the canary, act one
the canary, act one
A cautionary tale about race, class, toxic people and what happens when we ignore our intuition
“Narcissists craft masks tailored to match what their victims seek.” -Tracy Malone
How do you know when to listen to a feeling?
I met Tina (name changed) through the birth community. There was a “birth workers of color” breakfast that I’d been invited to. I hadn’t received my DONA certification yet but was eager to connect with other birth providers. At the time I was a lifestyle photographer, my goal was to add trained doula to my credentials so that I could eventually leave my nannying job. The breakfast wasn’t memorable except that I do recall finding Tina striking, and someone who could command a room.
I was at the time in the beginning stages of my relationship with my now husband Seth, and my daily life felt full of work photo shoots, friend gatherings, and this new relationship. I was spending lots of time at Seth’s fancy downtown condo. Shortly after the birth workers meeting I received a friend request from Tina. We had some mutual friends, mostly people I had met at a Northside barbershop/community center and people whose church and racial activism worlds overlapped. It was 2017 in Minneapolis, after all.
Almost immediately Tina began sending me private messages where she shared about her personal life. I tried to be polite. I’d gathered from her timeline that she was enduring some sort of personal battle with lots of drama. These were public posts, erratic, and too confusing for me to piece together. At the time I was too busy in my own life to pay much attention.
Many times, throughout knowing Tina mutual contacts would soft-warn me about her. The first came from a mutual gym contact. A few months passed.
Around the time I announced my first pregnancy the interest from Tina picked up. She began sharing details about her dating life, information I didn’t ask for. I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. Advice? As my pregnancy went on I found myself sick, and totally engulfed in my own life and new family that I was creating. “I finally found a good man,” Tina’s message popped up on my screen one evening while I was working on branding work for my business. I could see from Facebook posts that Tina was dropping hints about a new relationship. She’d never share photos displaying his face, but instead zoomed in on his hands holding a tray of breakfast. It was evident this was a significantly older, white man. People seemed to go wild in the comments. I’ll admit that the oddity of it piqued my curiosity. It was also an immediate red flag.
After the birth of my first, the communication became more frequent. Tina met two friends and I for a date at the art museum. Later I remarked that it was strange her children weren’t present. Shortly after that, Tina texted asking if she and her boyfriend could stop by our home before they attended a play. I felt a little off guard but ultimately agreed to it. I was stunned to meet Tina’s boyfriend in person, a sixty-something recent divorcee. I felt protective of Tina and confused. I didn’t have the brain space as a new mother to investigate my discomfort any further. I just knew I wanted them both out of our space. A few weeks later Tina asked if they could stop by again. I made up an excuse and said “no.” By this time Tina had added friends of mine and began telling me how she wanted to check out the church Seth and I attended. I knew then that she was bluffing, but I brushed it off.
After we moved out of the city, Seth and I threw two large parties at our new home. We’d purchased a four-bedroom Gothic Victorian in a quaint third ring suburb. We were slightly ridiculous and invited over one hundred people to a fourth of July BBQ. I included Tina. I don’t know why I kept ignoring my discomfort. Years earlier I had cried in our church’s bathroom to my pastor’s wife about a totally unrelated issue, “Katie, you can’t save everyone” she told me clearly. It would become a set of words that would both haunt and convict me.
I don’t recall much about the party except that a woman I didn’t recognize came to pick up one of Tina’s children. I was immediately suspicious, asking her questions to try and gauge the relationship. “I just believe all moms need support,” she said. Tina and her boyfriend stayed late into the night and were some of the final guests to leave. After the party Seth told me he didn’t care for them. I kept pushing back, but I know now that our partners often sense something we’re simply unwilling to accept.
A few weeks passed and another party guest asked me to capture maternity photos of her. At the end of our session, we walked back towards our cars, the golden late summer light casting glorious orange hues on everything. This would be my second warning, “Tina thinks the only reason Seth is with you is because you’re light skinned.” I was offended and horrified. At the time I didn’t cease contact with Tina or even confront her. I just accepted it. My pity and sense of misplaced obligation won out over my own internal alarms.