Today's writing

I gripped my tray table on the flight over, eyed every dark-skinned man who seemed capable of doing more than sneezing. Not on my flight, you fuck. No you don’t.

In the days after the attacks, I tried to hunker as close to home as possible. At one point I had to take the subway into San Francisco for a job interview. Waiting for the train back to the East Bay, I saw a man in a turban checking his cell phone. A bomb, I thought, and he’s bringing it aboard. The train arrived. He stepped on. I remained on the platform.

I didn’t tell anyone. I knew what I was feeling would be considered wrong, prejudiced, jumping to conclusions. I also knew the depth to which it was felt, and how I didn’t want to have to defend myself.

I wondered how many people stayed behind on that platform with me.