REPARATIONS

Sometimes an existence can matter more than a lifetime.

Jerry entered his kitchen to get a glass of water. He picked up an empty glass, held it under the tap and turned on the faucet. As he waited for the glass to fill, he looked out his kitchen window to observe his son, Jasharian, riding bikes with Michael, the little boy from across the road, as they had done from when they practically learned to ride bikes together. Now as pre-teens, they were very loud, boisterous boys, fairly typical. Farther across the road, Jerry could see Michael's father, Ray, puttering about in his garage. Nothing about any of them were out of the ordinary. 

As Jerry cut off the water faucet when the glass was full, he unmistakably heard Michael very loudly refer to Jerry in a racially offensive manner. Jerry stopped what he was doing and watched. Jasharian seemed unphased by the word and mouthed off at Michael in a similarly insulting fashion. Jerry knew his son nor Michael were innocent little boys. They were as abrasive and callous as any other growing boy, same way Jerry had been as a child. He knew Jasharian wasn't unfamiliar with racial terminology, including racism, as well. 

Jerry had just never heard one of his kids referred to in a derogatory manner based on race. Jerry also watched as the moment Michael referred to Jasharian in an offensive manner, Ray stopped what he was doing and walked out of his garage, still carrying a plastic garbage can lid, as if he wanted to reprimand Michael for saying the word, if nothing else, that Michael said it so loudly. The boys pedaled away on their bikes, seemingly oblivious of Ray. Jerry watched Ray stand a bit, watching the boys going away, as if deciding the incident wasn't worth chastising them over at the moment. Jerry was sensing this as well. There just seemed no point to disrupt the boys with instruction on the word usage at that time. Jerry thought maybe he would talk to Jasharian during dinner about having overheard Michael call him the racist slur. No sense spoiling their day. Jerry looked at the full glass of water and realized he had completely forgotten what he wanted it for, so he poured it out.

That evening, Jerry was awaiting dinner. He hadn't forgotten the events of earlier that day. He hadn't discussed it with his wife, Larinda, who was in the kitchen fixing the family meal. Maybe he should, he thought to himself, before he spoke to Jasharian about it. Maybe he should talk to Jasharian before dinner. So many possibilities, he pondered. 

Larinda called the family to the table. Jasharian was in the dining room and seated, as was his little sister, Nan. Jerry was about to head to the table as well when there was a knock at the door. 

It was Ray. 

"Hello, Jerry." 

"Hi, Ray," Jerry said a little uneasy, what with his intentions about the earlier incident. Ray held out his hand. 

Instinctively, Ray reached out to take Jerry's hand and receive what Ray was handing him. Somewhat startled, Jerry looked at the objects and perceived several thousand dollars. 

"What's this?" Jerry asked. 

"It's approximately eight thousand dollars," Ray said. 

"What's it for?" Jerry inquired further. 

"We sold Michael," Ray said rather seriously. 

"What?" 

"Michael called your son an offensive word I won't repeat," Ray began, "so I got rid of Michael so we won't hear that anymore."

Jerry stared, dumbfounded. Jerry was aware Ray overheard the conversation, but Ray didn't see Jerry inside his house listening at the window, so Ray didn't know Jerry heard the remark also. 

"Ray, what is this?" 

"We got rid of him. It was wrong."

By this time, Larinda had approached and stood in the back. 

"Jerry," she asked. "Is everything okay?" 

"Ray," Jerry began, holding the money out still, "I can't accept . . " 

"Just take it as part of your reparations," Ray said. "Maybe there'll be more." 

"Ray, this isn't funny." 

"You won't have to worry about Michael anymore is all that really matters." 

With that, Ray turned to leave. Jerry stepped out toward the sidewalk. 

"Ray, what did you do with Michael?" he yelled. 

"I told you," Ray yelled back, continuing down the driveway. "We sold him."

"What do you mean, you sold him?" 

Larinda now stood behind Jerry. 

"Ray, where's Barbara?" she asked. 

"Barbara's gone to stay with her mother. She took the girls with her." 

"Ray!" Jerry yelled, becoming very annoyed now. 

"What?" Ray yelled back, moving further away still. 

"Where is Michael?" 

"I told you, we sold him. I sold him." 

"Sold him where?" 

