It’s raining. Again.
But hasn’t it been? For years.
Raining which parts of the city I can go to, where I’m welcomed, where it’s okay, and mostly, where it’s not.
What I can do with my body. When I’m helpful (as a token of progress, mostly, as one of those saved, just like in those big white helicopters.
It’s been raining for a while. You may not have seen it from where you sat. Though we were neighbors, not far apart really.
I love my city, just like you. I love the schools my kids go to, I love those two new dresses I bought last week finally for my cousin’s wedding. I love that little house we scrapped to get and sometimes hated, but really always loved because it was ours, and now don’t know what will remain. I loved this town though it didn’t always love me.
It’s raining again. And this time it’s buckets of water, cold and hard. It’s no metaphor. This time his name is Harvey. But I’ve seen him before. So I’m not scared. Just tired. Send the boats. I’m ready to sail.
–“Just Jackie,” 57, Houston, Texas
August 29, 2017
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