I couldn’t wait for the meeting to be over. It felt like torture, sitting across from the pinched-face mayor and a PR consultant, who kept flipping her thin brown hair over her shoulder and saying, “Heard,” every time someone said something. She took so many notes, it was difficult to decide if she was just transcribing whatever came out of the mayor’s and my manager’s mouths or if she was really thinking through ideas and strategies. I didn’t want to be on the team for this project, and I said so. Or something like that. When my manager, Colton, asked me to join him in the conference room with, and he said it with an exaggerated whisper and this goofy wide-eyed expression, “The mayor!” I told him I was swamped with another project that was behind schedule. The project, writing a series of bite-sized profiles of executive leadership and staff at a new Adult Playground opening downtown and researching trending topics and songs to pair with the series for IG and TikTok, was two weeks late already. “It’s the mayor,” Colton repeated, this time at full volume and a look that said, as much as I wished it didn’t, “get your ass in here now.”
I huffed and joined him in the conference room. The mayor introduced herself, her stiff blonde hair unmoving even though she moved her head a lot when she spoke, punctuating her sentences with head nods that meant she was serious and resolute. She let the consultant introduce herself, “I’m Rachel,” she said, smiling, her dry, pink tinted lips pulling back against bucked teeth. Colton introduced me and Jason, a new hire from Miami who talked about being Cuban with me, even sliding into a bit of an accent, but rarely mentioned it and magically lost his accent when talking with anyone else in the office.
The mayor started talking. I drowned out her nasally voice and only caught snippets of what she said. “Public persona and image… Antagonistic relationships and public safety… most dangerous job in the world… anti-police sentiments and rising tensions… turning a new page and we’re on the same side.” I had heard it all before. The mayor’s office had been doing press conferences as the Anthony Jones III hearings were making national news. I felt sick to my stomach watching the testimonies of the officers who wrangled up the kids at the State Fair like they were animals, snatching them up and stuffing them into the back of squad cars and SUVs. The officer who forced Jones out of his cruiser in the middle of the street, miles away from the fair, was set to testify in the coming days. The mayor was obviously trying to get in front of it.
Colton went on one of his rants that he thought made him sound progressive and compassionate but only made him sound self-righteous and insincere, and I completely tuned out. I would not work on the project. I would sit in the meeting and daydream. I would look out the window and wait for it to be over. I would not work on the project. I wanted to quit anyway and had already talked about it with Dayo, who was hype at the prospect of me walking out on some random afternoon or going to lunch with her and just never going back. I told her I thought about it all the time. She told me to remember how I felt that day after the Jones Memorial, the day I said I felt possible, and to do it.
I always thought of reasons to stay. Benefits. Paying my bills. Staying just a little while longer, until I had this amount or that amount. My phone buzzed on the table. Colton looked at me but kept talking. He was revving up to make his point about how defunding the police wouldn’t solve what people who call for it think it would solve and that most people don’t understand the nuances of police departments and their complex systems, the opportunities for better community engagement made possible with scaffolded reform and increased funding not less. I rolled my eyes. My phone buzzed again. I flipped it over.
A text message from Dayo: Look outside, my love. It’s raining falafel.
I chuckled and pulled my phone into my lap. Before I could text her back, Colton leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat.
“Alicia, is there something you’d like to add?” Colton folded his arms across his chest and looked over at the mayor, the consultant, and Jason before resting his eyes on me. “I mean, a lot of what we’re talking about directly relates to your community.”
I looked at Jason. He looked away. The mayor rested her elbows on the table. The consultant paused her typing, her fingers hovering over the flat keyboard beneath her iPad. She blinked in my direction.
“I don’t…” I sighed. “I’ve told you on several occasions that I don’t speak for the entire Black community. If you want to know what I think, ask me what I think, me, not what you think I can tell you about how the millions of Black people think or vote or feel.”
Colton flared his pointy noise and narrowed his eyes. “Right.” He spun in his seat toward the mayor. “She’s feeling ‘some type of way’ since going to the Jones rally a few weeks ago.” He glanced at me and smirked.
