I had known my father would be a problem, but I was serious about Latisha. We had even talked about marriage. Or “elopement.” Some arrangement that would leave my father out of the loop until it was too late for him to interfere. No fixed date because Latisha, at least, deserved a shot at whatever higher education she could afford to get. But our plans were real. Or at least I had thought so.

Real enough that I had confided in my mother over the kitchen table. She had listened carefully and wordlessly. Then she sat back in her chair and said, “I don’t know what’s good and what’s bad anymore, if I ever did. But if you do this, it’s probably best you get out of the house.” She added, plaintively, “I would like to meet Latisha one day. When that becomes possible. Until then I won’t say anything to your father.”

I’m sure she meant not to. But over the summer something must have aroused his suspicion, I didn’t know what: an undeleted text message, a phone conversation overheard. He hadn’t questioned me but he had questioned my mother, and she caved in and told him what she knew.

My father believed in direct action. I didn’t know he had done anything at all until my calls and texts to Latisha started bouncing. I went to her house but her parents wouldn’t let me talk to her; they said she had decided to break off the relationship. Maybe so, but I refused to believe it until I had spoken to her herself. I kept an eye on the house but there was little sign of Latisha apart from a couple of trips out in the company of her mother.

I got a note to her through a girl she knew, enclosing a more secure IP address—I had changed it without telling my parents. That night I waited for a return message, but when it came it was abrupt and unapologetic.

Sorry Turk yr father talked to my father made an offer: my college tuition paid provided we break up, shitty deal but now my folks insist on it, only chance for a good school & so forth, not too proud to milk a bigot for his money etc. I would tell them go to hell but really what kind of life could we have broke and young + even tho I love you how long til we start to hate each other for what love cost us? Don’t blame anyone but me I know I have a choice & Im probably making the wrong one but its my life & I have to think of the future. Crying now, pls don’t write anymore.