It starts at the gate on a wooden table, security searching bags, removing water bottle caps. It’s not a line, but a mass of people, compressed into a singlularity, squeezed through metal detectors like orange juice through a strainer–the pulp left behind: water bottle caps, drugs, Diet Dr. Pepper cans piled in neat towers around the parking lot (each layer an epoch) and something else…something less tangible. Metal detectors root out invisible men with sirens: a novel assimilation process to remove their weapons and expose their water. An invasive beep accompanies me through the plastic archway, where a woman– African American, in a yellow staff polo– asks me if I’m wearing a belt. I pull up my sweater and t-shirt, the small metal belt buckle is proof enough of my identity; a gentle pat down proves that I am indeed visible and physical. No, I am not an invisible man, merely an inappropriately dressed white male with a balding pattern and an open bottle of water, covering a culture I know only through books, Boondocks episodes and BET. Continue reading “Rock the Bells: A Journey Through Time and Memory”