I glared at him then turned my head to look at Jason incredulously. We had talked about the case a few days ago, and I told him about the memorial. He commiserated with the Jones family in our conversation, telling me about how a cousin of his had been beaten by police leaving the beach with a few friends late one night. Jason stared down at the table then looked out the window, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Bottom line,” Colton said. “We are the perfect firm for this campaign. We’re progressive and cutting edge enough to design the kind of innovative approach you and the police department need. A few carefully curated Reels and TikToks, you know the ones that make people smile and remember that police are people. I’m not just talking about the ones where officers are dancing with kids in classrooms. Think “They’re just like us” in US Weekly set to trending hip hop and paired with viral voiceovers.”
I clenched my jaw and gripped my phone so tightly I thought I’d crack the case. The mayor, clearly intrigued but obviously lost, looked at Rachel, who stopped typing to touch the mayor’s hand. “Brilliant,” the consultant said. “Just brilliant.”
Colton clapped his hands together. “Brilliant!” He stood up. “Jason, Alicia, what’s good for lunch? Mayor? Please say you can join us.”
“You know what? I’d love to!” The mayor stood up and buttoned her suit coat. She yanked it down from the bottom and smoothed the front of her dark slacks. “Rachel, let the detail know we’re going to lunch with our new social media consultants.”
The mayor and Rachel made their way toward the door. Jason stood up and walked around the table so he wouldn’t have to pass me on his way out. “You know you bogus for that,” I said to him anyway. The mayor and consultant turned briefly then kept heading out the door. Jason turned, too, but he stopped.
“It’s not like that,” Jason said. “You’re always overreacting.” He glanced at Colton, looking for affirmation. He got it.
“It’s true,” Colton said. “But I like it. I appreciate your passion. It’s going to be great for this project. You’re both going to be great for this project.”
Jason smiled. “Looking forward to working with the mayor. This is going to be a big deal for us.”
“A project with the city?” Colton stretched his neck to confirm the mayor was out of ear shot. “Are you fucking kidding me? This is fucking huge!”
“I don’t want to work on it,” I said. “You and Jason will be fine. You don’t need me. Me and my people don’t like the police anyway, right?” I pushed my phone into the front pocket of my black pants and pushed past Jason to leave the room.
“Alicia,” Colton said. I stopped. “I’m not asking you if you want to be on the project. I’m telling you you’re on it.” He swiped at his tablet and closed the cover. “Now, we’ll make nice at lunch and when the mayor leaves, we’ll start thinking through strategy. We’ll take your ‘N.W.A Fuck the Police’ attitude and turn it into something productive, something progressive. Look at the good work Ice Cube is doing now. Shit, he can be your fucking spirit animal.”
“Don’t say ‘spirit animal,” I said. “You—” I stopped myself. An argument wouldn’t solve anything. Colton had never listened to anything I had to say, and since being with Dayo, telling her about the environment at work, following the movement for Black Lives more closely, and just feeling fed up with everything, I had been carrying more and more rage at the office, in my chest and in my head in general. But what good was the rage if I didn’t do anything about it? What good was the anger if it didn’t move me to act?
Colton stepped around me and left me standing in the conference room. Jason followed behind him, already pitching ideas. I took my phone out of my pocket. Dayo had followed up her text: See you there.
I stared down at the messages. I wanted to type “See you in a minute. By the way, I quit my job today.” I put my phone away and walked to my desk. I sat down and stared at my computer screen, the smiling faces of red-headed adult twins, Franki and Freddi, staring back at me. Underneath their headshots, NEVER TOO OLD TO PLAY! in bubble letters bounced across a rendering of the turf-covered playground at F Adulting, the grown-up playground opening just a few floors down.
“Alicia,” Jason called. “Let’s go.”
Standing up slowly, I took my phone out again. I replied to Dayo: Sorry, baby, but I can’t. I’ll tell you about it later.
I joined the mayor, the consultant, Jason, and Colton in the elevator. I stood in front, staring at my reflection in the elevator doors. My stomach in knots, I took a deep breath and blinked back tears.
When the doors opened to the lobby, I stepped out quickly. I wanted to see if I caught Dayo before she went to the falafel truck. I hoped she had either come and gone once she got my message or that she hadn’t come downtown at all because she hadn’t heard from me. I walked toward the glass doors. Two squad cars were double-parked in front of the building. Two officers, wearing bulky uniforms and mirrored, camo-framed sunglasses wrapped around their faces, hiding their eyes, stood outside on the sidewalk.