"To a military school in Scandanavia, if you must know," Ray answered. 

Jerry stood at the door, still holding out the money in his hand. He turned and looked at Larinda. 

"Scandanavia?"

Larinda looked at Jerry. 

"What's going on?" she asked.

Jerry looked at the money in his hand, then back across the street. Ray had already entered his house. 

Jerry stepped back inside, Larinda behind him, as he closed the door. At the dinner table, Jasharian and Nan watched their parents quietly. 

Jerry walked over to the living room desk, opened a drawer, and dumped the money in the drawer. 

"Dad, is something wrong with Michael?" Jasharian asked. 

Jerry looked at Jasharian, his young eyes full of concern. He looked at Larinda.

"He said, . . " Jerry began, very quietly, "he said he sold Michael."

"Why?" she asked. 

"There was an incident today," Jerry spoke very quietly, "in which Michael called Jasharian a name."

Larinda listened. At the table, Jasharian watched as well. Tho the words were muffled, he could detect what they were about. 

"I need to find out what has become of Michael," Jerry said, moving to the door. 

"Dad?"

"Jerry, no," Larinda said. "Stay out of it."

"What did he do with Michael?" 

Jerry," Larinda continued, "it's late. Just stay out of it. We'll see what we can learn tomorrow." 

Jerry looked at her, then slowly made his way into the dining area. He sat at the table and looked at Jasharian, who stared back at him. 

"What's wrong?" Nan asked, innocently. 

"Quiet, honey," Larinda said, as she too sat down. 

"Dad?" Jasharian spoke again. 

"Jasharian," Jerry started, "this afternoon, . . . . Michael called you a very bad word." 

Jasharian looked at his father and said nothing. 

"Jasharian," Jerry continued, "Michael's father felt that word was uncalled for." 

"It wasn't a bad word," Jasharian said. 

"It was, son," Jerry replied. 

"No, it wasn't." 

"Jasharian," Jerry continued, "I heard him. It was a bad word." 

"You weren't there." 

"I heard him from the kitchen window. You were both on bikes in the middle of the road and he said it. You called him a name back."

"It wasn't a bad word," Jasharian said quietly. 

"Jasharian," Jerry proceeded, "you may feel the word wasn't bad, but it has a bad history." 

"I know."

"I don't think you do. It was used to hurt a lot of people." 

Jasharian stared, unblinking. He fumbled with his fork. 

"We call each other names all the time," Jasharian finally replied. "It don't mean nothing." 

"I know you call each other names at your age, but when you get older, . . . "

Jerry looked at Jasharian. He wasn't older. He wasn't a teen-ager yet. He was learning. 

"I . . . don't want you to be hurt, son," Jerry replied. 

"I'm not, dad," Jasharian answered.

"That's good," Jerry said. 

"Is Michael okay?"

Jerry looked at Larinda. 

"We'll learn more about Michael tomorrow," she said. 

"Is he okay?" Jasharian asked about his friend. 

"He seems to be okay," Jerry said. "I don't think his father would let anything happen to him."

The meal was difficult, awkward at best. Jasharian hardly ate, wondering about Michael. Finally he asked to be excused and made his way to his room. 

Jerry waited until he was gone, then spoke. 

"What on Earth could Ray have done with Michael?" 

"I don't know," Larinda said. "Jerry, what happened?"

"Michael called Jasharian a name and Ray was in the garage and heard them. I was at the window and heard it, too." 

"You didn't say anything to them?"

"They were riding away on their bikes. It seemed to be no point in spoiling their day to scold over this word. I was going to say something to him this evening, in a quieter setting."

"Maybe you should have said something then," Larinda commented. 

"I don't know," Jerry said. "Ray made up his mind this was what he was going to do with no input from me at all. Who knows what he might have done had I said something out there in front of all of them." 

They retired that evening, with Jerry giving one final look on Jasharian in his room. 

"You okay?" he asked his son. 

"I guess so," Jasharian replied quietly. 

Jerry looked at the picture on top of the dresser of Michael and Jasharian, taken a few years earlier, when they were on the football team. They were so young, Jasharian was missing both his front teeth, but still looked like he had more than Michael who was missing one large tooth in the front. Jerry closed the door. 

