Story Time: He Tried To Fight Me Because I Didn’t Allow Him To Touch My Hair

It was a Thursday evening in Washington, DC. I got off the train at Fort Totten station and walked down the escalator, along with many passengers who were making their way home from work. I decided to pop into the 7–11 right outside the train station to grab a quick snack before I continued to my final destination.

A black man saw me stroll towards the convenience store. The caramel complexioned mark had a full head of curly hair and appeared to be my age. “Hi, how are you doing?” he said confidently as he walked with me to the front doors.

“I’m fine. How are you?” I responded. The mystery guy held the doors open for me. I thanked him as I stepped inside with him behind me. The waft of warmed fried foods, along with freshly baked pastries, immediately filled my lungs. I knew I was in 7–11 just by the disgusting smell alone.

I was aware that the man I spoke to earlier was behind me. As I browsed the small selection of chips he stayed close by and began to speak.

“I really like your hair,” he said after a few moments of silence. He was referring to my short haircut.

“Thanks,” I whispered without meeting his eyes. I was still searching for something, anything to purchase since I was hungry. But no bag of chips or…