They do not have to say it. He looks around the courtyard of the humanities building and not a word has to escape the lips drawn on lily-white faces all around him. He tries not to pay attention, focusing instead on the syllabus in his back pack or what topic he is going to choose for his composition class. What does he care? Except he does and the question resounds in his mind even though they never ask it out loud: “what are you doing here?”

He could answer them with his accomplishments, he has many and from a world where they are as hard to come by as water in Death Valley. He can cite his GPA, or his mountain of extra curricular activities, including organizing lobby days for students to go to his state capital. What do they know, these pampered kids from gated communities, whose idea of activism is boycotting something they wouldn’t buy anyway? He would laugh if he thought it wouldn’t attract the wrong kind of attention. That’s another thing they don’t know: guarding your every action and word. Why would they?

His mom’s pastor, not his anymore, tells him he should let go of his anger. He won’t, however. If these spoiled brats don’t have to let go of the ignorance that defines them, why should he let go of the thing that defines him? Hell, it is what they expect, he’s just going to rewrite that show to his liking. He will take his anger out on their expectations and world view and expose their every assumption for the bullshit that it is. That, or he’ll just rise above and leave them in the dust and laugh his ass off as these untested babies actually have the audacity to say he some how did not earn HIS place here.

No, you don’t  have to let go of anger, you just have to turn it into something you can use, and he has. He will carve out his domain in this place and let those not to chicken shit come and join him. Who knows, maybe one or two of these white kids can learn a thing or two, but if not, fuck ’em.


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