Once I learned the club was in proximity to the crash site, my obsession with calculating the distance between the two quickly overtook any other interest. The sedimentary layers of history, and how close they are to the surface, give me vertigo. I wanted to feel time spin.
One spring evening in the year 1999 my mother and I were watching Wheel of Fortune when a news bulletin interrupted the show: two young children had been kidnapped from a Native American reservation in New Mexico.
I aimed to painstakingly mark the route of this black child, one whom I could prove was so strikingly decent and true that America could not find fault in him unless we as a nation had projected it there.