He thought I fit the profile of a burglary suspect. I was twenty-one. He was acquitted. My mother hasn’t gotten out of bed in a year.

He thought I was reaching for a gun. No weapons were found. I was twenty-nine. No charges filed. My family marched for justice that never came. He retired and moved to Florida.

He yelled, “Show me your hands!” and then shot before I could get them up. My head landed on the steering wheel while my six-year-old daughter cried in the seat behind me. They give her risperidone for the anxiety and nightmares. She keeps asking if I’m ever coming back.

So many. Too many to count. Their faces and stories burn into Stephen’s mind now, wrestling with his blind conservativism.

The light begins to retract. I take several deep breaths to try and steady myself. I don’t know what just happened or why, but I’m deeply affected by it. I can see that Stephen is also. Something shifts in his eyes. One of his guards stands down. There is a receptivity present that wasn’t here at the beginning of the meeting.

Earnell is still enraged and doesn’t see it. He leans forward on the table, burning.

“There is not a day that goes by when I don’t think about my brother. Not one.” He points his finger at Stephen. “Imagine someone you love, a sister, a brother, or parent, is senselessly ripped from you and there are no consequences for the person that took them. Imagine! You are debating rights and freedoms, but what about justice for those who suffer when the law sides with the hateful? What should we, the ones forced to reckon with the flaws in your police and public servants, do? Sit quietly in cruel acceptance? I think the fuck not. You’re delusional. Keli, Gabby, Echo, let’s go.”

We stand and begin clapping for Earnell while marching toward the exit. Everyone watches silently as we leave.

“Hey,” Stephen calls out before we reach the door. “I’d want consequences if it was my family and I’d want a right to speak up.” He tries to build a bridge toward us, but it’s too late. We are already in the water, swimming against a tide that comes from all sides. We’ve been in the water our entire lives and don’t know what it’s like to bunk in a cabin on land. If we had, we wouldn’t think the tide was so bad either and it would take a miracle of the light to convince us also.

Earnell is quiet for the rest of the evening. A silent Earnell is unusual. I know he must be ruminating over his brother. We order milkshakes in the late-night café. A band onstage plays soul music. Hits by Otis, Sam Cooke, and Aretha. Gabby snaps and sways along.

“It was worse than I thought,” I say.