Living while black part five
tate fear and suspicion here. Jonah, Lena, and Tara walked through the aisles of the tech store, browsing some of the latest gadgets. The store sold everything from computers to artisanal chocolates, donuts, even ready-to-eat spaghetti. Suddenly, Jonah heard low, hissing whispers.
He glanced over and saw two black women, probably in their late twenties, speaking to each other while glancing toward him and his bodyguards.
“What’s he doing with those two white girls?” one whispered.
“Maybe he thinks he’s some kind of savior,” the other replied. “You know, raising them like they’re… I don’t know… projects? And why not just hang out with black women or men? Maybe he’s a pimp. You think he’s got a harem? He’s clearly choosing white women over us.”
Jonah froze for a second, fury boiling in his chest. Not again. He was sick of this. Sick of being judged because of the color of his skin, while others assumed motives and roles he didn’t have. He could feel his hands clench, but he forced himself to breathe.
“Lena. Tara,” he said quietly but sharply, “teach these two a lesson — don’t pull your weapons yet.”
Without a word, Lena and Tara’s hands moved to their holsters, their eyes narrowing. Both were wearing long-sleeved gray shirts and khaki jungle camouflage pants. Their movements were fluid, professional, and deliberate. Jonah’s tone was calm, but it carried the weight of someone who had endured far too many baseless accusations.
Just then, a boy, maybe thirteen, with cinnamon-colored skin and tightly braided cornrows, stepped between them and the whispering women. “Hey!” he said firmly, planting himself in front of the two sisters. “If you’re going to say something, say it to our faces. Don’t talk behind anyone’s back!”
Jonah watched as the boy’s chest puffed out slightly. “You don’t know anything about this man. You don’t know why he’s with these women, what they think, what he thinks. You have no right to judge them.”
The boy paused, his voice rising. “My dad’s white, my mom’s black. I’m sick of people like you saying someone isn’t ‘real’ black just because they choose to love someone of a different color! Who made you the queen of Black people? Nobody! Now get out of here before my mom and dad come back and you get your asses kicked!”
The two women said nothing, glancing at each other nervously as the boy’s words landed. Seconds later, a store security guard appeared, a tall, calm man who gestured for Jonah, Lena, Tara, and the boy to follow him to the security office.
Jonah exhaled, trying to let go of some of the anger. “Everywhere I go,” he muttered, “I can’t escape assumptions.” Lena and Tara flanked him, guns holstered but ready, eyes scanning the room to make sure no one else would provoke them.
The boy walked alongside them proudly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve had enough of people thinking they can decide who someone should love or hang out with. You did nothing wrong.”
Jonah nodded, silently grateful for the unexpected ally. For once, someone stood up immediately — without hesitation — against the ignorance and assumptions that so often trailed him.
/
Jonah, Lena, Tara, and the young boy were escorted into the back security office. The two black women who had whispered about Jonah being with two white women were stopped at the entrance, looking uneasy.
The officer, a firm, no-nonsense man, gestured for everyone to sit. “I understand there was a confrontation. Can someone explain what happened?”
Jonah, his jaw tight with anger, spoke first. “These women,” he said, his voice controlled but furious, “effectively called me a sellout for being with two white women. They assumed, without knowing anything, that these women were my girlfriends or — if they were my bodyguards — that I didn’t think black women were capable enough or attractive enough to be with me. They judged all of us solely based on the color of our skin.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s serious. And you two,” he said, addressing the women, “you made assumptions about this man without any facts?”
They mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
“Louder. Say it clearly,” the officer commanded.
“Yes… we did,” they admitted, now visibly intimidated.
“Enough.” The officer’s voice rose firmly. “False accusations based on race are not allowed. This is a formal warning. Any further harassment, assumptions, or public accusations will result in expulsion and potential legal consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” the women replied, now fully aware of the gravity of the situation.
Jonah took a deep breath, glancing at Lena and Tara. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with this kind of nonsense,” he said quietly, mostly to the young boy. “Remember the babysitting incident Aurora told us about? A black man watching white children was accused of kidnapping, and he lost his temper because of the racism. The woman ended up with permanent damage to her vocal cords because he defended himself.”
