“Suffering a bout of insomnia, however, I was stalking sleep, not defenseless wayfarers.” This sentence in paragragh two, is at the heart of Staples’ essay. An ordinary person, unable to sleep, is doing what anyone might do, but then in doing so, is percieved as someone with entirely different intent.

Throughout his essay, I see this disparity between his attempt to move through life as himself; a normal young man, afraid of knives, engrossed in classes, a walker, and the perception that others have of him; abnormal, a knife wielder, a fearsome entity, a night time criminal. Isn’t this disparity the heart of racism?

Two other messages stood out for me in Staple’s essay. First, in paragraph five, he shows his awareness of women’s fear, a fear based in reality. He shows a sensitivity to all involved in his described incidents.  However, this sensitivity does not lessen the pain and isolation that racism brings to people of color. Can white people even imagine the damage done to one’s psyche to feel “ever the suspect” whenever one is in public space?

The other bit that caught my eye was the “bandolier-style” purse straps. This detail implies that he is not referring to older women who might remember Jim Crow segregation.  He is talking about women who view themselves as younger, hipper, more enlightened, and who probably pride themselves on being no longer racist.  He’s talking about me.