The White Gaze

Arms pumping, gasping for breath, Alysha glanced back behind her. Shadowy figures interrupted the light that pierced through the dense, matted treetops. It was hard enough for her to slip past branches that snagged at her, much more so while running as fast as her heart would allow. Suddenly, a prone tree appeared on the path. Alysha vaulted and stumbled on some roots that protruded through the Earth. She scrambled back to her feet. The figures circled around her, closing in on their prey.

Closer and closer, they crept. Alysha noticed the glint of their eyes reflecting the lone rays of yellow moonlight. If it wasn’t for the patches of light, her faceless attackers would’ve blended into the surrounding night. No eyes, nose or mouth yet these predators sensed her. Perhaps it was the fear flowing from Alysha’s pores that gave her away. Closer and closer, still. She began to hear a deep, baritone growl all around her. Was it possible for animals or humanoid beasts to harmonize? Or was it just a prayer to signal the start of dinner? Closer and closer. The figures reached out to her; their long, pinpoint claws slightly curved toward the ground. Mesmerized, Alysha tried to step back, but her legs wouldn't move. Her eyes widened, shifting between her attackers and the traitors that held her up, defiantly in their position. She tried to lean back, desperate for space. Just like her legs, her body was paralyzed, etched in stone. 

“Come on, just run, run away!” she berated herself. She looked up to see two claws, slightly separated, leveled at her pupils. Closer and closer as it consumed her entire view. Closer and closer toward her eyes, about to erupt.

Alysha's eyes exploded open, working in tandem with the momentum of her body, sitting up in bed. She rested her right hand on her chest, damp with fear, heaving rapidly up and down. For a few moments, she sat, allowing the nightmare to slowly escape her body. When the reality settled in, Alysha blindly reached for her phone on the nightstand. The bright blue light assaulted her vulnerable vision. 6:07 AM.

 “Damn, only 23 minutes to: eat breakfast, take a shower, get dressed, feed Onyx, pack lunch, and head out the door. Life waits for no one,” she sighed to herself.

Her friends usually teased her for her choice of a pet. Everyone appreciated the friendliness and playfulness of dogs and some liked the stoic nature of cats but fish are considered boring, safe and unworthy of the same love and affection. Alysha felt the same way, until the day she walked past Onyx in a pet store. In her peripheral, this black blob caught her eye darting around the tank. When she stopped to look closer, she noticed how Onyx reflects the light from his scales, majestically whipping through the water. His fins flowed like hair. It was safe to say it was love at first sight. Ever since then Alysha’s favorite part of the day, besides getting dressed, was feeding her beloved Onyx.  Sacrificing breakfast and lunch, she stepped out of the house 27 minutes later, preoccupied with coaxing her dark brown skin to accept her moisturizer.

Alysha zig-zagged through lanes, surfing the moderate traffic to get to her destination. She gripped the steering wheel, digging her nails into the soft leather until the Kia Soul whipped into an empty parking space near a tall, contemporary building. She briskly walked toward it, simultaneously searching her black leather purse, trimmed with gold.

The large, spotless glass doors mocked her and demanded to see her badge. Her hand, decorated with a couple of rings and champagne-colored nail polish, swept the bottom of the bag. As she yanked out the badge, her car keys, lip gloss, mints, and compact mirror tumbled onto the pavement. Alysha grimaced as she knelt. 

“I’m losing precious minutes that should be spent slaving away at my desk,” she told herself, “minutes that are the difference between having disposal income and filing for unemployment.” Determined to start her shift and put the nonsense behind her, the badge met the reader in a swift embrace; Alysha strode inside.

She navigated through the lobby, narrowly avoiding the security guard chatting up a couple of suits. At first, it sounded like a fight but once she got past a storm of various crude words, Alysha noticed their body language. They were very relaxed, debating over which team was the best this year. Alysha called the elevator to ascend to the second floor. The small curls on the nape of her neck were slicked against her bare skin. Her upper shoulders felt weighed down from the sensation of a spider crawling up her spine. Her breath quickened, as if ready for war. Alysha thought back to a helpful piece of advice Dr. Jenne gave her. She stretched her neck from left to right, observing her tense reflection in the mirrored walls. 

“Breathe in, breathe out.” Alysha heard the ocean waves crashing right beside her, and matched her breath to the tempo of the waves. She shook back and forth to loosen her muscles. She was late but the day was still salvageable.

Several hours and a few breaks flew past before Alysha broke her concentration. She peeked at the clock. 4:18pm. A sigh of relief escaped from her lips. Alysha peeked over the rows and rows of cubicles. She quietly rose from her chair, slowly grabbed her purse, and crept toward the elevator. 

“I can’t believe I made it the whole day without-”

“Alysha, hey, come over for a second. We need to talk.”

The the energy surging through Alysha vanished. Hearing that voice, that ‘shhh, you’re in a library’ mixed with a pinch of ‘let me speak to your manager’ voice was never a good sign. The same voice that pipes up about Alysha going 2 minutes over her assigned break. The same tone that reprimands her about Friday jeans being “a little too distressed and thus deemed too casual”. The same voice that forces her to spend 3 and ½ minutes pretending to listen to a lecture over a dried coffee ring on the desk, since “company policy dictates that coasters are required, no exceptions."