The young boy’s eyes widened, shocked at the story, while the women shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Jonah continued, “Aurora herself had to call the store here today to make sure these women didn’t get away with their racism. She demanded the woman’s employer’s number and threatened to expose the security footage if they refused to cooperate. That’s why this footage exists — so people like these women are held accountable for their behavior.”
The officer nodded. “Good. The footage will be preserved and can be released if necessary. And Jonah, you handled this without escalating to violence. That’s exactly how it should have gone.”
Lena and Tara, who had their guns hidden under their jackets, gave Jonah a slight nod. The presence of the ex-SPETZNAZ women had already been enough to make the accusers cautious, but they didn’t need to fire a shot.
Jonah addressed the officer firmly. “These women assumed I wasn’t black enough, and that these white women couldn’t be competent or attractive. That’s the kind of ignorance we’re fighting, day in and day out. And unfortunately, it’s not going to stop until it’s documented and shown publicly.”
The officer picked up the phone and made a quick call. “Yes, the incident is fully documented. The security footage will be kept, and if necessary, released to the media to show the harassment that occurred.”
Outside, store staff and some bystanders had been watching. The women were clearly embarrassed, and the public outrage was palpable. Jonah, Lena, and Tara left the office knowing the record was set straight — this time, the accusers wouldn’t get away with their racism. The combination of Aurora’s intervention, the security guard’s authority, and the presence of the two formidable bodyguards ensured that justice, at least in this instance, had been served.
/
Jonah, Lena, and Tara walked out of the security office, the young boy a few steps ahead, his face still tight with indignation. The morning sun hit the pavement, the Washington Monument looming faintly in the distance, a silent reminder of the city and all it represented.
Jonah exhaled, running a hand over his face. “You know,” he began, “this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with something like this.” He glanced at Lena and Tara. “Remember the airport, the grocery store, the coffee shop… the kids, the accusations. It never ends.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Wait… you mean all those times people just assumed things about you… because you’re black and they’re white?”
Jonah nodded grimly. “Exactly. And it’s not just strangers. Even security, even other parents… they see two white women with a black man and they immediately assume the worst. Like the woman at the mall who blocked me from leaving with the kids, or Amanda Watts at the shopping center, insisting she needed to call their mother to ‘confirm’ everything.” He shook his head. “The kids were safe. They weren’t scared. And she still assumed I was doing something wrong. And worse, the footage had to go public before she finally ran off.”
The boy frowned. “That’s… messed up.”
Jonah continued, his voice low, heavy. “Do you remember the babysitting incident with Kyle? A black man accused of kidnapping because a white child was in his care? He tried to defend himself, and he ended up in jail for decades because of that woman’s assumptions. And now, every time something like this happens, I think about him. About the frustration, the injustice… the anger that builds inside you when people refuse to see you as human.”
The boy clenched his fists. “So… what do you do?”
“You expose it,” Jonah said firmly. “Lena and Tara, they have the power to intimidate, to protect, yes. But evidence, documentation, footage… that’s what makes people accountable. People like Amanda Watts, the sisters at the tech store, the coffee shop woman — they can’t pretend it didn’t happen once it’s out in the open. It’s not enough to scare them off, though that matters too. They need to face the truth.”
The young boy nodded slowly, absorbing it. “So… showing everyone what actually happened… that’s how you fight it?”
“Yes,” Jonah replied. “People need to see the prejudice for what it is. That’s the only way it changes. Walt Kowalski in Gran Torino had to confront his biases — and little by little, the world around him changed. That’s why these incidents can’t be hidden. Silence only lets assumptions fester, lets racism feel normal.”
Lena and Tara flanked him silently, their expressions cold but resolute. They had been the deterrent, the muscle, the warning. But it was the combination of their presence, his leadership, and the public record that made the real difference.
The boy glanced at Jonah. “And… the kids? They see it too?”
“They do,” Jonah said. “And they learn early. They see that standing up against prejudice isn’t just necessary — it’s your right. But they also see the anger it causes. They see the exhaustion of having to navigate a world where people judge you for nothing but your skin color. That’s why public exposure matters.”
