Inês Damas and Matilde Gouveia (story based on texts from Citizen by Claudia Rankine)

After dropping the kids off at school, Cassandra decided to do a little grocery shopping, along with her friend Katherine. They came in separate cars and met up at the entrance of the supermarket. As they walked in, they laughed about their own little inside jokes and gossiped about their neighbors. At one point, they split up and each did her own shopping.

Cassandra accidentally bumped into a woman. She apologized as the woman angrily dusted herself before she actually looked at her.

“Oh, Jeanie! It’s been a while,” she said, her smile as real as fool’s gold.

Cassandra’s face blanked before she responded slowly, “I’m not-”

“Oh, you don’t remember me? I’m the real estate agent who helped you with touring your house! And you had that friend, what was her name again? Honestly giving you people the tour has made me so comfortable, it’s not everyday you get to meet people like you. I was honestly surprised when I saw you at the door, I thought you were one of those people, from the ghetto-”

“I’m not Jeanie,” Cassandra interrupted her firmly.

“Oh.” It took the woman a few moments to decide what to say next. “I got the two of you confused. You can’t blame me for my honest mistake.”

The real estate agent walked away. Cassandra was left behind with confusion in her mind and with a pit in her stomach. She walked on to the next aisle.

As Cassandra was checking and picking out the cans of soup, from the corner of her eye she saw a short white woman staring at her. Despite feeling extremely uncomfortable, Cassandra tried to ignore the seething stare. She went on to the next aisle. The white woman followed her. She picked out what she needed. The stare was burrowing holes into her skull.

At one point, Cassandra turned around to look at the short woman. The woman immediately pretended she was not looking at her and pretended to browse the wares in front of her. Cassandra pursed her lips and went back to recheck her list. She could feel the heat drilling back into her skull. At this point she turned around with a smile:

"Can I help you?"

The woman was evidently caught by surprise. She pursed her lips and practically spat at her.

"Making sure there's no shoplifters."

Cassandra stared at her blankly.

"Of... course," she said and went back to checking her list for one second before looking back, "Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

"I'm trying to do my groceries so, please, leave me alone."

The woman squinted, "Don't cause no trouble."

At this, Cassandra blanched and she could feel her throat tightening. Her voice lowered to a whisper:

"Do you want me to call security? I've known the fellas for years, so I'm sure they can ease any concerns you have."

Alarmed, the woman stepped back and shook her head. She went back to whatever she was doing before stalking Cassandra.

She was left breathless and she tried to slow her rapid heartbeat with the palm of her hand. Her hand shook as she rechecked the list once again. She was almost done, just one thing left. She walked over to the next aisle.

She met up with Katherine again. Her friend went ahead first to the checkout. The cashier and Katherine made small talk. Her friend paid and stood by to the side, waiting for Cassandra. With that, Cassandra was next at the checkout.

In the middle of putting down the groceries, the cashier suddenly interrupted her:

"I need to see your ID."

Again, Cassandra's expression blanked.

"I'm sorry?"

"I need to see your ID, ma'am. Part of the procedure."

Cassandra looked around. Behind her, an elderly white lady was waiting for her turn. Ahead, her friend was waiting quietly and impatiently. Her throat tightened again. Her mind raced at the possibilities. Should she call out the injustice? She looked around once more. Everyone was looking at her, expecting what was obvious. She had been pushed up to a wall. A speck of graphite thrown against a sharp white wall.

"I've been a customer for ten years," she said before giving the cashier her ID.

"Just standard procedure," the cashier replied and pulled out a book of suspicious people to watch out for.

Words of the philosopher Judith Butler floated into Cassandra’s mind. If she opened up more, exposed herself more, it wouldn’t help. If she talked back, she would be judged. It wouldn’t even matter if she said “please” like earlier, she would still be judged. The spotlight was on her, instead of focusing on the cashier’s action.

Later that evening, Cassandra arrived at her apartment and considered her options. The kids were away on a sleepover, and the place was eerily quiet. It had been a long day, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be by herself just yet. A night out with some friends might help. She picked up her phone and sent out a couple of text messages. Not to Katherine, as she wanted some distance from the earlier events. Jeanie and Laura responded, and they decided to pick a restaurant —  somewhere they wouldn’t need to dress up, nothing too crowded or loud.

Shortly after, they were sitting down comfortably, menus in hand, ready to order. The waiter came and went and Cassandra finally felt like she could relax. Conversation came easy and didn't die down even when the food showed up.

The night took a bit of a downturn when they got around to talking about recent events.

“It’s the crime rate, you know,” Laura said.

Cassandra’s breath stopped for a second, and Jeanie shot her a discouraging look that screamed “it’s not worth it”.

“Right,” Cassandra agreed with no enthusiasm or conviction. She couldn’t pay much attention to wherever the conversation went after that, to whatever topics Jeanie made an effort to change to. She caught some of it, but she wasn’t really listening. She knew, she had always known, that it wasn’t the crime rate. That was why she could do nothing wrong and would still be prodded and questioned at a grocery store, and why Katherine wasn't, and why Laura wouldn’t have been.

Laura had work early in the morning, so Cassandra and Jeanie drove her home, and made their way to a quiet late-hour spot for a drink or two. It was a relatively small space, with a man doing stand-up on a little stage on the far end of the room. He talked about context and how it can dictate if something is funny or not. He went on, with the example of how things said about groups of people, among your friends, might get a laugh out of everybody, but it’s likely that a lot of those things wouldn’t be funny if the “others”, the people you are turning into a punchline, might overhear.

After he left the stage, Cassandra wanted to talk about the conversation over dinner, but Jeanie beat her to it.

“She doesn’t understand,” she said. “And it’s not our job to make her understand.”

Cassandra didn’t agree, she couldn’t. “How else will they learn?”

“They can teach themselves, and each other. It is not your burden, it is not your job. You already see and hear too much, you hear what’s clear but also what isn’t really there, because you hear what it means. I refuse to bear the weight of their ignorance, and so should you.”

Cassandra tried to take that in, more than she had been used to take everything else in, all the time. It was too much, she could admit that. She wasn’t sure she could be like Jeanie, so detached, so willing to let it go. But Jeanie was right in saying that it was not her job. If it was a job there would be some kind of pay, but this was just unrewarded work. She decided she would let go of that.

The following Monday, Cassandra’s day started with a meeting. She dropped the kids off at school, and arrived at the office early. She sat somewhere close to the conference room, in a brightly lit white painted hall, going over some notes while she waited for time to pass before the meeting. She was sitting close enough that she could overhear people talking just outside the door, although she was certain they hadn’t noticed her. She was sure, because she could hear them talking about black people as if they were strange creatures impossible to interpret, understand, or empathize with. Cassandra took a deep breath and remembered Jeanie’s words. She waited a couple of minutes, and walked quietly into the conference room.