Trayvon

I can't stop thinking about Trayvon Martin. Specifically, I can't stop thinking about his little brother. I keep imagining that kid, sitting in front of his XBOX, getting more and more impatient... wondering "Where the F*CK is Trayvon with my Skittles!"

I can't stop thinking about the last five minutes of his life as a younger brother. The last five minutes he knows he still has an older brother. The last five minutes where the biggest problem in his life was whether or not to drink one of Trayvon's Coke's *before* he got home with candy, or after. The last five minutes of his mother's voice with tones of happiness.

The last five minutes where he's just a kid, and not "The Guy Who's Older Brother Was Killed By A Racist." For the rest of his life.

The last five minutes when whatever was on television was important.

The last five minutes of feeling safe in his own world.

The last five minutes of any semblance of trust in public institutions.

I could probably pick any one of a hundred cases a month where somebody kills a young black kid and nobody cares. I can only begin to imagine what it is about this particular one that's got my attention - or anyone else. I'm saddened the Martin family's experience is not really that uncommon.

And maybe that's what bothers me most: that we think this is somehow a unique event. We're rationalizing that because this thing is such a big deal, it must somehow be different. But it isn't. Instead, it is depressingly common.

I have no answers either. In fact, I'm still searching for the right questions.