The ride to the airport had been the quietest one that she could ever remember. She tried turning on the radio only to have her husband flip it back off.
In the back, her daughter twisted her long, golden hair around her finger, and looked anywhere but at her father.
They were on the way to pick up her college boyfriend, he was coming to join them for the holidays.
It was only last night that she told them that he was black.
And it hadn’t gone over well with her husband. He’d said something inappropriate and narrow-minded, and their daughter had responded in kind.
“Don’t you call me racist!” He shouted at their daughter.
“Then don’t give me a reason to call you one.” She’d fired back, before storming into her room and slamming the door.
They hadn’t spoken since, and time was fast running out.
Her husband looked in the rear view mirror and cleared his throat. “Does he love you? Treat you right?”
“Dad, you raised me right.” She said, finally looking at him. “I wouldn’t be with him if he didn’t.”
That made him pause, then nod.
“Good. But he’s still sleeping on the couch.”
It’s always a tricky thing living in a city like Memphis, a city where racial tension is felt by all, but buried just far enough under the surface so no one talks about it. And it can often surprise you when they’ll flare up. An educated man saying something stupid, a rich man being petty, a disapproving silence instead of a welcoming hello. Really, the only thing you can do is just make up for the idiots by being even more accepting of your fellow man.