Alysha couldn’t decide if Janice took the Assistance Desk seriously or if it was her daily mission to discover every possible mistake. Before she could reach the Pit of Doom, Janice plopped a paper and pen on the counter that separated the two women. Alysha’s brows furrowed as she read the official document, detailing her tardiness. Her shoulders slumped; she quickly scribbled her name. 

Janice repeated the company policy, “Two more attendance strikes equals termination.” Janice opened her mouth to ask if Alysha could handle this job as a commitment when she heard the elevator ding.  Alysha waved goodbye and stepped inside.

Inside Alysha slumped against the wall. Her vision blurred from the mounting frustration that morphed into anger that threatened to flood her senses. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palm. 

“No, not here,” she thought, “I’ll do it in the car. These monsters already get enough satisfaction from watching their employees mentally suffer.”

After a good meal and a hot shower, Alysha put on her bonnet, slathered on her cocoa butter and wearily climbed into bed. 

“Onyx, the rat race is killing me! How can anyone else manage to do this? Is this what the next 60 years of my life will be like?” The thought unsettled her, making the confines of her down comforter feel constricting. “I swear I’m gonna use this weekend to do whatever the fuck I want. No rules, no deadlines, nobody to answer to. Just me enjoying my life however I want.” She yawned and let herself give in to the tidal wave of sleep.

Brrrrrrring!

Alysha had no idea what time it was but hoped it wasn’t near time to get ready. Rubbing her eyes, she fumbled to answer her smartphone.

“Hello?” she answered hoarsely. The sound of static greeted her on the other end. Bewildered, Alysha glanced at the screen. “Huh, no number.” She put the phone against her ear to try to make sense of it. Whoever it was quickly ended the call. The time on her home screen said 5:02am. Alysha silently cursed the being that robbed her of her precious sleep. Too late to lay back down but a little too early to begin her routine. “Ugh!” Alysha peeled back the covers and sat on the edge on the bed. The skin on her back crawled like a thousand ants racing to the top of her skull. Uneasiness rose from the pit of her empty stomach. She whipped her head around to find the most peculiar sight at the foot of her bed.

A large eyeball, with a bright blue iris, levitated just a few feet away. It stared at her so intensely that Alysha briefly forgot what she was doing. All it would do is blink and bob in place. Up and down, up and down. Alysha wondered if its eyelashes were keeping the thing suspended in the air. She walked toward the door and looked back. The eye floated from the foot of the bed, a few feet closer to the door. She spun around to confront her intruder. The glare from the streetlight reflected in the moisture of the creature, ominously staring ahead. Alysha took a step toward it. It floated backward. Whatever distance Alysha moved, the eye did the same, staying close but out of its subject’s reach.

Alysha watched the thing mirror her movements, whether she went to the bathroom to shower or moved around the kitchen to fix breakfast. When it came time to get dressed, Alysha fled to the confines of her closet to escape the unrelenting gaze but to no avail. The eye would get around anything that blocked Alysha from its vision.

“Focus! Focus on the water. This is just a hallucination. Yeah, that’s it! Maybe it’s the stress or the weed from last weekend. Could it be the flu? Sickness does spread fast among cubicles.” The flakes that she tapped into the fish tank trickled out one by one. Onyx zoomed out from under a rock to attack his food. Back and forth, careful to pick up every last bit. Usually, it delighted Alysha to see him so animated but today, it looked desperate. If a stranger were able to peek in at this moment, they would righteously assume that Onyx was being starved.

Alysha attempted to act as normal as possible at work but she noticed her coworker’s eyes tailing her more than usual. She strode into the break room to grab her lunch when three women were grouped around the vending machine. 

“Isn’t she just a bitch? Just fucking jealous or what?” Alysha turned around as the women got their snacks and walked out.

Alysha kept checking her compact mirror for bits of food, her clothes for random stains or tiny balls of lint. Before clocking out, she went to get a cup of green tea to relax her spirit. The herbal elixir crashed in waves against the sides of the paper cup as Alysha felt the warmth in her hands. The eye narrowed its lid.

 “Hm, almost looks like it’s displeased with me.” Whenever she raised the cup to her lips, she felt a beam of disapproval lasering into her soul. Alysha decided it would be best to go home. “Perhaps call momma or better yet check to see if Dr. Jenne has any openings.” She briskly walked to her desk to clock out. With her horrific companion in tow, she walked to the elevator.

“Alysha, do you have a moment to spare? We need to talk.”

“Actually Janice, I don’t feel well so I need to get going.”

“Oh,” Janice smiled sweetly. “Then I guess whatever you have going on is more important than having a job.”

Alysha winced at the thought of getting evicted. She met Janice at her desk, wondering what in the world this could be about. Alysha tried to remember when she returned from breaks and as far as she could tell, she stayed within her time limit. Janice placed a piece of paper down on the counter.

“So glad to see that you had a moment,” Janice continued to smile. “Everything today went pretty well, excluding a couple of minor infractions. First, you parked your car on the line and that makes it harder for the people around you. Some people may not mind getting their car door dinged but others don’t appreciate missing out on the parking space. It wastes time and energy on their end.”

