Girls dating black men
The only girl in my group of black girlfriends who had a boyfriend was dating a white boy who was white enough to have a family that hated black people. We would sit squished in a row behind them with all of our smirks perfectly even as they drove us home.
The year before I graduated college, black boys started dying on TV: Trayvon Martin, then Eric Garner, then Michael Brown, then Tamir Rice.
Our family is a classic case of women and the black men who left them versus the white men who stayed.
I remember being 6 and slapping my white uncle in the face to figure out why his face turned bloodred.
After nine months, my black savior, the neuroscientist, had broken up with me and left me with no words to cry over.
He told me that he had gotten out of a 10-year relationship with the girl he thought he would marry and I told him that I had spent two years alone finding myself.
The match wasn’t ideal, but we took to each other like people end up doing when left in a room alone.
It didn’t feel like love at first, more like companionship at our all-time lows.
We were open with each other; he had been warned to stay away from black girls, and I was advised to not date men of color.