July 20, 2007
I heard over the music a soft, decisive click. Caitlin had locked her door. I looked over my seat and saw her hand tight on the door handle, like any minute big black men were going to run up and pound on the windows. We had driven to Champaign, where you can get into bars at 19, for Megan’s birthday and we were driving back to my house. Later, back at school, I’d hear her softly tell her boyfriend, “I didn’t know she lived in the hood!” and I’d want to punch her in her fat fucking Southern face.