Alysha furrowed her brows and cocked her head. “Is this bitch really complaining about how I parked? It wasn’t even double parked!” she thought. “Did she really go to the parking lot and just happen to notice or was she snooping around?” Alysha’s head began to spin with fury.

“Also,” Janice paused and leaned in closer. “Break times are allotted for a reason. It’s your time to use the restroom, make personal calls, eat snacks or read a book. This gracious company even pays you for that time to make sure you are free from distractions for the rest of your shift.”

“But what does any of that have to do with me? I clocked in on time today. I understand how breaks work,” Alysha cut in.

“Oh? Well, perhaps you forgot about that when you went to get some tea.”

Alysha gritted her teeth to fight for control of her mouth. Phrases like 'fuck you' and 'eat shit' were itching to shut down Janice’s banter. Alysha maintained steady eye contact with her coworker as she signed the paper on the counter and stiffly wished Janice a good weekend.

Safe in her Soul, Alysha tried to make sense of what just happened. “Neither offense goes against the guidelines and plenty of people step away from the phones for some fucking water. Who the hell does that wretched woman think she is, the company monitor, damning anyone who bends the rules?” Alysha glanced over at the eye, the only audience to her rant. She sighed loudly.

“Stress, has to be it. I’ll be damned to go crazy over a minimum wage check. Time to release and let go.”

And she did. That night Alysha met with some girlfriends and hopped from club to club, dancing tipsy with anyone who could match her tempo. The vivacious swing of her ample hips, the calculated jiggle, and the shake of her ass mesmerized people fighting for the attention of the bartender. The ladies ended the night hitting the blunt, cackling over A Black Lady Sketch Show. The array of popcorn, cookies, and spicy cheesy chips didn’t survive to see the morning light.

Worn out, tired, and thoroughly satisfied with herself, Alysha made it back home. She threw a sandwich into a baggie for lunch then herself into bed.

Monday morning rolled around. For the first time in a long time, Alysha felt relaxed, nearly giddy.

“Hey,” Alysha said to the eye, “do you ever get crust in there?” A wide smile spread across her face. “Damn, I bet you couldn’t handle when it crumbles in there. You know, you’d look so lovely with just a touch of mascara.” Onyx dashed back and forth, taking it all in. He didn’t trust that floating blob but since Alysha was happy, so was he. He did the only dance he knew how to do. Onyx swam around, popping in and out of his hiding places. His reflective scales caught Alysha’s eye; he paused for a moment to watch her walk to her closet then continued.

“Ugh, where is it?! It has to be here somewhere.” She pushed past trousers and blouses. Online, the burgundy turtleneck dress looked very classy chic, the sweater knitted fabric hugged the model down to her mid-calf. Out of the package, it reminded Alysha of somebody’s grandma at the bingo hall: uptight and frumpy looking. Alysha tossed it to the back of the closet and ignored it until this morning. Alysha filled out the dress so much that it ended at her knee.

Alysha braided her hair into cornrows; thick, thin, thick, thin, all the way down her head. Once she reached the back of her neck, she tied the end closed with a hair tie. Once the braids were finished, she teased the ends with curl activator. She checked herself in the mirror, looking from side to side. Each row even and straight, a cloud of curls touching her shoulders. She put on her gold hoop earrings, a thin gold chain, and some rings. Nude pumps and lip gloss on, heading out of the door, Alysha was determined to have a great day. “If you’re good today, maybe I’ll swing by Ulta and get us some falsies.” The eye blinked a few times, momentarily wishing for a mouth to respond as it watched Alysha start the car.

As she strode to her desk, Alysha noticed that the pit of doom was empty. “Today is a good day,” she mumbled to herself. She double and triple checked the time to make sure she clocked out at the precise moment, even sacrificed a snack to use the bathroom. “It has to be the day that Janice doesn’t have shit for me to sign,” she said to no one in particular. The computer display read 3:57 pm. "Three more minutes, just three measly little minutes. I went the whole day,” Alysha thought, “I can make it just three more…”

Alysha felt something on her shoulder, jumped and turned around. Janice smiled and placed a paper with a pen on Alysha’s desk.

“Ahh, come on,” Alysha groaned.

“I know right? You were so close,” Janice sarcastically replied in a sympathetic tone. “I’m really glad that you took our previous chat to heart. All your times are spot on.” Janice paused to look Alysha up and down. “I know the dress code is officially business casual but you can’t wear that here.” Alysha pulled in her chin and blinked slowly.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“Alysha you’re wearing a date night dress. How could you think that was appropriate?”

Alysha stood up. “Uh, maybe because it hits my knee and covers my shoulders and boobs. Isn’t that the only concern when it comes to dresses?”

Janice shook her head and sighed. “No. It’s not. Your dress is too tight, skin-tight. The way it looks is too … sexual.”

“It’s a stretchy knit fabric, it conforms to my shape,” Alysha demonstrated by tugging at her sleeve, the cloth snapping back into shape when released.

“It isn’t just the inappropriate club dress you have on. Your hair and accessories are too bold for the workplace. It calls too much attention to yourself.” Alysha’s jaw dropped open. In one of the few times in her life, she was completely speechless. “Is this bitch trying to gaslight me?” she thought.