As they walked down the suburban street, people stepping aside to give them space, Jonah felt the familiar weight in his chest. Another confrontation over, another injustice documented. And yet, the frustration lingered — the anger at the persistence of prejudice, at the world’s unwillingness to recognize people for who they are.
But for now, there was a small sense of victory. The incidents were recorded. The witnesses, including the young boy, had seen what happened. And in exposing these acts, in refusing to let assumptions rule unchecked, Jonah, Lena, and Tara had turned the tables — if only a little — on a world that too often judged before it understood.
/
The bookstore was quiet in that curated way—new hardcovers stacked like altar pieces, staff picks handwritten in careful ink.
Anansi Serengeti Kamau Golgotha stood at the new-releases table with Theodora Mac Gairnéir and Daggry Gårdbruker, flipping through a paperback with a cracked spine.
They laughed easily. They always did. Three people who’d learned—slowly, sometimes painfully—to outgrow what they were told they were supposed to want.
A voice interrupted.
“Excuse me.”
A security guard—female, mid-forties, light blue shirt, dark navy pants, black cap—stood a little too close. Professional. Neutral. Too rehearsed.
She looked at Anansi first.
“What’s your relationship to these two women?”
Theodora blinked. Daggry stiffened.
Anansi answered calmly. “They’re my friends.”
The guard nodded, then turned to Theodora and Daggry.
“I’m going to ask you two to step over here with me for a moment.”
She gestured about four feet away—close enough to be visible, far enough to isolate.
Daggry’s jaw tightened, but they complied.
“Yes,” Theodora said evenly. “We’re his friends.”
The guard hesitated. Her eyes flicked past them.
That’s when Anansi noticed the woman in pink.
Mid-thirties, ginger hair, zip-up buttoned pants with a gold zipper. She stood pretending to browse, but her posture was too alert. Too invested.
The guard cleared her throat. “A customer expressed concern. Said something didn’t seem right.”
Daggry looked directly at the woman in pink.
“Was it because we’re white and he’s Black?”
The woman flushed—offended, embarrassed, defensive all at once.
“That’s not what I said,” she replied quickly. “It was just… a feeling. Better safe than sorry.”
Theodora’s voice sharpened.
“Did we appear injured?”
“No.”
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Trying to leave or signal for help?”
“No.”
“Then you shouldn’t have said anything.”
The woman bristled.
She leaned closer—lowered her voice—speaking only to Theodora and Daggry.
The woman in pink leaned in again, lowering her voice.
“You don’t have to protect him,” she said softly. “Even if he’s your boyfriend. Even if you’re married. Abuse happens in relationships all the time. Women cover for men every day.”
Daggry stared at her. “We’re not covering for anyone.”
Theodora’s voice went cold. “You don’t get to rewrite our lives because it fits a story you’re comfortable with.”
The woman straightened and turned sharply to the security guard.
“Then you should check their IDs,” she said. “All of them. Separate them. Ask them individually. That’s how you find out the truth.”
The guard didn’t move.
She looked at Daggry and Theodora carefully—really looked.
They weren’t quiet.
They weren’t avoiding eye contact.
They weren’t hesitant, withdrawn, or rehearsed.
They weren’t glancing at Anansi for permission.
They were angry — but steady.
“No,” the guard said firmly.
The woman blinked. “Excuse me?”
“There is no indication of coercion,” the guard replied. “No signs of distress. No reluctance to speak. No attempt to disengage or escape. They’re answering freely and directly.”
She turned fully toward the woman now.
“Separating them would be harassment, not protection.”
The woman flushed. “So you’re just going to take their word for it?”
“Yes,” the guard said. “Because nothing about this interaction suggests danger — except your insistence that there must be one.”
Theodora crossed her arms. “You don’t get to manufacture fear and call it vigilance.”
Daggry added, flat and precise, “And you don’t get to decide we’re victims because we don’t look like the people you think should be with him.”
The woman opened her mouth, searching for authority that wasn’t there anymore.
The guard cut her off.
“This conversation is over. You need to stop.”
