From “People Who Look Like You” [“The tall white man joins a white affinity group with his cousins”]

The tall white man joins a white affinity group with his cousins, even the one who questioned the group in the first place, to discuss themselves in the summer of 2020.

The tall white man, who recently started anxiety medication, is overwhelmed with a textbook case of white guilt. You want to laugh at him, not the anxiety, but only get as far as hugging him.

After reading Minor Feelings, the tall white man tells you on a walk how much he has underestimated racism against Asians in the US. I told you so! you say to yourself, crunching leaves underfoot. You feel sad and superior at the same time, like fever chills.

The tall white man receives feedback from you about a weird white thing he says—like a human person, mostly openly but sometimes not that openly at first. Bracing yourself for the task, the mythical evolved white person seems more enticing than ever.

The tall white man’s apologies arrive more quickly than you’re used to. Your sense of timing is distorted because you’re bad at apologizing yourself. The instantaneous ones catch you off guard at first, as if apologies are supposed to be fought for.

The tall white man leaves personal, nervous-sounding voicemails for his senators while you grade papers.