Almost all the people—“the observers”—were white. All the study participants, Lena noted, except for an older white woman, were black or Indian or Latinx. She kept her face neutral, filed that fact away to process later. The doctor’s voice sounded as if she was getting over a cold. As she spoke, she kept alternating between calling them “the crew” and “the observers.” Lena preferred crew. It made her think of terrible dance movies where friendships could only be salvaged by coming together for one last pop-and-lock. It was hard to focus. She was hyperaware of everyone’s hands. Someone smelled like grapefruit-scented cleaning products. Someone was clicking a pen in two-four time.
“We highly encourage you to be moderate in your drinking when you’re not here. And in general, you should all be avoiding situations that can impair your judgment. Create a distance between you and people who can get you to confide in them. No drugs.” She made direct eye contact with Lena.
Dr. Lisa gave all six office members a tour of the facilities. They walked back through the cubicle farm and down the first-floor hallway. She pushed open the large double doors. The warehouse was lit with fluorescent lights that made them all look as if they were recovering from the flu. There were rows of high shelving that contained several cardboard boxes. It smelled like vinegar, dirt, gasoline. She said Floor 1 would be for Great Lakes Shipping Company work and low-risk studies that could be performed at their desks. She led them back out, down the hallway, and to a room that contained cubicles, adjoining long tables, and a receptionist’s desk. She pointed out the break room, the conference room they had already been in, and the small supply closet.
“Remember, on Floor 1 you can come and go anywhere. You should only be on Floor 2 when asked to see me or if you’ve been assigned there for a study. Floor 3 and the basement are invitation only.”
They all claimed desks and were encouraged to decorate their spaces, then were handed folders. The first piece of paper in Lena’s folder listed her job responsibilities. The second was a piece of paper that read Day 1: Lena at the top. Below it was the following: You attended orientation where you met your coworkers, Charlie (the branch manager), Bethany (the receptionist), Ian (dispatch operator and inventory clerk), Tom (IT), and Mariah (HR). You learned that you were going to take classes to get certified in Microsoft Excel. You are very happy about that. You don’t like the headset you have to use at work. It pinches. The next sheet was a reminder about confidentiality. After that, contact info. Another sheet with Lena’s address and a key taped to it.
Dr. Lisa assigned each staff member to a trainer who was responsible for walking them through their job details. Lena’s trainer was a short white woman with large eyebrows that moved three times more than the average person’s. When the woman was listening to Lena’s questions about call logs and spreadsheets, her face fell into an expression Lena decided was best called why-are-we-people-not-meteors-or-dirt?
Then it was morning break. All the office workers went into the break room, where a large box of donuts was waiting for them. A younger guy, the only other black person Lena had seen since coming to Lakewood, introduced himself as Charlie, the supervisor. His voice sounded so Michigan—he pronounced Charlie with a long, nasal “A.”
He was born in Lakewood, lived there his entire life. He had hazel eyes, and Lena knew that, at least based on looks, Tanya would have called him an absolute yes. As Charlie reached to shake her hand, he knocked over a cup of pens. While picking up the pens, his cell phone fell out of his pocket. Tanya wouldn’t have cared that he was clumsy. She liked men—clumsy men, or with a slightly weird voice, or who were shorter than her—who might have to work a little harder.
When Charlie was standing again, and everything was where it should be, Lena told him she had never lived somewhere so small. Charlie lowered his voice and leaned close enough that she could smell his coffee breath. “Not everyone is as redneck as they might seem.”
She laughed, hoped it didn’t sound as painfully high pitched and uncomfortable to him as it did to her. Lena took a donut and looked around the room, then realized Charlie had probably said some variation on that to everyone in the room except Bethany.
In the afternoon, Dr. Lisa made the group watch a video of a computer-animated man doing a comedy routine. Sitting on opposite sides of the room were two white men wearing khakis and polo shirts and watching the group watching the video. When they flicked the lights on, everyone filled out surveys about how comfortable they felt about the computer man’s appearance. Did his voice synch with his face? Did they think their responses were at all shaded by how other people in the room seemed to be feeling?
Next, everyone returned to their desks and were given similar videos to watch while wearing headphones. One of the performers looked more like a reptile than a person. He told jokes about air travel that should have been tired, but the idea of a half-chameleon, half-man having the same boring complaints as everyone else about aisle seats made her laugh. She watched videos and filled out surveys for the rest of the day.
Lena’s apartment was fully furnished, and less than 10 minutes away from work. There were pots and pans in the cupboards, a bag of towels with tags attached in the bathroom. A brand-new dishwasher. Hardwood floors in the kitchen, dining room, and bedroom. It looked like a place where someone would want to live. She wanted to post a picture of it on social media, but that felt like a bad idea. Instead of unpacking—because the apartment felt so clean, so new—Lena took a drive through town.
She liked seeing large, white wildflowers poking up out of the ditches along the highway. The air alternated between smelling like sewer and the sweet joy of corn growing under sunshine. Unexpected graveyards surrounded by fields told Lena that Lakewood had been around for hundreds of years. She didn’t feel ready to stop in any of the small diners or restaurants. Maybe people would leave her alone, but she was worried about drawing too much attention—“It’s a small town and people like to talk”—or worse, feeling trapped. Every time she had been in a place like this in the past, at least a few white people would stare at her or do double takes. It would be hard to stay under the radar if she said to someone, “Yes, black people are real.”
Lena passed a field with green stems rising out of the dirt. Wooden signs announced it as home to premium Michigan sunflowers. She was used to a Michigan that was cities, vacant lots, and boarded-up houses. Cute university towns, billboards that reminded you to brush your teeth for four minutes a day, looking across the river toward Canada. Here she felt like an explorer. There were roads where she saw no one, only dull-red barns and green fields.
When she started to get hungry, Lena turned back toward Lakewood. As she drove past one of the downtown parks, in her rearview mirror she saw six teenage boys fighting. The right word might be a brawl. They were punching and kicking and slapping at one another, but through her open car windows, Lena could hear no yelling. One boy was wearing a white shirt and there was a solid line of blood leading from his nose to his shirt bottom.
As Lena circled the block, she saw another car pull up and park. Three teenage girls got out and ran to the boys. One of them kicked off her flip-flops so she could run faster. A second girl was wearing a lemon-print dress. It was full skirted, and her red hair was in ringlets.