What was Ahmaud's Last Song?

I went running this morning on a one lane country road.

 

Every now and then, I passed an old mailbox, a house that had been reclaimed by nature, a rusted out car.

I wore my headphones, listening to a Juneteenth mix until I lost internet service and as forced to only hear the sound of my own labored breath.

Alone with my thoughts...  I began to wonder.

What was Ahmaud listening to on that warm March morning?

Was he running on a country lane like this one?

Breathing.

Was he focusing on the next mailbox or the next shady spot or the next phone pole where he convinced himself would be "far enough" so he could turn around?

I don’t know what Ahmaud was listening to on his phone while he ran. I do know what he had been told.

He had been told the same things I tell my son.

He had been told what to do if he is stopped by the police.

He had been told how important it is that he make it home.

He had been told to be respectful, to be a good listener, to be kind.

He had been told that his life mattered by people who loved him.

Those people who loved him probably wish they could tell him how much they loved him still.

I went running this morning on a one lane country road.

I saw a car in the distance and my heart received a shot of adrenaline. 

Had this person been told that Black Lives Matter?

Had this person been told that Ahmaud and George and Sandra and Breonna and Michael and Trayvon and Tamir were not good people, that they did not listen, they were not respectful - and deserved what happened to them?

I cannot stop thinking about Ahmaud while running toward that truck. I raised my hand to wave at the driver of the truck. The driver did not wave back.

I am on vacation. I do not belong here. I belong here. Breathe.

I cannot stop thinking about Ahmaud while running toward the car that appeared next. 

I am on vacation. I do not belong here. I belong here. Breathe.

I cannot stop thinking about Ahmaud when I jog past the old white man watering his flowers.

I am on vacation. I do not belong here. I belong here. Breathe.

I was listening to Free Your Mind by En Vogue.

Why, oh why must it be this way?

Before you can read me.

You got to learn how to see me.

Black Lives Matter.