Letter From Minnesota: One Saturday in Late January in 40 Simple Steps

1.
Wake up at 8:00am with your four-year-old. Observe his bright eyes as he asks, “Are we still going to the pool today?”

2.
Consider his question. Could anything happen between now and lunch that could change your plans? Probably not. Answer in the affirmative. “Yes, buddy.”

3.
Let him watch shows on your phone as you struggle to wakefulness. Grind the coffee you will not drink.

4.
Ask for your phone back to check the neighborhood Signal chats. “Just for a second.”

5.
Read a text from your just-waking spouse, who’s still trying to kick a cold. “ICE just shot another person. It’s very bad.”

6.
Read another text: “There’s video. People are calling it an execution.”

7.
Post something on Facebook. Again.

8.
Think of what to tell your four-year-old as he asks for your phone back. Do not tell him. Not yet.

9.
Make breakfast or whatever it is you need to do. You will not remember this later.

10.
Find out from your spouse that a new friend—the one who came over a few days ago, spiraling, texting at all hours—was arrested in the middle of the night. Ask for details. There are none.

11.
Make a plan to bring dinner to their family. Pizza? Chinese? Pizza. The Great Unifier.

12.
Find out about candlelight vigils all over the city.

13.
Remember family movie night, put off yesterday during the frozen march and general strike. Can you fit it in? Make eye contact with your spouse. You’ll figure it out.

14.
Decide to go to the pool anyway. Your kids are moving with velocity and need to do it somewhere else.

15.
Lunch? Eat lunch at some point.

Watch your children as they watch humanity itself portrayed as the villain. Wonder if this is so.

16.
See the murder victim described as a “would-be assassin.” Know in your bones it is not true. Wonder what his name was.

17.
Bundle your kids and drive to the pool. Pass bridge after bridge of protesters. Honk your horn.

18.
Explain to your kids—in general terms—why you’re honking your horn.

19.
Pull into the pool’s parking lot in sub-zero temperatures. Talk to a man searching for jumper cables. Lend him yours. Explain that your weirdo hybrid won’t jump other cars in the normal way then find a neighbor who can help.

20.
Reflect on how large the word “neighbor” has become.

21.
Find out the pool will close early because of a large protest nearby. Borrow a lock from the front desk. So much borrowing and lending these days. Navigate the locker room with your vibrating children.

22.
Alex Pretti. His name is Alex Pretti.

23.
Cinch a life jacket on your four-year-old for the deep water. Save the lives you can save.

24.
Swim. Launch your seven-year-old over and over and over. There are no black or brown bodies. They are absent from pools once again.

25.
Tell your kids about movie night on the way home. Forget about candlelight vigil.

26.
Remember candlelight vigil. Calculate the length of movie that could still fit.

27.
Order pizza. Use the app you’ve used a zillion times before. Experience difficulty. Vow not to give up.

28.
Give up. Call the pizza place instead.

29.
Pick up pizza for your own family and your friend. Encounter barricaded streets in your neighborhood for the first time, but not for the last. Drive through the barricade in a gentle S.

30.
Remember that the pizza you’re delivering is in the same area as the murder and ensuing vigil. Use Google Maps to navigate your own neighborhood in case of unpredictable traffic.

31.
See a column of black smoke rising on the interstate. A car engulfed in flames. Push down fears of civil unrest so that you can stay on the road. Is this tied to the murder somehow? Try to find out later. You will not find out.

32.
Deliver the pizza at your friend’s house. Give half a smile to the kids bouncing down the stairs, hanging off their tired dad. Wonder how much they know about their mom. Wonder how her facial hair is being perceived at the county jail. Wonder if she is safe. Talk about the 12-foot skeleton in their yard instead.

33.
Catch the last 20 minutes of family movie night, set in a future in which the last humans are trying to wrest an alien planet from its native inhabitants, having already destroyed their own. Watch your children as they watch humanity itself portrayed as the villain. Wonder if this is so.

34.
Tell the kids about Alex. Answer yes, it was like Renee.

35.
Decide to bring the kids to the vigil. Undecide. Decide. Undecide. Get a text that other neighborhood kids will be there. Decide. Maybe you can still catch your neighbors walking over.

36.
Bundle up at speed but miss your neighbors anyway. Grab some candles, a luminary and a lantern. Walk over to the church across the street. Enter the gymnasium where you vote.

37.
Expect twenty people. See two hundred, plus a dog. The dog is short and sturdy. Church would be so much better with dogs. Hoist your youngest and huddle in back.

38.
Gaze out over the sea of winter coats as your neighbors recite poems, sing songs, share thoughts. Some people you recognize, many more you don’t.

39.
Stay until the children go slack, which isn’t long. Realize you’re slack as well. Bed for the kids. Bed for you.

40.
Return to Step 1.