Wait to see if my soul is alive or dead? Sure, doc, shouldn’t be too hard to do . . .

I live on the ocean floor. The only reason I come up to the surface is to visit my mom. I see what’s going on in the real world but have only a casual connection with it. I can hardly make eye contact with Nai, although we live in the same house. It’s not just her; I barely speak to my uncle, or anyone, for that matter. I avoid news because they like to play the footage of my mom getting shot. They always say, “Please be advised, this footage is graphic . . .” but they’re so damn quick to play it.

Members of See Us are calling for the arrest of the cop. I know I’ve heard his name, but my mind refuses to let it in. The media has made this their hot story of the moment. They swarm all around the neighborhood and ask questions. Uncle Ty, much like his sister, isn’t one for foolishness. I’m thankful he can keep them at bay.

Devonte gets up early to ride with me to the hospital before he goes to school; we don’t talk. He knows that all words would fail. Both my friends and neighbors try to find a way to connect. But they can’t, because I’m not in the same world as them.

When I’m at the house, everything feels strange. Someone removed all the specificity from my life. The mint was stolen from my toothpaste, the oranges drained from my juice, and the seasoning siphoned from my eggs. Everything in this world feels dollar-store generic and doesn’t belong to me.

In the week that follows, the women in the neighborhood swear that I’m rail thin and wasting away. They bring over food throughout the day, enough to feed all of New York City. The older guys on the block want to help, but some of them are too old for the fire and brimstone of rising protests happening outside. So they come over and fix things—things that aren’t broken. Meanwhile, my uncle plays bodyguard and keeps the media and random nosy people at bay.

Up above my head, things are happening. Nate Collard is making the rounds in the media, voicing outrage and disgust. But when I walk into a room and see him on CNN or any of the major networks, my mind relegates him to the background. There’s no more room inside me. I can’t let anything else in, not even updates on my mom’s case.