"I don't believe you," I said in my mind. But out loud I said, "Really? Oh, my gosh!"
This is what happened some years ago when my good girlfriend who is black told me about how she prepares to go to Nordstrom. She can't go in sweats and a t-shirt. She has to dress up nice with jewelry and makeup.
"Why?" I asked stupidly.
"If I go in my sweats, the employees will follow me around."
"Surely not,” I thought to myself.
"Oh, no!" I said to her.
I'm sure she didn't buy my feigned belief but she didn’t bat an eye as she continued patiently explaining to her wide-eyed, white friend how her trip to Nordstrom goes. Management questioning why she is there, security asking her to leave or move on. My mind spun. None of this has ever happened to me. Surely she is being sensitive or dramatic (cue hair flip and shoulder shrug).
I left my friend's house that day a little unsettled, a little confused, but mostly dismissive. And like a white girl gets to, I forgot all about it.
I'm sorry about before, my friend. I believe you now. And I'll believe you always.