“I typed up this memo just to document that we had this little talk, so, if you show up to work dressed like that again, it’ll be a strike. And I’ll send you home with no pay.”

After she collected her jaw and belongings, she signed Janice’s sheet.  The eye moved faster to keep up with Alysha as she slammed her car door. “How the fuck did Janice even know what I was wearing when she wasn’t on the floor all day,” Alysha thought. “Hmm, unless someone snitched on me to her … but even she said that I didn’t break any dress code, so what the fuck?!”

Alysha’s fist slammed down hard on her steering wheel. She whipped the car into its proper place and stomped inside her home.

The next morning, Alysha woke up and the memory of yesterday washed over her. She closed her eyes and exhaled, blowing all the frustration and anger out of her body. She rested her chin in her palm, mentally going through her closet. Her work wardrobe was picked out specifically to comply with the dress code. “What other reasons are there for any woman to wear such frumpy shit,” Alysha wondered. “But if those are no longer suitable, what now?” She bristled at the thought of spending even more money on new clothes. She took a deep breath and remembered her ‘interview’ clothes: a cream-colored button-down collared shirt and dark brown wide-leg slacks. Alysha poked out her lower lip. Onyx watched as she stood in front of the mirror, taking it all in. She shook her head, her unprocessed 4c hair shaking all around her.

“In times of stress,” Granny told Alysha as a kid, “protect your hair. Protect your crown and all its jewels. Tuck in the ends, after polishing and organizing it, and then wrap it uptight.” Gran reached down and held Alysha’s chin in her hand, extra cautious not to scratch her with her long plum colored nails.

“Do what you absolutely cannot afford not to, finish the rest tomorrow. But be sure to never give up or let them see you sweat. You’ll have to go through so much as a woman, just like your ancestors did. This is how they made it through the day in the fields or in front of the stove. This is how they found the resolve to take it day by day.” Her grandmother chuckled to herself. “At least one of the many ways.”

At the time Alysha had no idea what was so funny but now she just wanted to make it through the morning without picturing her granny fucking. She went into her closet and found the plastic tub where her headscarves waited patiently to be worn.

“Basic, basic, basic, basic, basic!” Alysha called out as each scarf fluttered in a pile behind her. She suddenly stopped as soon as she saw her silk, royal purple scarf. She pulled it out. It was decorated with a blue, green and orange pattern with golden beads lining the edge of it. This was the prized scarf that was bestowed to Alysha by her beloved elder.

“This. Is. Perfect.”

Alysha pulled her hair into a high ponytail, at the top of her head, then wrapped the scarf around it. She stood back and examined herself in the mirror again. It may not be what she wants, but it’s a compromise.

“I don’t have another job lined up and I like having my own place with groceries,” she reminded herself as she hopped in her car and drove to work. Alysha strode toward her desk. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Janice. As if she sensed her, Janice turned around in time to catch Alysha.

“Good morning, lovely outfit by the way.” Janice cocked her head and smiled thinly. “But the,” Janice gestured wildly around her head “thing has to go. The second dress code violation in 2 days is a strike. One more and we’ll have to discuss your future with this company.”

“I’ve never had a problem wearing headscarves before and Jackie’s literally wearing one right now.”

“Wow, perhaps you need a refresher on our human resource videos. Jackie is Muslim therefore it’s a hijab. And hers is very simple and not so … distracting.”

Alysha stared at Jackie, noting her rose suit that complimented her white and pink, flower-patterned scarf that covered her hair. Jackie never had an off day, never put together a mediocre outfit. If awards were given out at the end of the year, Jackie would’ve won Best Dressed for the last six years, her elaborate headwraps the main reason for that. “I may not know all the different types of Islamic headwear,” Alysha thought, “but dammit I know headscarves. But how much time and energy can I spend arguing about different races and cultures just to prove a point to this white woman?”

Alysha ripped off the scarf. The beads jiggled as the scarf fluttered onto the counter, where she signed the paper and dragged her flats all the way to her cubicle. Alysha put her head down on the desk, her comfort and strength balled up in the palm of her hand. Alysha groaned.

“Yo, uh, is this a good time?” Alysha looked up to see Denzel with a concerned look on his face. She had met him during training years ago and found him to be a breath of fresh air. Everyone else had on a mask of forced pleasantness but not Denzel. He was open and kind, cracking jokes with everybody he interacted with. He always reminded her of a slightly older cousin that she would kick it with at family BBQs and cookouts. Their break and lunch schedules never matched up, so any spare time to talk was rare.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Alysha leaned back in her chair, shoulders slumped. She noticed his gold plain ring against his dark, almost blue, melanin hand. The left one, she realized. Disappointment crashed over her like a tsunami but it was replaced with curiosity, imaging him and someone else managing a home. “What did his wife look like, what were his tastes? He could even have kids!” Alysha glanced over to see the eye, blinking and bobbing.

“How do you keep a work/life balance? I mean, you’re married, right? I can’t even find the energy to date. Not at this hellhole,” Alysha scowled as the eye narrowed itself.

