July 3, 2020
The summer of 2020 was hard for everyone, I’m sure. Almost half a year into a pandemic no one knew anything about yet, it felt like all anyone could stomach was fear or anger.
Although the heat was scorching, July felt like a corner turned in Fort Worth, Texas. The murder of George Floyd seemed to resonate even with the historically conservative town Chloe and I lived in. I remember talking with them (Chloe) about how it felt to see it slowly seep into the bubble we were born in.
Born on the tail-end of generation Z, Chloe was all the dedication of her college-aged sister and all the inspiration of her peers. I saw every one of our years apart in the certainty of Chloe’s conviction. Apology wasn’t necessary where morals were concerned, and Chloe was more informed about a lot than I remember being about anything at their age.
Steady, unintimidated, in a Girls Support Girls shirt, at 12 years old. Chloe had been the coolest person I knew for a little while by then. Like me, they often got the ‘wise beyond their years’ compliment, that never really felt like one.