L'autre moitié de soi

Skin tissue and muscles and nerves, bone and blood. A body could be labeled but a person couldn't, and the difference between the two depended on that muscle in your chest. That beloved organ, not sentient, not aware, not feeling, just pumping along, keeping you alive.

All over the city, couples doing what they were doing. Teenagers kissing on blankets at a beach, the ocean rolling in black. Newlyweds fumbling in a hotel room. A man whispering into his lover's ear. A woman holding a match to a slender candle, her face glowing off the kitchen window. Across the city, darkness and light.

She said that she would look for candles and groped her way down the dark hallway toward the bathroom when Reese grabbed her hand.
"It's me," he said.
"I know," she said.
In the dark, you could be anybody, but she knew him before he even spoke. His cologne, his rough plams. She could find him in any darkened room.

Private, like if she told you anything about herself, she was giving away something she could never get back.

The world worked differently than he'd ever imagined. People you loved could leave and there was nothing you could do about it. Once he'd grasped that, the inevitability of leaving, he became a little older in his own eyes.

A body could be labeled but a person couldn’t, and the difference between the two depended on that muscle in your chest. That beloved organ, not sentient, not aware, not feeling, just pumping along, keeping you alive.

Les jumelles accompagnaient Adele au travail et s'amusaient avec la fille de la maison. Jusqu'au jour où la mère de celle-ci les avait interrompues. Stella répéta à Kennedy ce qu'elle avait entendu cette blanche dire à sa fille : "On ne joue pas avec les Négros."

Bien sûr que ce n'était pas si simple de se faire passer pour une Blanche. Bien sûr que le gardien noir ne se laisserait pas abuser. On reconnait toujours les siens, disait sa mère.