Denzel smiled, “Time management. Ricky the FlossGod had this Instagram story about why some people use their time to create businesses and works of art while others get bitter and bitch on Twitter.”

“No,” Alysha looked around and made sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Fuck that,” she added quietly. “None of that ‘we all have the same 24 hours’ bs.”

“It’s about strategy and using your time efficiently. Write a list of goals and a plan to achieve them. Devote specific hours to getting it done,” Denzel shrugged.

“Ugh that has nothing to do with dating! What is wrong with you?” Alysha playfully pushed his arm.

“Hahaha but it does. I just combined my hobbies with dating so I could do both at the same time.”

A woman, wearing a red leather skirt that stopped at her mid-thigh and a sleeveless sweater of the same color, strode up to them. “Hey Denzel, can you have the consumer retention report on my desk before the end of the day? Thanks.”

“Sure thing Rebecca,” Denzel replied as the woman strode away. Alysha noticed the red bottoms peeking out as her thin heels clicked away. She frowned deeply as envy settled in.

“Can you believe what she was wearing? How is that remotely business casual? Is she above you?” Alysha snarled.

Denzel raised his eyebrows. “Hm, no, we’re all on the same level and I never noticed what she wears. But I did notice your recent … fashion choice.”

“Don’t you dare! You know good and damn well this isn’t my first, second or third choice. Janice got up in my ass the other day. Said my dress was, what was the phrase she used,” Alysha did air quotes. “A club dress.” She sighed. “In fact, she’s been on my case for the smallest stuff lately. I don’t even understand how she has time to keep writing me up. Now I can’t wear my hoops or my cornrows.”

Denzel straightened up. “Are you serious? It sounds like a trip to HR to me. No way Janice can do all that. Hmph, glad I got stuck in my department. Not too many people but the ones who are there are pretty chill.”

“Zel,” Alysha leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Have you ever noticed some … weird coincidences around here?”

“Like what?”

“Like,” she paused to choose her words as carefully as she could. “Like, how there aren’t many of us who work here anymore. Remember our training class? There was Deedee, Antoine, Keisha, and Markus. I haven’t seen any of ‘em in so long. Ha, I’ll never forget that one morning when we were waiting for the trainer to come in and Tasha rolled up, blasting Knuck If You Buck. Everyone got up and started steppin. Mr. Smith took one step inside, looked around and swiftly walked back out.” They both laughed from deep down in their bellies. Denzel leaned back and cupped his stubbly chin in his hand. 

“Yeah, you know I almost forgot all about that. I guessed I figured they switched shifts or something. But we ain’t the only ones around here. David still works the phones.”

“Nigga, maga hat David? ‘I love the American flag’ David? ‘I prefer the white womens’ David? The ‘you raggedy niggers are embarrassing me’ David? Of course, he’s still here. What company doesn’t love an Uncle Ruckus?”

“As long as you only talk about work, he’s not that bad.”

“Bruh,” Alysha looked incredulous. “I walked in this bitch a few weeks ago, strode past his desk and caught him watching Silk and Diamond on youtube. Yes, he’s that bad.”

“Hahaha, he’s not even as deadass as Miss ‘Don’t Call Me Abeisha, My Name is Abby’ Jones. Ugh, she even walks with a whole ass stick jammed through her back.” Denzel twisted up his face and spoke in a high pitched tone. “Now don’t you come around here talking all loud with your pants sagging down. You will address me proper and respect yourself!”

Laughter overcame the duo once again. Alysha glanced up. The eye was narrowed, bobbing in place right behind where Denzel sat. Her laughter evaporated as quickly as it had arrived. 

“I hate this place. And with Janice, it’s becoming unbearable. I spend half of my waking hours here, at my desk and I can’t even be myself. I hate this outfit, it’s weak as fuck. I feel so, ugly. Sometimes I wonder if this is all worth it.”

“Sounds like it’s not. I didn’t wanna say anything out of pocket or rude but you look stressed. Not the usual ‘I need the weekend’ stressed but the ‘I need a whole week or two away or I’ll go postal’ stressed.”

“I didn’t realize it was so obvious. Promise me you won’t think I’m crazy or weird but I’ve been having some fucked up visions lately." Denzel slowly shook his head.

“I warned you about buying from Trev. I swear he douses his shit in Coca Cola to make it all sticky. It always gives me headaches.” Alysha shook her head.

“No, I don’t buy from him anymore. And it’s not that. It’s … oh, how can I even explain?” She took a deep breath. “For the past few days, there’s been this thing following me around, everywhere I go. Just watching me. When I wake up, when I’m at work, when I’m taking a shower or a shit til I go to bed.” Denzel’s eyes widened as Alysha continued. “And I don’t know what’s worse: that it hasn’t gone away yet or that I feel like its actually judging me. Like right now! It narrows it’s eye sometimes at me and I can’t take it!”

“Whoa, it’s eye?”

“Yeah. That’s what it is. It’s just this big ass floating eye. With lashes, a pupil and everything.”

“You know, maybe it’s time that you see a therapist.” Denzel got up. “Also, if I were you, I’d check out the job market, polish up my resume and fill out some applications. If you’re seeing shit like that, there’s not enough money in the world that can replace your peace of mind or your sanity.” He glanced at the time on Alysha’s computer screen. “I gotta head back to work. But look, stop by my desk anytime you need a chat. You know we gotta look out for each other.”

