“Today is a good day,” I thought as I sat in my history class. Change and the beginning of a new season was on the horizon, shown in beautiful pastel pinks among the morning clouds. We discussed the power of the white man and elaborated on privilege and the experience of the white family of the post-Reconstruction Era. Then a tangential comment on the idea of participation trophies and we all nod like parrots. “Polly want a cracker.” I shift in my seat to see out the large box window. Today was my day.

I have been struggling with time management lately. Hours slipped through my fingers like sand and the world seemed to spin without consequence. Faster and faster, minutes became seconds and the ticking clocks on the walls looked down upon me. I wished I could just stop - stop and smell the euphoric roses and sense all the world on my buttered toast. I listened to the murmur of the class as we all readied ourselves for departure, the faceless bodies turned toward the blackboard which read: “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?”

Who was this question for?

A girl in my class, Lark, is a free bird with wings born from her passion. Her quiet curls enveloped her like sweet music and her exactness like knife cuts in the heart of racism - stripping her opponents of their rosy glasses. She turns thorns into utensils of justice and expels the darkness of an ignorant society under her breath with quick snips, pruning the unruly sprigs of privilege. I wondered in what direction she would take flight as she rode on the winds of serendipity.

Where had I been? Many places, I am sure. But I'm constantly figuring out my trajectory with each step like a game of hot or cold. To be sure of my direction would make life so much easier, however I wasn’t promised a life free of walls and doors with locks. As I sit and type, tick tick tick of the keys going, Rachel and I are engrossed in our screens. She sits quietly taking in all of the world around her and the world stares back. She dictates the meaning of a college degree and how the privilege of higher education is often muddled by the American Dream. We further discuss the morality of the white middle-class family in the antebellum South. From Wilmington, NC, Rachel is of salt and sea, the marsh and and swirling milk coffee. She’s a flower in the garden of my life - a tall poppy, but she doesn’t mind because she’s my best friend. We talk over each other and laugh at how childish we act in the face of our contemporaries, but we lack their boldness to degrade ourselves. We exchange looks of fascination at the dinner table and we yearn for the warmth of a summer’s day.