By Mid-June and summer was in full heat. The city had quieted somewhat from the intensity of the first weeks after George Floyd's death — not because anything had been resolved, nothing had been resolved — but because human beings cannot sustain emergency-level intensity indefinitely. The grief was deeper now, less acute, more permanent. A new fact about the world that I was going to carry forward. That is the long form of things like this. They become part of how you understand what you're living in.
DeAndre Washington had been my neighbor since we were small children. He was two years older than me, had played on the same street as Jamal when they were both too young to know anything about the distance between childhood and what comes after. He had dropped out of Scotlandville High in his junior year, which I had known and not known what to do with. He still lived around the corner. We saw each other at the mailbox, at the gas station, at the cookouts MawMaw hosted where everyone from the neighborhood came. He always said hey, always asked about school, always had a smile that was too much for his face, too bright for the space it occupied.
The week before everything changed, I saw him at the corner store on Thursday. He was buying chips and a Sprite. He said, "Hey, school girl. You still studying?" I said yes. He said, "Good. Keep going." He said it the way people say things that come from somewhere real. I said I would. I meant it and I knew he knew I meant it. I did not know it was the last time I would talk to him. You never know that. That is the particular cruelty of the last ordinary conversation. You cannot mark it as such in the moment. It is only afterward that you know.
That Thursday at the corner store was a few days before MawMaw hosted one of her cookouts — the kind DeAndre always showed up to, paper plate in hand, laughing too loud and meaning every word of it. I made the watermelon salad I always bring, the one that takes almost no effort and somehow tastes like the whole of summer at once. I make it still. It’s the most ordinary thing in the world, and that’s exactly why I keep making it — because ordinary is what we had, and ordinary is what I’m holding onto.
Watermelon Salad
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 15 min | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 8 cups seedless watermelon, cubed (about 1/2 a medium melon)
- 1 English cucumber, halved lengthwise and sliced
- 1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced
- 1/2 cup crumbled feta cheese
- 1/4 cup fresh mint leaves, torn
- 3 tablespoons fresh lime juice (about 2 limes)
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 tablespoon honey
- 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- Make the dressing. In a small bowl, whisk together the lime juice, olive oil, honey, salt, and pepper until combined. Set aside.
- Combine the base. In a large serving bowl, gently toss together the watermelon cubes, cucumber slices, and red onion.
- Dress and finish. Drizzle the dressing over the salad and toss lightly to coat. Scatter the crumbled feta and torn mint leaves over the top.
- Serve immediately. This salad is best eaten fresh. If making ahead, keep the dressing separate and combine just before serving to prevent the watermelon from releasing too much liquid.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 110 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 16g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 180mg