He put his hand down. Took a moment to let it pass. “I want you to tell me what it was like. A story about you and me. What were we like in this wonderland world of yours?”

Wonderland world? Had I really been selling it to him that way? I felt myself sour with shame. They say shame and guilt are useless emotions—because they let you wallow without taking any action. The first step toward action is speaking truth. All at once, I knew what story to tell him. Not the one I wanted to tell, but the one I needed to.

“A while back, you and I went out to join the protests,” I said, then I waited for him to ask, “What protests?” but he didn’t. He just waited for me to explain. “Because another white cop killed another Black man, and people had had enough.”

Leo drew a deep breath, leaned back, and crossed his arms. He still didn’t say a thing.

“But the city was too far, and we didn’t drive yet,” I continued. “Besides, your mom didn’t know how bad it would get out there—she was already worked up, and you didn’t want to worry her.”

“Nothing’s changed there,” Leo said. “So what’d we do?”

I told him about how we went down to Market Street, T-ville’s old downtown—which is just three blocks of outdated buildings trying to convince the world they’re quaint. There’s a bank that’s now a clothing store, some holdout mom-and-pop shops, and a town hall that you’d miss if you blinked. Not the center of anyone’s universe.

“There were maybe about a hundred of us,” I told him. “We stood on the corners chanting and holding up signs.” I had to take a moment before I told him the next part. “But then you got mad. Because it looked like people were having a party—like it was all some sort of pep rally—and no one should be enjoying this. And I said, ‘Leo, this is a good thing—every single car that passes is honking in support.’ And you said—”

“And I said ‘Honk if you hate racism is not a solution. It’s worse than doing nothing.’”

“You remember!”

He paused. He squinted. He sighed. “I did for a second. Now it’s gone.”