unlike most of the other white guys I’d encountered over the years, who desperately wanted to add a black girl to their roster of hookups.I called interactions with these types of guys "science projects," because they approached me like I was some sort of foreign specimen in a lab they just couldn't wait to examine. Growing up in the predominantly white suburbs of Fairfield County, Connecticut, the dating pool was pretty shallow for a black girl.As a survival tactic, I learned how to disassociate every time I heard someone at a party "accidentally" drop an N-bomb.
However, after I moved, I became more and more aware of strangers’ inherent biases against and irrational fear of black people. Xavier thought perhaps I was being too sensitive... People we met were never overtly racist, but they seemed to tense up once they saw me approaching them, and they’d relax once they realized I was with Xavier.
Once I’d officially been promoted to fiancée, we drove cross-country to our new home.
Of course, Portland was just as amazing as he’d described; this city is full of doughnuts shaped like voodoo dolls and an air of creative enthusiasm that encourages locals to "Keep Portland Weird."There was only one detail my husband had left out.
When he and I would go out, I noticed that people would often intensify their eye contact with my husband so they wouldn't have to acknowledge me.
On one fun occasion, a white waitress flirted with my husband all night, then referred to me as "Sister Girl."These unbalanced interactions became routine, and I started to develop severe social anxiety.