For a moment, it looked like the woman might argue again.
Then she turned and walked away — not convinced, not enlightened — just denied the power she thought she had.
He glanced over and saw two black women, probably in their late twenties, speaking to each other while glancing toward him and his bodyguards.
“What’s he doing with those two white girls?” one whispered.
“Maybe he thinks he’s some kind of savior,” the other replied. “You know, raising them like they’re… I don’t know… projects? And why not just hang out with black women or men? Maybe he’s a pimp. You think he’s got a harem? He’s clearly choosing white women over us.”
Jonah froze for a second, fury boiling in his chest. Not again. He was sick of this. Sick of being judged because of the color of his skin, while others assumed motives and roles he didn’t have. He could feel his hands clench, but he forced himself to breathe.
“Lena. Tara,” he said quietly but sharply, “teach these two a lesson — don’t pull your weapons yet.”
Without a word, Lena and Tara’s hands moved to their holsters, their eyes narrowing. Both were wearing long-sleeved gray shirts and khaki jungle camouflage pants. Their movements were fluid, professional, and deliberate. Jonah’s tone was calm, but it carried the weight of someone who had endured far too many baseless accusations.
Just then, a boy, maybe thirteen, with cinnamon-colored skin and tightly braided cornrows, stepped between them and the whispering women. “Hey!” he said firmly, planting himself in front of the two sisters. “If you’re going to say something, say it to our faces. Don’t talk behind anyone’s back!”
Jonah watched as the boy’s chest puffed out slightly. “You don’t know anything about this man. You don’t know why he’s with these women, what they think, what he thinks. You have no right to judge them.”
The boy paused, his voice rising. “My dad’s white, my mom’s black. I’m sick of people like you saying someone isn’t ‘real’ black just because they choose to love someone of a different color! Who made you the queen of Black people? Nobody! Now get out of here before my mom and dad come back and you get your asses kicked!”
The two women said nothing, glancing at each other nervously as the boy’s words landed. Seconds later, a store security guard appeared, a tall, calm man who gestured for Jonah, Lena, Tara, and the boy to follow him to the security office.
Jonah exhaled, trying to let go of some of the anger. “Everywhere I go,” he muttered, “I can’t escape assumptions.” Lena and Tara flanked him, guns holstered but ready, eyes scanning the room to make sure no one else would provoke them.
The boy walked alongside them proudly. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ve had enough of people thinking they can decide who someone should love or hang out with. You did nothing wrong.”
Jonah nodded, silently grateful for the unexpected ally. For once, someone stood up immediately — without hesitation — against the ignorance and assumptions that so often trailed him.
/
Jonah, Lena, Tara, and the young boy were escorted into the back security office. The two black women who had whispered about Jonah being with two white women were stopped at the entrance, looking uneasy.
The officer, a firm, no-nonsense man, gestured for everyone to sit. “I understand there was a confrontation. Can someone explain what happened?”
Jonah, his jaw tight with anger, spoke first. “These women,” he said, his voice controlled but furious, “effectively called me a sellout for being with two white women. They assumed, without knowing anything, that these women were my girlfriends or — if they were my bodyguards — that I didn’t think black women were capable enough or attractive enough to be with me. They judged all of us solely based on the color of our skin.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s serious. And you two,” he said, addressing the women, “you made assumptions about this man without any facts?”
They mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
“Louder. Say it clearly,” the officer commanded.
“Yes… we did,” they admitted, now visibly intimidated.
“Enough.” The officer’s voice rose firmly. “False accusations based on race are not allowed. This is a formal warning. Any further harassment, assumptions, or public accusations will result in expulsion and potential legal consequences. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” the women replied, now fully aware of the gravity of the situation.
Jonah took a deep breath, glancing at Lena and Tara. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with this kind of nonsense,” he said quietly, mostly to the young boy. “Remember the babysitting incident Aurora told us about? A black man watching white children was accused of kidnapping, and he lost his temper because of the racism. The woman ended up with permanent damage to her vocal cords because he defended himself.”
