He turned so that he could get up from the bed. When he looked at me, the way he could barely make eye contact, made me grab my own phone from the side of the table. I heard him hurry downstairs, his voice so hushed I couldn’t hear it. I didn’t need to, as soon as I opened the Twitter app on my phone I knew what the call was about.

My mentions were out of control with people tweeting at me about another traffic stop. Apparently last night police had stopped three young men on their way back from a party, for a broken taillight. During the stop something happened that resulted in one of them being hospitalized. It was hard to get the exact details of what happened, but people were outraged. There were calls for the sheriff to resign and for charges to be brought against the deputy involved. My pulse raced as I tapped on tweets and headlines to get more information.

I got up from the bed, the bliss from the previous half hour long forgotten, and started putting on my clothes as I scrolled through my notifications. There was a DM from one of the local community groups asking me to join them in organizing a peaceful protest tomorrow I stood in Easton’s bedroom looking out his picture window, it was too dark to see much but in the distance I could almost make out the outline of the clock tower. I held my phone loosely in my hand, and I hesitated. I knew that whatever Easton was talking about downstairs had to do with the reason for the protest I was being asked to help organize. A protest that would demand that the people in Easton’s position take some action about what was happening. I almost tapped out a yes, but I hesitated. Instead I shoved my phone in my pocket and made my way downstairs.

I didn’t need to know exactly how bad shit was, even though it was written all over Easton’s face. He was standing in the middle of his living room with his eyes closed and his hands grasped tightly behind his head, looking spooked. When I got to him, he glanced up at me as I walked over to put my shoes on, his silence more telling than anything he could say.

I took a moment to finish getting dressed and pocket my wallet before I walked over to where he was. He looked like he was about to puke. I knew what he was feeling because I felt it too, the knot in my stomach that told me reality had come knocking.

But I was not one to delay the inevitable, so I said what had to be said.