1 Chapter 1

My name is RaeAnne Hunter, my wife is Morgan, and we hadn’t been married long at all when coronavirus hit. At first it didn’t seem like a big deal. Hadn’t we had bird flu and swine flu and all other kinds of things before? But when the country started to actually shut down, Morgan and I found ourselves quarantined together. The auto parts factory Morgan worked at was shut down, but she received unemployment. I was taking college courses, which had now switched to online only.

So what happened was Morgan and I spent quite a lot of time alone together, smoking weed and having sex, watching movies, and listening to music. We talked to our parents on the phone, taught them how to use FaceTime, and I figured if my brother Jacob was still alive he’d be the master of video games by now.

In early May, the country was still opening back up, and that’s when the protests started. Our town was diverse, but small, and we witnessed a protest walk right by our house. We went outside and joined in, holding hands, wearing masks, me fearful of the police, but thankfully we weren’t met with tear gas or worse. We walked to the police station and stood outside for hours.

I had thought Morgan was beautiful from the day I first met her, when we were cashiers at our local grocery store, J.C.’s, together. I had a crush on her, but thinking she was straight, ended up going after another woman named Kenzie. Out of nowhere, Morgan kissed me one day and said we should have our own secret relationship. I continued dating both Kenzie and Morgan for several months, we all even moved in together, until Kenzie’s downfalls became too much, and I realized I was truly in love with Morgan.

Morgan was tall, with short curly hair. She was black and I was white. Morgan being black had never bothered me, in fact, I thought black was beautiful. In this current climate race was being talked about in a way it never had in my life. I’d been with both Kenzie and Morgan at different times being pulled over by police, and the difference in which the two had been treated, and me for being with each of them, was astounding. But now all these videos were surfacing showing the inequality nationwide, and even under quarantine there were all kinds of conversations, mostly on social media amongst my friends, and with people who I thought were my friends but now seemed monsters whom I’d never really known before.

I saw a post by a former school friend that showed a different video of the death of George Floyd and said this might show a different perspective. That maybe the use of force on him was justified. I sighed in disgust.

“Now I remember why I stayed off Facebook so much before the virus,” I told Morgan as we sat on the couch on our phones one day in late May. “But now it’s like I can’t look away. I have to see what side everyone’s on so I know who to avoid in the future. I want to unfriend some of these people, but then again I want to keep them so they see the stuff I post and maybe change their minds. I feel like I want to change the whole world, but I don’t know how. What should I do?”

Morgan leaned against me and put her head on mine, brushing away a bit of my strawberry blonde hair. “Changing the world is a pretty big undertaking. We have to start small, where we are. Start with our closest friends and family. Start in this town. We’ve never seen protests like this in our whole lives. Maybe this will finally be the start of real change. If we all keep trying and don’t give up, maybe it really will change the whole world.”

I sat up and adjusted my glasses. “What should I tell this person who posted the George Floyd video? Or should I just give up on them?”

“Maybe you should stop asking me for all the answers to your questions and do some research for yourself. I don’t think it’s the job of black people to teach white people about racism; this is a white person’s problem and white people need to fix it.” Before I had the time to process what she said, Morgan continued:

“What’s your nationality?”

“Well…I know I’m Scottish on my dad’s side: Hunter is a Scottish last name. I don’t know about my mom’s side. She never told me.”

“Did you ever ask? If you don’t know what nationality you are, then white seems to be the only thing that fits. And white only means better than black. The beginning of America…not the thirteen colonies…but America, was built on just being white. So why don’t you take that little bit of knowledge and find out what that means before you sit here in front of me asking about our history? Not mine; our history.”

My head spun and I wrung my hands in agitation. “Wait a minute, why are you attacking me?”

“How am I attacking you? With words? You asked for knowledge. But sometimes you need to find your own truth.”

I bit my lip. How else could I best find knowledge besides asking someone who knew more than I did? I pressed on. “Morgan, you’re older than me, you’re one of the smartest people I know, you’re my best friend, and my wife. But maybe I need to do some more research for myself and find out answers on my own when I can instead of just depending on you all the time.” Confused and hurt, I decided to go into the bedroom for a little while and think about what Morgan said. Did I really depend on her too much for information?

I decided to call my parents, who had been separated but were now back together. My mom was a paralegal who currently worked from home. My dad was a mechanic, which was considered essential, but he might actually have time to talk at this time of day.