I've had the luxury of forgetting. A student approached
me asking me about a point of history that stood out in his reading. “They keep
mentioning it. What is it?” It had meant so much to my adolescent self. And
yet, my words fumbled. I closed my mouth, perhaps I smiled, and attempted a
response. How ashamed of myself I would have been. Was it a hate crime? Not by
legal definition. It had occurred in New York City, yes. In a tucked away
section ignored, hopefully, on better days, but not forgotten. Oh, no, it was a
police raid. Yes, that’s it. Policemen barreled in beating patrons bloody and
throwing them in the back of wagons. Perhaps I should exclude this? I’ve picked
up inklings. But the world is such a dark place—prepare him as of now. He may—will—need as much of a head
start as possible. More than your luxury requires of you. He’ll be alone for a
time—but, with offerings, spit, and faith in the night, not too long.
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