There I stood. We moved but I stood, and I stood a little more, at the intersection of 9th and U street on that bustling Friday night in June.
My White friend had just called a Black man a “ni**er”.
My White friend then accompanied insult with injury, tossing in “Sorry, Girl” as a friendly gesture to the Black man he happened to be with at the time, me.
But My White friend shouldn’t have needed to remember that I was standing right there in order to disavow his bigoted tendencies.
I had witnessed such behavior from My White friend before.
This White friend was nothing more than a privileged coward, drunk with entitlement.
My White friend needed to feel as though there was somebody beneath him.
My White friend needed a ni**er.
There we stood. I moved, but he stood, and I moved a little more, at the intersection of 9th and U street on that final Friday night in June.
I once had White friends like that.