Instinctively, he darts back into the kitchen and picks up the pistol he keeps hidden behind the fridge, in anticipation of such occasions.

10

At the airport, some passengers notice a woman hurrying away from the departure gate. This wouldn’t have bothered them except that she’s wearing a hijab and is covered from head to toe in a dark-brown gown. She looks frantic, almost disturbed. They debate whether this is cause for concern and decide they’d rather be safe than sorry.

They inform an airline employee, who passes on their concerns to a security agent, who after some consultation institutes the following precautions: the terminal must be thoroughly searched for any unattended baggage; all carry-ons must be examined manually on every flight leaving the terminal; all flights with possible Muslim passengers must be flagged and delayed till the agents are able to identify the fleeing woman.

Many passengers—some frustrated, some scared, some angry—call friends, family, lovers to advise them of the delay, and to hear their voices for what could perhaps be the last time.

11

In the Castro, a lover returns to his apartment earlier than expected and finds it empty. Not wishing to spend the rest of his evening alone, he sets out in the hope of locating his boyfriend at one of their usual haunts. But repeated text messages go unanswered, and after checking bars for some time, he gives up and returns home, changes into pajamas, and climbs into bed. He gives a friend a call to check on her, to offer and seek sympathy, but gets no answer from her as well. He’ll eventually fall into a fitful asleep. Later, he’ll be vaguely aware of another body joining him under the sheets. He’ll turn automatically to his side, so that the length of his partner’s body is pressed against his, comforting, the way he likes it.

In Oakland, in her small tomb-like studio a lover lies awake in her bed, dry-eyed, alone. When the phone rings, she springs to answer, but it’s not her girlfriend, and right now she doesn’t want to speak with anyone else. Her mind replays the evening, reenacting the moments so it doesn’t end the way it did: banished from the only world she wants to inhabit, the enveloping warmth of partner and child. She’ll drift through the night, waiting for the phone to ring.

12

In Washington, D.C., a president who’d once proclaimed the virtues of hope has woken up in the middle of his sleep, despondent. His party is poised to be trounced in the upcoming midterm elections, and with the House passing into opposing hands, he may not be able to achieve anything more before his current term ends. He may even be denied a second term.

I am firm in my belief that the interests we share as human beings—justice and progress, tolerance and the dignity of all human beings—are far more powerful than the forces that drive us apart.