looked me in the face. She didn’t speak to me, but I interpreted the look to mean: “You’ve said your peace, now go.”
I don’t know why I went to the viewing. I hardly knew Manuel—he occasionally attended school and while there he appeared distracted and unable to focus on his coursework. The first time I noticed Manuel, he was asleep at his desk with his head cradled in his arms. The only time I spoke with him was on a Friday afternoon when I said goodbye to each student and said, “Be safe over the weekend.” Manuel smirked at me and lifted his head to indicate he heard me. I interpreted the smirk as, “Yeah, sure, white lady.”
A few weeks later, on a Monday morning, Paul, another teacher, said: “Did you hear? Manuel was shot on Saturday.”
“Is he alive?” I asked.
“No,” he said. He stared at the stack of papers on his desk while shaking his head back and forth. I looked at my desk as I absorbed the news.
That evening I checked the newspaper to see if there was any mention of the shootings in south central Los Angeles. There was nothing which didn’t surprise me. The newspapers didn’t note the deaths of brown or black-skinned young men in the inner city. None of my family or friends would notice or care that Manuel was murdered. This silence by the larger community compelled me to attend his funeral to acknowledge his life beyond his neighborhood. I wanted to bear witness to Manuel’s family and friends but I needed to acknowledge Manuel’s death for myself. To be a person who bore witness to pain, loss, and death.
***
112
That evening I checked the newspaper to see if there was any
mention of the shootings in south central Los Angeles. There was
nothing which didn’t surprise me. The newspapers didn’t note the deaths
of brown or black-skinned young men in the inner city. None of my
family or friends would notice or care that Manuel was murdered. This
silence by the larger community compelled me to attend his funeral to
acknowledge his life beyond his neighborhood. I wanted to bear witness
to Manuel’s family and friends but I needed to acknowledge Manuel’s
death for myself. To be a person who bore witness to pain, loss, and
death.