The Fear and Anxiety of Driving While Black

A Letter to My Husband: About a Love Overshadowed by Fear

By: Carol Gee

Dear Ronnie,

I never used to be afraid. Full disclosure, I’ve sometimes felt anxious about things. Pop quizzes in school. Enough money to pay my monthly bills, as a young adult. Will you still love me, once my ‘brick-house’ figure, 36 24 36, you know, what the 70’s group The Commodores, proclaimed was a winning hand, has morphed into a mansion—complete with carport?

Then suddenly “in sickness and in health!” raised its ugly head. “Myocardial infarction” the doctor said. “A heart attack.” he clarified, noticing my confused expression. Through the years, one health crisis after another had been your constant companions.

Anticipating possible catastrophes, I created a verbal checklist.

Are you wearing your medical ID bracelet announcing you have a chest defibrillator? And, are also diabetic? Critically important whenever you go out without me.

Do you have your cell phone? Put your dental bridgework in? Wearing clean underwear?

Okay, the last two are for vanity’s sake. Mine! A throwback from my mother’s “make sure you are wearing clean underwear in the event you’re ever in an accident” mantra.

Still, it’s those things I can’t prepare for, that frightens me the most. Such as when you, a Black man, leaves the house, alone. My fear when you’ve been gone too long, simmers much like a pot of slowly boiling water.

Although you arrive home safely that day, doesn’t mean the fear has ended. It’d just ended for that particular day. Truth is, this debilitating fear never ends.

Alas, the incident I’d once feared, had already occurred.

The one where you had been stopped ‘driving while Black’ while returning home from a guys’ night out. “Have you been drinking sir?” asked the policeman as he approached your car. You, a retired military vet, with a second career at a prestigious Atlanta hospital, told him the truth. That you had had one beer to be sociable. “I don’t really like beer, so I didn’t even finish it.” You added.

“While you aren’t under arrest or anything, I don’t think you should drive. It’s for your safety.” The officer added. “Do you have someone you can call to come get you?” (Incidentally, my husband doesn’t remember learning why he was stopped in the first place).

This was before cellphones, so my fear when the police officer called me to come pick you up, and adding that ‘it was for your safety’ did nothing to stifle my fear even a little.

Shaking, I called my sister. “Can you come pick me up?’ quickly explaining what little I knew. Living close by, and with her sleeping toddler bundled into his car seat, she picked me up, and dropped me off where you were parked in a nearby school’s parking lot.

Although, that particular incident turned out alright; it still shook both of us up. Once back home, I burst into tears. A decorated Air Force airman, a warrior, I seldom cry.

The possibility that this incident could be repeated, and could turn deadly, wars with my constant worry about your health. I know being reminded what to do if you are ever stopped by the police– as if you were a child, irritates you. However, it could save your life.

So, baby please do what the policeman says. Don’t make any sudden moves. And, keep your hands where they can be seen at all times. After all, you can only seek resolution for any perceived injustices, if you are still alive to do so.

Lastly, keep your insurance and registration handy. Keep your speed under the limit. And please, please don’t drink and drive.

Altercations with police blasted all over television today, are grim reminders to wives like me. And why I fear for you.

Hearing Eric Garner, gasping, “I can’t breathe!” as a result of the police choke hold resulting in his death, left me horrified. Much like the turbulent 60s, once again our lives and our love, is overshadowed by fear.

I get it: cops are scared. And, rightly so.  Still, could that fear result in the worst possible scenario imagined: the killing of our Black men and boys? 

Alas, the answer is yes. Too often, claims of self-defense, is actually something more insidious— hatred.

When did the lives of Black males in our society become so insignificant? Not even my degrees, including a masters researching the human condition, helps me understand why stopped for a broken tail light, and reaching for his license and registration, Philando Castile was shot four times?

How does this happen in a so-called civilized society? In the 21^st century? Maybe author William Faulkner was right when he wrote, “The past is never dead, it’s not even past.”

When will it end?  You know, ‘being Black in the wrong place’ as Castile’s mother tearfully lamented, upon learning her son had been shot and killed?

Yes, Black lives matter. All lives matter. Yet, the sad, truth – the fear of losing our sons, lovers or husbands is something we Black women know— better than any other women in the world.

Love,

Peaches, (his pet name for me)

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Carol Gee, M.A. a retired military veteran and retired Emory administrator, most recent books are Random Notes (About Life, “Stuff” And Finally Learning To Exhale) and Gilded Pearls (Vibrant Thoughts, Tips And Tidbits For A Full Life) VenusChronicles.net.  Her work also appears in a number of publications both in print and online.

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