alright. With all due respect, you don’t exactly look like you’ve been babysitting.”
Speedman stares at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It just means—” Shiloh gestures vaguely. “You know. Circumstances.”
“No, I don’t know. Explain it.”
Clara shifts uncomfortably.
Shiloh exhales. “We just need to make sure everything’s safe.”
Speedman’s voice hardens.
“Did you just ask me if I’m on drugs?”
Shiloh blinks. “I didn’t say that.”
“You were about to,” Speedman shoots back. “Go ahead. Ask me if I’ve been drinking. Ask me if I’m high. Get it all out.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Then stop implying it.”
Kyle looks up, confused. “Speedman?”
“I’m right here, buddy,” Speedman says, without taking his eyes off them.
Clara steps in again, quieter now.
“If everything is fine, then there’s no harm in checking, right?”
Speedman turns to her.
“No harm?” he repeats. “You just accused me without saying it out loud. That’s harm.”
At that moment, a new voice cuts through.
“What’s going on here?”
Manager Linda steps into the aisle, eyes sharp, taking in the scene instantly.
Shiloh straightens. “Just a situation we’re assessing—”
“He’s babysitting,” Clara interjects quickly, “but it just didn’t seem—”
Linda raises a hand.
“Stop.”
She looks at Speedman.
“Sir, what happened?”
Speedman doesn’t hesitate.
“They profiled me,” he says flatly. “She said it ‘didn’t look right,’ and he backed her up.”
Linda turns slowly to Clara and Shiloh.
Then she says, very clearly:
“Did the child look distressed?”
Silence.
“…No,” Clara admits.
“Was he bruised? Injured in any way?”
“No.”
“Was he withdrawn? Quiet in a way that suggested fear?”
Shiloh shakes his head. “No.”
“Was he trying to get away from him?”
“No.”
“Did he signal for help? Look scared? Avoid eye contact?”
“…No.”
Linda nods once.
Then her voice turns cold.
“Then you had no reason to question him.”
Clara stiffens. “I was just being careful—”
“No,” Linda cuts in. “You were being ‘concerned.’”
She makes air quotes with her fingers.
“Concerned without evidence. Concerned based on nothing observable. Concerned based on assumption.”
Clara’s face reddens.
“I was trying to protect a child.”
“And yet,” Linda replies, “you just admitted there were no signs the child needed protecting.”
She turns to Shiloh.
“And you.”
He shifts uneasily.
“You backed that up. Without evidence. Without cause.”
“Ma’am, I was just following protocol—”
“No,” Linda says sharply. “You weren’t. Our protocol requires observable risk. You just confirmed there wasn’t any.”
A heavy silence fills the aisle.
Linda gestures toward the front.
“Clara, you are no longer welcome in this store.”
Clara’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“You’re banned. Permanently.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“What’s ridiculous,” Linda says, “is accusing someone of a crime without evidence and calling it ‘concern.’ You can leave now.”
Clara looks around, sees the eyes on her, and realizes she’s lost.
She turns and walks away quickly.
Linda doesn’t watch her go.
She turns to Shiloh.
“Go to the back. Take off your uniform. Collect your things.”
His face goes pale. “Ma’am—”
“I will not have a profiler working in my store.”
He hesitates.
“Now.”
Shiloh lowers his head and walks off.
Silence settles.
Linda exhales, then turns back to Speedman, her tone softer now.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That should not have happened.”
Speedman studies her for a moment.
Then nods once.
Kyle tugs his sleeve.
“Can we still get the dinosaur book?”
Speedman finally lets out a small breath.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can still get the dinosaur book.”
And this time, no one stops them.
Speedman Styles Freeman Freshwater stands near the children’s section, flipping through a brightly illustrated book while five-year-old Kyle Gennaro sits cross-legged on the floor, absorbed in another.
A voice cuts in.
“Excuse me.”
Speedman looks up.
A silver-haired woman—Clara—stands a few feet away, arms folded tight across her chest, lips pursed like she’s holding something back.
“Yes?” Speedman says.
She hesitates.
“I… don’t mean anything by this,” she begins, “but something about this just doesn’t look right.”
Speedman’s eyes narrow immediately.
“What doesn’t look right?”
Clara falters. “Well, I just—he’s very young, and it’s late, and—”
“No,” Speedman cuts in. “Be specific. What doesn’t look right?”