“We’re just going up the street,” Colton said. “The officers coming, too? We getting VIP security detail to grab a bowl of Pho?” He laughed and moved forward to open the door for the mayor. One of the officers beat him to it, opening the door while directing the other officer to flank the other side of the entrance.
“I wouldn’t say that,” the mayor said. She gave a quick nod to the officers, her hair an unmoving helmet. “You guys want to join us for lunch?” She smacked the door-holding officer playfully on the shoulder.
He shrugged. “Why not?”
I followed Colton and Jason out the door, which the officer still held dutifully. My head on a swivel, I searched the block for the falafel truck, craned my neck trying to look around the corners of a delivery truck parked near the corner. I didn’t see the falafel truck. I didn’t see Dayo. I sighed and turned to follow my coworkers, who had started talking to the second officer while the officer who held the door chatted with the mayor and the consultant.
“Shall we?” the mayor said.
The seven of them started up the street. Just as we passed the delivery truck, I saw her. And she saw me. The look on Dayo’s face was enough to break me in two. Her frown of confusion became a frown of disappointment with the speed of a raindrop falling to the ground.
Dayo wouldn’t open the door. I had called and texted. I had knocked on the door as hard as I dared, stopping short of banging like the police. I sat down on the top step to her porch and held my head in my hands.
The lunch had been as bad as I knew it would be but ended up being even worse because of the roiling pit of guilt and shame in the center of my belly. I had ordered two spring rolls and only managed a single bite. I sat silent at the table, the cops telling stories about “unbelievable” traffic stops, the mayor reminiscing about her time on the force, and the consultant eating with one hand and using a stylus to take notes with the other. Colton and Jason had laughed and egged the cops on, sharing looks and nodding. Colton even said, “these are exactly the kind of stories we need for context. You guys are fucking heroes. Full stop.” When he said that, I literally bit my tongue and excused myself to the bathroom. I stayed in the restroom as long as I could. I tried calling Dayo, and even texted her, but it was all for nothing. I knew she wouldn’t answer, and I had no idea what I would even say, how I could explain anything while hiding in the bathroom like a fucking coward.
Sitting on Dayo’s porch, I still didn’t know what to say but I had to say something.
The front door creaked open. “Go home, Alicia,” Dayo said.
I turned around. “Dayo, please.”
“Go home. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I don’t know what you could say after what I saw today.”
I pushed myself up and stepped onto the porch. I moved tentatively, praying she wouldn’t slam the door in my face. When Dayo leaned against the doorjamb with a sigh, I knew I had a chance.
“Let me explain,” I said.
“How? How can you explain going to lunch with the cops? I just—”
“It’s the job. It wasn’t me going to lunch with the police. It was work. I was just doing my job. I felt horrible about it. I didn’t want to go. I don’t want to be on the project—”
“You don’t want to be on the project? That means you are. You’re working for the fucking police! You’re working for the ex-cop mayor!”
“I’m not working for them, Dayo.”
“What do you call it?”
I took a deep breath and dropped my head. “I got pulled into the project with Jason.”
“The flip-flopping Cuban who doesn’t know if he wants to be Latinx or white?”
“Look,” I said, with a helpless sigh. “I know it’s terrible. I’m going to try to get out of it. I’m going to talk to Colton and see if—”
“That’s the fucking problem right here, Alicia.”
“What?”
“See if? Try to get out of it?” Dayo put her hand on her hip and shook her head. “Of all your talk about wanting to quit that job, about hating that place and putting up with Colton’s microaggressions and—”
“The aggressions weren’t micro today. This muthafucka said—”
“I don’t care, Alicia.” Dayo took a step back. “It doesn’t matter what he said. It doesn’t matter that you don’t ‘want’ to be on the project making ads for cops who will do TikTok dances with Black children one minute then gun them down the next. What you want doesn’t matter if you don’t do anything about it.”
I stood stunned into silence, stuck in the truth of my cowardice.
“It’s funny when you think about it. All that talk about boldness and fearlessness.” She paused. “It begins and ends with hot sauce, doesn’t it?” Dayo chuckled wryly.
“That’s—”
“How fucking disappointing. How fucking sad,” she said as she closed the door.