Lessons (2020)

Rebekka Sanchez-Castro

In 2020, I learned what it meant to be a Black woman in America. I learned what it meant to feel scared and alone, and what it meant to exist in a world where everyone else did too. When COVID-19 hit America, everything shut down. There was no school, no work, no friends or family. There was no prom or graduation, no summer vacation or Thanksgiving get-togethers. The world fell silent until it erupted in noise. George Floyd’s death caused dormant generational anger to reawaken as people marched in the street and demanded change. They demanded reform; they demanded empathy.

In 2020, I learned what it meant to be a Black woman in America. I learned what it meant to cry over the deaths of men and women you didn’t know. I learned what it meant to fear those meant to protect you. Over the summer, I got pulled over while driving home alone at night. I stopped the car, lowered the window, and placed my hands on the wheel. When the officer approached my car, he asked for my license.

“It’s in my wallet,” I told him.

Please don’t shoot me.

He asked for my car’s registration.

“It’s in my glove box,” I told him.

Please let me go home.

I gave him what he asked for, did what you’re “supposed” to do, and yet I still feared for my life. I still prayed to God that I made it home that night. I still thought about the last conversation I had with my mom, satisfied with the fact that I told her I loved her, and I still cried when I drove away, unscathed other than the $160 speeding ticket I had received.

I left scared and angry, but I was also relieved. I got to drive away and go home; I got to hug my mother that night. George Floyd, and many others, didn’t have that privilege. Many more still don’t get that privilege. What if they did? What if I didn’t? I guess America will never know. What if people weren’t deprived of life because of the color of their skin? What if I trusted police officers like I once had when I was young and oblivious? What if I, and thousands of other Black Americans, didn’t fear for our lives every time we drive a car, or walk to the store, or go for a jog, or sleep in our homes? Hopefully, one day, America will know.

Rebekka Sanchez-Castro is a sophomore criminal justice major. She is on the volleyball team and plans to receive a Master of Science in crime science degree from Cedar Crest.