Just eight hours after the bomb blasts at the Boston Marathon, I found myself shopping for dinner at the Berkeley Bowl. It had been a long day at the office and I was not in the mood to cook. Parking in the downstairs garage, I took the elevator up to the store. My only companion was a young Pakistani, probably one of thousands of Pakistani students who attend UC Berkeley.
We both looked at each other, then we simultaneously both looked down. In the minute that it took for the elevator doors to close, the thought raced through my mind. Does he think I am not looking at him because he could be perceived as a ‘suspect’?
Is he anticipating some kind of stupid remark which he would have to either painfully ignore or give a defensive retort? Did he anticipate I would open my mouth and something stupid would fly out? I looked down at his feet. Endless seconds passed as the elevator moved slowly up one floor.
“Nice shoes,” I said.
We both burst out laughing, going our separate ways to the produce aisles and the deli section. I know what he felt. Felt it myself, only not so pleasantly, in the days after 9-11. I was sitting at my usual spot at the bar at the Buckeye Grill in Mill Valley, waiting for my friends Karen and Jim to meet me for some after-work cocktails and dinner.