Before she can answer, a security guard approaches—Shiloh Woodson.
“Sir, is everything alright here?”
Clara exhales in relief. “I was just telling him, something feels off. I thought it might be better if someone checked—just in case.”
Speedman lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“Oh, I get it now.”
Both of them look at him.
“You saw a Black man with a white kid and your brain filled in the rest.”
“That’s not what I said,” Clara snaps.
“No,” Speedman replies evenly. “It’s what you meant.”
Shiloh steps forward, adopting a neutral tone.
“Sir, what’s your relationship to the child?”
“I’m babysitting him.”
A pause.
Shiloh looks him up and down.
“…Alright. With all due respect, you don’t exactly look like you’ve been babysitting.”
Speedman stares at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It just means—” Shiloh gestures vaguely. “You know. Circumstances.”
“No, I don’t know. Explain it.”
Clara shifts uncomfortably.
Shiloh exhales. “We just need to make sure everything’s safe.”
Speedman’s voice hardens.
“Did you just ask me if I’m on drugs?”
Shiloh blinks. “I didn’t say that.”
“You were about to,” Speedman shoots back. “Go ahead. Ask me if I’ve been drinking. Ask me if I’m high. Get it all out.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“Then stop implying it.”
Kyle looks up, confused. “Speedman?”
“I’m right here, buddy,” Speedman says, without taking his eyes off them.
Clara steps in again, quieter now.
“If everything is fine, then there’s no harm in checking, right?”
Speedman turns to her.
“No harm?” he repeats. “You just accused me without saying it out loud. That’s harm.”
At that moment, a new voice cuts through.
“What’s going on here?”
Manager Linda steps into the aisle, eyes sharp, taking in the scene instantly.
Shiloh straightens. “Just a situation we’re assessing—”
“He’s babysitting,” Clara interjects quickly, “but it just didn’t seem—”
Linda raises a hand.
“Stop.”
She looks at Speedman.
“Sir, what happened?”
Speedman doesn’t hesitate.
“They profiled me,” he says flatly. “She said it ‘didn’t look right,’ and he backed her up.”
Linda turns slowly to Clara and Shiloh.
Then she says, very clearly:
“Did the child look distressed?”
Silence.
“…No,” Clara admits.
“Was he bruised? Injured in any way?”
“No.”
“Was he withdrawn? Quiet in a way that suggested fear?”
Shiloh shakes his head. “No.”
“Was he trying to get away from him?”
“No.”
“Did he signal for help? Look scared? Avoid eye contact?”
“…No.”
Linda nods once.
Then her voice turns cold.
“Then you had no reason to question him.”
Clara stiffens. “I was just being careful—”
“No,” Linda cuts in. “You were being ‘concerned.’”
She makes air quotes with her fingers.
“Concerned without evidence. Concerned based on nothing observable. Concerned based on assumption.”
Clara’s face reddens.
“I was trying to protect a child.”
“And yet,” Linda replies, “you just admitted there were no signs the child needed protecting.”
She turns to Shiloh.
“And you.”
He shifts uneasily.
“You backed that up. Without evidence. Without cause.”
“Ma’am, I was just following protocol—”
“No,” Linda says sharply. “You weren’t. Our protocol requires observable risk. You just confirmed there wasn’t any.”
A heavy silence fills the aisle.
Linda gestures toward the front.
“Clara, you are no longer welcome in this store.”
Clara’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
“You’re banned. Permanently.”
“That’s ridiculous—”
“What’s ridiculous,” Linda says, “is accusing someone of a crime without evidence and calling it ‘concern.’ You can leave now.”
Clara looks around, sees the eyes on her, and realizes she’s lost.
She turns and walks away quickly.
Linda doesn’t watch her go.
She turns to Shiloh.
“Go to the back. Take off your uniform. Collect your things.”
His face goes pale. “Ma’am—”
“I will not have a profiler working in my store.”
He hesitates.
“Now.”
Shiloh lowers his head and walks off.
Silence settles.
Linda exhales, then turns back to Speedman, her tone softer now.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “That should not have happened.”
Speedman studies her for a moment.
Then nods once.
Kyle tugs his sleeve.
“Can we still get the dinosaur book?”
Speedman finally lets out a small breath.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can still get the dinosaur book.”
And this time, no one stops them.
31-35, M