In early spring of 2018, I found myself on a phone call with an estranged cousin, Beate. I had just moved back to Germany to research and relive my childhood in preparation for work on a memoir. When my cousin learned I had moved back, she got in touch.

Growing up, the Black girls I saw hid in mirrors.

In the wood panel bathroom, the girl had endless marks on her face. She looked back at me with disdain as I moved through middle and high school. Her ears flew out the sides of her head under hair too short and not straight enough.