Alysha felt a little bit of comfort from his advice, watching Denzel as he walked out of sight. Her mind marinated in his words throughout the rest of the workday. Alysha was so distracted by her thoughts that she almost ignored the hand waving her over from the pit of doom.

“So nice to see you again Janice. This is becoming a sweet way to end the day.”

“Alysha, I think that’s the problem. We are seeing too much of each other, signing too many forms, giving out too many strikes. You really need to be on your very best behavior, for your own sake.”

“What is it this time, hmm? Are my slacks an inch too long? Is my top too off white? Perhaps my hair is just too curly today?” Janice’s smile formed a thin straight line. 

“Don’t be so absurd Alysha. Fortunately for you, I couldn’t find anything that warranted a strike for today.” Janice placed a sheet of paper and a pen on the counter. “I did, however, highlight some of the dress code for you, so you can do a better job at following it. Just sign and date below.”

Alysha scanned the page. “No jewelry, no tight clothing, no shoes that rise above one inch, no makeup, no nail polish. Outfits must be neutral in color and hair must be styled in a pre-approved manner. No foul language. No exceptions. Any deviation from the above will result in a strike. Janice, I know damn well HR didn’t approve of this, especially when no one else follows this.”

“Alysha, I’ll allow that only because the form in front of you hasn’t been signed yet. But yes, HR did sign off on it because I am HR. So if you can just sign right here, we can both head home and look however we want.”

Alysha slammed her front door with such a force that the frames adorning the walls rattled. She threw her bag to the floor and collapsed into a dining room chair. Hunched over, she cradled her head in her hands while the tears flowed freely. Alysha couldn’t think clearly, her eyes refused to focus. Her mind was spinning so fast. “What am I gonna do how could this be happening who does she think she is?” Questions rotated over and over like a grotesque carousel. The day replayed like a movie in front of her eyes. It was so close to being a decent, borderline good day.

 “You know, maybe it’s time that you see a therapist.”

 “Well, no shit. I did, when I could afford it,” Alysha thought aloud. She checked over her shoulder to see the narrowed eye staring back.

“Also, if I were you, I’d check out the job market, polish up my resume and fill out some applications.”

Alysha sat straight up. “Huh, well, an updated resume and the Indeed app couldn’t hurt. Worst case scenario, I walk out that bitch.” She wiped her face, grabbed her laptop from her bedroom and got to work. When she paused to look at the clock, it was well past bedtime. Instead of feeling panicked or angry with herself, relief washed over her. “I may not be able to control how I get treated but I can find another position. It may take a while but having a way out is enough.” Alysha fixed herself a salad, showered and climbed into bed.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, Alysha turned on the light. She stared at the tank, expecting to be greeted but nothing happened. In fact, it looked empty like Onyx didn’t even exist. Alysha peeled back the covers and walked over. She noticed the full can of fish flakes sitting nearby and grabbed it.

“A little food always gets you excited.” Onyx couldn’t have cared less if he tried to. He imagined her dumping the entire can into the water and failed to find the motivation to leave the safety of his hiding spot. He wiggled and settled deeper into the stones lining the bottom of his tank. He went to sleep. A minute passed and Alysha followed suit.

Alysha woke up to find the eye hovering uncharacteristically close to her. Alysha made sure to keep an eye on the eye as she slowly got out of bed. She couldn’t help but feel contempt radiating off it. Stepping into her closet, she remembered the updated dress code. She leaned back and let out an exaggerated “ugh,” slumped her shoulders and stomped her foot. The only clothes she had that would abide by it was a loose gray blouse with wide, open sleeves and black slacks. Alysha scowled at the mirror, loathing every inch of her appearance. Every little ounce of enjoyment she could possibly feel was stripped away, her essence too strong, too threatening to the conformity of corporate culture. Guilt bubbled up from the base of her skull to question the validity of her emotions. “What’s the big deal with wearing something you don’t like for eight hours? Shouldn’t you just be thankful to have a job? Just change how you speak and present yourself so you can survive, everyone has to make sacrifices.”

“No, this is really fucked up,” Alysha responded to the nagging voice in her head. “Why are certain things from specific cultures deemed unprofessional, like bonnets and durags? Why do most of what’s considered professional match up with what’s acceptable in white society, like not cussing and not wearing ‘distracting’ accessories? Why are women so heavily policed to make sure our bodies don’t provoke sexual hysteria? Oh god, I’m so sorry you can’t concentrate if my midriff is out, let me go change. If the men are comfortable and have the most optimal environment to do their best, fuck everybody else, right? I'm supposed to just jump through all these arbitrary hoops but if I complain, people who don’t have to jump will tell me I’m overreacting. I'm just so entitled to want to exercise freedom of choice with my own body AND make enough nickels and dimes to survive but me and my Black ass hair are destructive to civil society, right? RIGHT?!”

          Alysha walked into work, fighting not to succumb to defeat. As she approached her desk, she spotted Janice fixing her lipstick, guarding Alysha’s workspace.

