Running While Black

Thoughts I have while jogging in my hometown

#justiceforahmaudarbery #blacklivesmatter #irunwithmaud

I recently came back to my hometown Houston, Texas to ride out the rest of the pandemic with my family, and now that I’m back home, I’m instantly reminded of all the things I was running away from: generational poverty, racism, and not being allowed to be myself. 

I moved to New York ten years ago because as a queer person, I wanted to live somewhere where I could dream to the fullest, and in Houston, I felt stuck. I come from a single-parent household and money was always an issue. I remember days where the car got repoed before I had to go to school, and my only option was to take public transit or miss school completely. I reluctantly walked to the bus stop and waited, and waited, the only problem was the Houston Metro comes when it wants, which caused me to be written up for being late. I was late a lot and some of my teachers dismissed me as a problem child, but no one dared to ask what I was going through. My childhood in Houston was filled with some disheartening experiences. I remember when I had a school project to cook something for the rest of the class, and I didn’t know what to cook because at the time we didn’t have a stove. I failed that project. I remember when my older brother came back from college to visit and he picked me up from school one day. On the way home he got harassed by our white neighbor who thought we didn’t live there. After being called a racial slur and having the man drag my brother out the car, things got blurry, the police came several hours later and treated us like we were the suspects; I was 13. All those things come to mind as I run down a side street in Houston. As the cars whiz by I see Trump stickers on pickup trucks and dogs barking at me from a distance. I try to focus but I see I’ve caught the attention of three white men who I know have never seen me before — am I a threat? Who’s the bigger threat, me or them? I ignore them and do what I do best, keep running. 

Why the fuck am I in Houston? I think as I shuffle through songs on Spotify. Around this time last year I was headed to Jacob Riis Beach to do gay shit with my friends. I was basking in the promise of a beautiful summer in Brooklyn, and my biggest worry was if the boy I was fucking with would ever text me back, he never did, but that didn’t matter because I knew I could always rely on the comfort of a friend to hug me when I was down, or the club to be open late to dance away the heartbreak. Now my worry is: why is that police car slowing down? I have my mask on, I hope that doesn’t make me look suspicious. Should I keep running or should I stop, calm down, just keep going. The police car passes me by, am I paranoid, am I putting my life at risk by going on this run? I take a moment to look around at the oak trees swaying in the breeze. I remember to breathe and skip to the next song. 

Part of me is happy to be home, as things closed in New York I was losing hope. New York isn’t the best place to be when you're quarantined with roommates you just met six months ago. Instead of sending passive-aggressive text messages about the dishes I’m reminding my mom to put her mask on before she goes to get groceries. Me and my mothers relationship is great, she accepts me for me, and she even helps me do my make up sometimes. It’s not the same acceptance you would get at a New York gay club, but it’s something that I’ll never take for granted. Things still aren't great financially, but the important thing is we are safe. While home I’m reminded of all the nuances that make me, me. How all the shortcomings of a life spent scraping by taught me how to rise to any occasion. I miss New York, and I will be back, but what I won’t miss is this expectation to be a complete package, to have it all figured out, to keep grinding until you can’t anymore. What I appreciate most about being in Houston with family is, I am expected to just be, and at this time all I have to offer the world is my survival. Maybe in some ways this moment is reminding us all that our lives are enough. I take a deep breath, the song playing in my headphones fades as I complete my run and head home safely. 

If these are the things that ran through my mind today, imagine the things Ahmaud Arbery thought about on his run. Imagine the things he was dreaming about, the hopes he had in the back of his head as he sprinted down the street in his hometown; who knew that moment would be his last. As I run I think of the past, I take time to reflect on the present, and I dream of a better tomorrow. I'm running because I want to see another day. After all, that means I still have a chance. As I run in this black skin I remember the life of Ahmaud Arbery, and I realize that the beautiful thing about being black is that despite all the obstacles we face in America, despite all the things we have to overcome, and the hurdles we have to go through, we always find a way to keep running. 

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Kile Atwater