“God, I want to kiss her…” As I watched her sing on stage, in her element, in her wildness, the thought of kissing her startled me. It wasn’t startling because I wanted to kiss a woman, as that want hadn’t startled me since college when Leura’s hand brushed against mine…

I was in India, travelling all over the country. We were digging wells, riding elephants, studying Buddhism. Inside the rickety old bus, with ripped leather seats, no air conditioning, and red and yellow cloth curtains, I sat with our Indian guide, Shantum. I offered Shantum a piece of spearmint gum…

“Can I call you ‘sis’?” I asked. My friend laughed, smiled. “Oh, hell no.” A white woman calling a black woman “sis” is out of bounds. I admit, I was hurt. Surely, she knows how much I love her? But she was telling me that no matter how “woke” or…

Dear Ms. Nicole Hockley, I have read your open letter to me dated November 15, 2017 regarding gun violence. I wanted to respond sooner, and I tried to do so on December 14th, the 5 year anniversary of the death of your son, Dylan, at Sandy Hook Elementary, but found…

Winner of Sport’s Illustrated’s Best of Journalism 2017 It starts somewhere. It starts in the home. I know what a mass shooter can look like. First time I saw him, I was 13. The sun wasn’t even up yet and I was wearing my track uniform. I poured myself a…

“Don’t worry, pretty lady. I’ll make sure to use a good, strong lock to keep the niggers out.” He smiled. I blinked. Fifteen years ago, I was moving into my third-floor condo in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana. I’d hired a neighborhood locksmith to re-key the locks. The…