          “Morning Janice. What a vibrant shade of red you have on today. It really stands out,” Alysha spoke through gritted teeth.

          “Oh, this old thing? Thanks. I just wanted to talk to you privately. Do you mind having a quick chat in the conference room?”

           Alysha followed Janice to an empty room, furnished with a long oval table surrounded by chairs. Janice sat facing the door and waved her hand out for Alysha to sit opposite her. Once seated, Alysha noticed some papers Janice was shuffling in her hands. Her brows furrowed.

          “How have you been doing, adjusting to the updated workplace policies?”

           “You mean the policies only directed at me; oh, it’s been a cakewalk. A real jolly time! It’s not like this job already stresses me out without having new rules to worry about. Why do you ask?”

           “Well, it’s been brought to our attention that you’ve been searching for employment. It’s a disappointment, really, because we’d hate to see you go. However, I do want to remind you of the contractual agreement you signed on the first day of training, that states that you need to inform us of any new employment opportunities.”

             Alysha’s jaw dropped. “I … I didn’t get any employment opportunities.”

            “Submitting applications to potential employers is considered employment opportunities,” Janice cocked her head to the side. “And that’s strike three. Anymore strikes while you’re on probation results in suspension without pay. If you can make it two weeks without another strike, then the probationary period will end.”

Alysha felt heat glowing from her face. Her jaw clenched; her fists balled up. She got up suddenly.

“You know what,” Alysha muttered under her breath. She stormed out of the room to collect her belongings from the desk as Janice trailed behind. People stood up at their own desks just to get a better look at what was going on. Alysha strode forcefully toward the elevator, her purse shaking back and forth. Janice ran and put her hand in between the closing doors.

“Alysha! You can’t just go! You haven’t signed any of the papers yet. Plus you don’t get time off.”

“I quit. I QUIT! You hear me?!” Alysha’s octaves rose as she went on. “Fuck you, fuck this place and this shit. Fuck your arbitrary rules,” she spat. “And fuck your papers, Janice. I’m DONE.”

Alysha propelled herself through the lobby. She couldn’t find her keys fast enough. As she approached her car, Janice caught up to her.

“Wait, Alysha. Even if you don’t want to turn around to look at me, there’s something you need to know.” Janice stepped in close to whisper. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

“It. Does. Not. Matter. Where you go, who you apply to. What products you may sell or service you may provide. Sure, the buildings vary, based on location and clientele. The logos and color schemes might change according to the industry. But it doesn’t matter. My rules?” Janice dryly cackled.

“Oh, Alysha, sweetie, you still don’t get it. These rules are everywhere. They’re specifically for people just like you. You think you can just wear nice clothes and talk properly and suddenly employment is a piece of cake? Oh no. The drug tests, the grammar tests, your minute by minute break schedule, your dress code, your speech, all of it must be regulated to ensure that you can control yourself. So, you see? You see why it doesn’t matter where you go?” Alysha felt like she was hearing a different language.

“If you’re still being stubborn about this, go home and google our parent company. Go all the way to the top. Then, look at all the different companies right under them. Just accept it.” Janice turned around, walked a few steps then called over her shoulder. “I expect a thorough apology on Monday. Don’t you dare arrive late.”

Onyx listlessly floated near the surface, facing the door. “Is this what pregnancy feels like?” he thought. His belly bloated out past the confines of his skin, fissures along his body. It was hard to move but even more difficult to focus. The pressure in his eyes grew more intense. His vision blurred. Onyx closed his eyes and concentrated on the only person he ever loved. “Please don’t arrive late.”

Conglomerates faced Alysha at each online search. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Snapchat comments confirmed her worst fear. Every workplace demonized the same styles, the same dialects, the same cultures. “Just accept it,” kept ringing in Alysha’s head over and over. Her phone beeped and rang but Alysha couldn’t move.

In the darkness between night and the next morning, Alysha strained to lift herself up from her kitchen table. She blindly stumbled into bed, fully clothed. Warm, salty liquid trickled out of her eyes, joined by hallow, body racking sobs. She curled up on her bed, holding her knees to her chest.

Alysha found herself in a wide-open field, a warm breeze playfully lifting the hem of her dress. She looked down. A red and gold tribal dress greeted her. She reached up and felt the soft, slippery, coldness of what could only be silk meeting her fingers. She carefully patted the bumps that ran along the hem, clinging to the silk. It could only be her grandmother’s scarf. She looked her around as the setting sun’s shifting rays shone in her face. Alysha took a tiny step and checked her surroundings. Nobody else was in sight. She slowly started to walk, then jog and broke into a sprint. She twirled around, jumped up and down, released all the air that was trapped in her lungs. She did cartwheels, handstands, and backflips. She sang and rapped every song that floated into her head. When she couldn’t find any more energy, she laid down on a patch of dry grass, her legs wide open. She closed her eyes, the warmth all around her easing her mouth into a smile.

“Accept it.”

Alysha opened her eyes. She bolted upright, turning each way to see where the voice had come from.

“Accept it.”

Nothing had changed, Alysha was still alone. Finally, she had found peace and tranquility, allowing herself to just exist and yet …

“Accept it. It doesn’t matter where you go. Just accept it.”

