7
burying people who died too early. There are children, somewhere, who have one less parent in their lives. One less person for sharing an inside joke or cooking a warm meal or playing outside with in the sun.
She realizes. Reality: millions of others who ask for acceptance but receive discrimination in return. Scapegoated, judged, all for a covering around the head or the bumpiness of English on their tongues. There are hundreds of teenagers and adults alike at home feeling not the sting of progressive change but of chemicals in their eyes. The sting of wanting something different, of wanting their society to wash its prejudice away like waves to the sea.
She understands. Reality: military families who pace through quiet bedrooms, feeling grief and anger and shock and denial jumping through their bodies, their minds looping that life-changing phone call like a skipping record. That loop: the repetition of wanting peace but not receiving. There’s the real reality.
But this is what that reality becomes instead: a fine-print subtitle on the 6 o’clock news. Scrolling past articles that appear unimportant. Switching the channel. Turning the page. Saying, “That’s terrible---for them.”
She closes her eyes and sees respect for the survivors in the dark. She sees flags flying through city streets. A man putting down his rifle. Her mother saying a prayer. And then: new laws passed by the government. TV stories in thought-provoking color, not in background-noise monochrome. Finally, she sees herself: alongside her protesting siblings, in an office signing those laws, reflecting on how far society has progressed. She sees acceptance, determination, change, and so much more of it, even if they come only peace by peace by peace.