The young boy’s eyes widened, shocked at the story, while the women shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Jonah continued, “Aurora herself had to call the store here today to make sure these women didn’t get away with their racism. She demanded the woman’s employer’s number and threatened to expose the security footage if they refused to cooperate. That’s why this footage exists — so people like these women are held accountable for their behavior.”
The officer nodded. “Good. The footage will be preserved and can be released if necessary. And Jonah, you handled this without escalating to violence. That’s exactly how it should have gone.”
Lena and Tara, who had their guns hidden under their jackets, gave Jonah a slight nod. The presence of the ex-SPETZNAZ women had already been enough to make the accusers cautious, but they didn’t need to fire a shot.
Jonah addressed the officer firmly. “These women assumed I wasn’t black enough, and that these white women couldn’t be competent or attractive. That’s the kind of ignorance we’re fighting, day in and day out. And unfortunately, it’s not going to stop until it’s documented and shown publicly.”
The officer picked up the phone and made a quick call. “Yes, the incident is fully documented. The security footage will be kept, and if necessary, released to the media to show the harassment that occurred.”
Outside, store staff and some bystanders had been watching. The women were clearly embarrassed, and the public outrage was palpable. Jonah, Lena, and Tara left the office knowing the record was set straight — this time, the accusers wouldn’t get away with their racism. The combination of Aurora’s intervention, the security guard’s authority, and the presence of the two formidable bodyguards ensured that justice, at least in this instance, had been served.
/
Jonah, Lena, and Tara walked out of the security office, the young boy a few steps ahead, his face still tight with indignation. The morning sun hit the pavement, the Washington Monument looming faintly in the distance, a silent reminder of the city and all it represented.
Jonah exhaled, running a hand over his face. “You know,” he began, “this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with something like this.” He glanced at Lena and Tara. “Remember the airport, the grocery store, the coffee shop… the kids, the accusations. It never ends.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Wait… you mean all those times people just assumed things about you… because you’re black and they’re white?”
Jonah nodded grimly. “Exactly. And it’s not just strangers. Even security, even other parents… they see two white women with a black man and they immediately assume the worst. Like the woman at the mall who blocked me from leaving with the kids, or Amanda Watts at the shopping center, insisting she needed to call their mother to ‘confirm’ everything.” He shook his head. “The kids were safe. They weren’t scared. And she still assumed I was doing something wrong. And worse, the footage had to go public before she finally ran off.”
The boy frowned. “That’s… messed up.”
Jonah continued, his voice low, heavy. “Do you remember the babysitting incident with Kyle? A black man accused of kidnapping because a white child was in his care? He tried to defend himself, and he ended up in jail for decades because of that woman’s assumptions. And now, every time something like this happens, I think about him. About the frustration, the injustice… the anger that builds inside you when people refuse to see you as human.”
The boy clenched his fists. “So… what do you do?”
“You expose it,” Jonah said firmly. “Lena and Tara, they have the power to intimidate, to protect, yes. But evidence, documentation, footage… that’s what makes people accountable. People like Amanda Watts, the sisters at the tech store, the coffee shop woman — they can’t pretend it didn’t happen once it’s out in the open. It’s not enough to scare them off, though that matters too. They need to face the truth.”
The young boy nodded slowly, absorbing it. “So… showing everyone what actually happened… that’s how you fight it?”
“Yes,” Jonah replied. “People need to see the prejudice for what it is. That’s the only way it changes. Walt Kowalski in Gran Torino had to confront his biases — and little by little, the world around him changed. That’s why these incidents can’t be hidden. Silence only lets assumptions fester, lets racism feel normal.”
Lena and Tara flanked him silently, their expressions cold but resolute. They had been the deterrent, the muscle, the warning. But it was the combination of their presence, his leadership, and the public record that made the real difference.
The boy glanced at Jonah. “And… the kids? They see it too?”
“They do,” Jonah said. “And they learn early. They see that standing up against prejudice isn’t just necessary — it’s your right. But they also see the anger it causes. They see the exhaustion of having to navigate a world where people judge you for nothing but your skin color. That’s why public exposure matters.”