Alysha woke up from her sleep. She could only remember the end of her dream. Her muscles ached; her joints cracked. Her clothes from the day before were now wrinkled, skewed in some places. She looked around her room. Alysha noticed the fish tank was eerily still; no bubbles that wished her a good morning. The eye bobbed up and down as she tentatively checked on her pet. Onyx was belly up. She carefully cupped her hands together and lifted her fallen angel from his watery grave. Tears poured down as her body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs. Her purse buzzed a few times. She fished through it. She had 17 new texts and 8 missed calls. But it didn’t matter anymore.

Denzel turned on the flat screen in his apartment. He finally purchased a wall mount that swiveled, so he could watch tv anywhere. His wife, her back to him, was standing at the stove. A news bulletin flashed on the screen, with the headline of a new police shooting.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “What in the world could’ve happened now? A nigga in a store? A nigga selling lemonade on the corner? A nigga just being a nigga where they don’t belong?” He turned up the volume to hear the voice of the news anchorman.

“This past weekend, there was a disturbance in an apartment complex. Police were called to the scene, where witnesses described a black woman pacing back and forth outside. The police called out for her to put her hands up, but she didn’t respond.”

The news footage panned to a red-stained purple bed sheet, with feet sticking out on the ground. “Apparently, the cops couldn’t be bothered to cover the body,” Denzel grimaced to himself.

“The police said they saw her holding an object and demanded her to get on her hands and knees. She didn’t comply. When they saw her reach toward her hip, they shot her 15 times. Witnesses claim that version of events never occurred.”

“She didn’t have no damn gun! It was her fucking phone, man, a goddamn cell phone. Those pigs just rolled up, took aim and shot her down like it’s a mutherfuckin’ shooting range!”

The man was standing in front of a group of people, looking distraught. Near the center of the group was an older couple, the man trying to support the weight of the woman. Their eyes were red and glistening. The woman’s shoulders heaved up and down.

“I lived here damn near 19 years. That young lady has always been peaceful. Never caused no damage or harm to this community. Why did they just, open fire like that?”

The food in Denzel’s mouth solidified. A lump formed in his throat. Bile rose to envelop his stomach. He set his fork down. The news cut away from the ranting neighbor and returned to the anchorman in the studio. Denzel muted the tv, unable to hear any more of this. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw pictures of the slain woman on the program. He glanced up, hoping to remember her by the last bits of humanity she had recorded. He recognized the face staring back at him, in different photos. The news cycled through his coworker’s Instagram pictures, where she was smoking or at the club drinking with friends.

“No,” Denzel stammered. “N-no. That, that can’t be right. She, she was just here. I just saw her at work. Alysha, what the fuck were you going through?”

His wife noticed the water pool in his eyes and stood beside him rubbing his back.

“Are you okay babe?”

Before Denzel could answer her, he glanced up. His words lodged in his throat, choking him dry. His mind went blank. His body went rigid. Right behind the love of his life, a floating blue eye bobbed in place, staring at him. He let out a blood splitting scream.

Author's Note: One of the reasons I've spent almost 3 years putting this story together is that I was concerned that the topic of dress codes and what is considered "professional" wouldn't be considered to be psychological warfare. As a teenager, I always knew it was stupid but I didn't have the words or the experience to describe how insidious it is. Dress codes imply that white aesthetics and behavior are "professional" and that a woman's body itself is a sexual object that must be covered. This racism and sexism combine for Black women. I've been and worked in office environments that were business professional all the way to casual; the same demographics get highlighted in every dress code. I noticed how slender/slim body types got away with wearing clothing that was strictly prohibited while women with bigger busts or bigger hips/butts got disciplined and sent home for wearing conservative clothes that "didn't cover enough". I've worked with certain races of women who dyed their hair unnatural colors while Black women could only wear perms, weaves/wigs that were straight. "Urban" clothing is demonized as too casual yet hipster styles are appropriate for offices. For the people who never had to think twice about what they wear or how they will be perceived based on their clothes/hair, I was worried that this would be more akin to hyperbole than a horrific ride into how degrading it is to cosplay as someone else just to be employed. It's easy to brush off something as "simple" as a hairstyle or specific clothes as individual choices without thinking about which choices are permitted by a majority white and majority male establishment. I hope this story not only entertained you but also made you consider this very common and acceptable form of discrimination. Thank you for taking the time to read!

Links:

Black girls say DC school dress codes target them: https://www.washingtonpost.com/dc-md-va/2019/09/05/black-girls-say-dc-school-dress-codes-unfairly-target-them-now-theyre-speaking-up/

Black hair violating dress code: https://www.npr.org/sections/ed/2017/07/17/534448313/when-black-hair-violates-the-dress-code
Black teen cant graduate unless he cuts hair: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2020/01/24/black-texas-teen-barred-high-school-after-graduation-not-cutting-dreadlocks/4562210002/

Dress codes and night clubs: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/1536504214567859

How dress codes are racist: https://aaattorneynetwork.com/is-job-dress-code-racist/

"Professional" dress codes for woc: https://www.vox.com/2018/3/8/17096202/women-poc-office-dress-code-professional-attire