As they walked down the suburban street, people stepping aside to give them space, Jonah felt the familiar weight in his chest. Another confrontation over, another injustice documented. And yet, the frustration lingered — the anger at the persistence of prejudice, at the world’s unwillingness to recognize people for who they are.
But for now, there was a small sense of victory. The incidents were recorded. The witnesses, including the young boy, had seen what happened. And in exposing these acts, in refusing to let assumptions rule unchecked, Jonah, Lena, and Tara had turned the tables — if only a little — on a world that too often judged before it understood.
/
The bookstore was quiet in that curated way—new hardcovers stacked like altar pieces, staff picks handwritten in careful ink.
Anansi Serengeti Kamau Golgotha stood at the new-releases table with Theodora Mac Gairnéir and Daggry Gårdbruker, flipping through a paperback with a cracked spine.
They laughed easily. They always did. Three people who’d learned—slowly, sometimes painfully—to outgrow what they were told they were supposed to want.
A voice interrupted.
“Excuse me.”
A security guard—female, mid-forties, light blue shirt, dark navy pants, black cap—stood a little too close. Professional. Neutral. Too rehearsed.
She looked at Anansi first.
“What’s your relationship to these two women?”
Theodora blinked. Daggry stiffened.
Anansi answered calmly. “They’re my friends.”
The guard nodded, then turned to Theodora and Daggry.
“I’m going to ask you two to step over here with me for a moment.”
She gestured about four feet away—close enough to be visible, far enough to isolate.
Daggry’s jaw tightened, but they complied.
“Yes,” Theodora said evenly. “We’re his friends.”
The guard hesitated. Her eyes flicked past them.
That’s when Anansi noticed the woman in pink.
Mid-thirties, ginger hair, zip-up buttoned pants with a gold zipper. She stood pretending to browse, but her posture was too alert. Too invested.
The guard cleared her throat. “A customer expressed concern. Said something didn’t seem right.”
Daggry looked directly at the woman in pink.
“Was it because we’re white and he’s Black?”
The woman flushed—offended, embarrassed, defensive all at once.
“That’s not what I said,” she replied quickly. “It was just… a feeling. Better safe than sorry.”
Theodora’s voice sharpened.
“Did we appear injured?”
“No.”
“Afraid?”
“No.”
“Trying to leave or signal for help?”
“No.”
“Then you shouldn’t have said anything.”
The woman bristled.
She leaned closer—lowered her voice—speaking only to Theodora and Daggry.
The woman in pink leaned in again, lowering her voice.
“You don’t have to protect him,” she said softly. “Even if he’s your boyfriend. Even if you’re married. Abuse happens in relationships all the time. Women cover for men every day.”
Daggry stared at her. “We’re not covering for anyone.”
Theodora’s voice went cold. “You don’t get to rewrite our lives because it fits a story you’re comfortable with.”
The woman straightened and turned sharply to the security guard.
“Then you should check their IDs,” she said. “All of them. Separate them. Ask them individually. That’s how you find out the truth.”
The guard didn’t move.
She looked at Daggry and Theodora carefully—really looked.
They weren’t quiet.
They weren’t avoiding eye contact.
They weren’t hesitant, withdrawn, or rehearsed.
They weren’t glancing at Anansi for permission.
They were angry — but steady.
“No,” the guard said firmly.
The woman blinked. “Excuse me?”
“There is no indication of coercion,” the guard replied. “No signs of distress. No reluctance to speak. No attempt to disengage or escape. They’re answering freely and directly.”
She turned fully toward the woman now.
“Separating them would be harassment, not protection.”
The woman flushed. “So you’re just going to take their word for it?”
“Yes,” the guard said. “Because nothing about this interaction suggests danger — except your insistence that there must be one.”
Theodora crossed her arms. “You don’t get to manufacture fear and call it vigilance.”
Daggry added, flat and precise, “And you don’t get to decide we’re victims because we don’t look like the people you think should be with him.”
The woman opened her mouth, searching for authority that wasn’t there anymore.
The guard cut her off.
“This conversation is over. You need to stop.”
For a moment, it looked like the woman might argue again.
Then she turned and walked away — not convinced, not enlightened — just denied the power she thought she had.
31-35, M