The next day, Jerry went to the police. As he drove out the yard, he observed Jasharian's red bike setting next to the front of the fence. 

"He said he sold his son," Jerry explained to the officer. 

"Why would he do that?" the officer asked. 

"He said it was because his son called my son a racist word." 

"Well, did he, sir?"

"Yes, he did." 

"Did you hear him?"

Jerry looked at the officer, clearly thinking it was all a bunch of hearsay. 

"Yes, I did." 

"Then it seems to me removing his son was the best thing to do. We can't have racists all over the place like that, getting away with that behavior at such a young age." 

Jerry looked at the officer in disbelief. 

"It was his son," Jerry said quietly. 

"Yes, sir," the officer replied. "They used to sell us all the time away from our families and parents." 

"But it was his son," Jerry repeated. 

"Yes, sir," the officer said, then asked, "what did he do with the money?"

"He . . . gave it to me," Jerry answered. "Said it was part of my reparations."

"Well, congratulations, sir," the officer said. "You finally got some payback. Maybe someday my family will get a little bit as well." 

"What did the police say?" Larinda asked. 

"He . . . congratulated me on receiving part of my reparations." 

"Wasn't there a white officer there you could have spoken to?"

"I was ready to go. I could tell he wasn't going to be any help," Jerry said. He stood in his house and looked out front. There was the red bike, still leaning against the front gate. 

"Jasharian still here?" 

"He's in his room." 

"Normally, he'd be off somewhere, riding bikes or playing the latest video games." 

"With Michael." 

Jerry walked down the hallway to Jasharian's room. His son was on his bed, sound asleep, the tablet beside him, shining brightly with an empty screen. 

Jerry went to see Ray. 

"No, Barbara wasn't happy about it. That's why she's gone to her mother's."

"I was going to talk to Jasharian about what Michael said." 

Ray looked at Jerry. 

"Well, I guess you still can. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some work to tend to." 

"You're packing up," Jerry said. "Are you moving?"

Ray didn't look at him. 

"Yea, I'm getting a smaller place," he answered. "Don't need all this room with Barbara and the girls being gone now."  

Jerry sat on the couch with Larinda. 

"He still didn't seem to have anything to say about the matter?" 

"Other than Michael spoke racist, so he was sold to someone in Scandanavia, he said." 

The next day, the house was quiet and still. Jerry went to the kitchen to get some water. He reached for the glass. As he filled the glass up, he realized it was the same glass he was filling up when he heard Michael call Jasharian the racist word. 

Jerry looked out the window once more to see Jasharian's bike, still leaning against the gate. 

Virtually unmoved. 

Jerry poured the water out once more and went to Jasharian's room. 

"Jasharian?" he knocked. 

Slowly he opened the door. Jasharian was nowhere to be seen. Jerry looked at the picture again. 

The photograph of the two boys had been removed. Jerry looked around the room. Then he walked into the living room. 

"Have you seen Jasharian?" he asked Larinda. 

"No," she said from the couch. "Not since this morning. Why?" 

"His bike is still here, so he must be." 

Jerry made his way outside and walked toward the bike at the gate. The bike hadn't been moved for days. 

Across the road, there was Ray, putting boxes in the back of the truck. 

"Ray!" Jerry yelled. "Have you seen Jasharian?" 

"Saw him this morning," Ray called back. 

"Where did he go?" 

"He asked me why I was packing everything up and I told him I was moving. He asked was I going to see Michael and I told him no. Then he asked what I was going to do with Michael's bike and I told him he could have it." 

Should he have spoken up then? Should he have said something? He looked across the street to see Jasharian's red bike still leaning against the gate.

Jerry hurried home. Larinda was with Nan watching the little girl's tablet. 

"Didn't we get Jasharian an e-mail at one time?" 

"Yes," Larinda said, "we had to keep a guard on it." 

"And he has texting as well, don't he? On his tablet?" 

"Jerry, what's wrong?" Larinda asked, sitting up. 

"Try contacting Jasharian, either by his email or texting, or calling. Yea, we got him a phone number as well." 

Jerry raced to the desk and opened the drawer where he had put the money Ray gave him. 

The money was gone. 

"Did you take the money?" he asked Larinda. 

"Jerry, what's wrong?" 

"Jasharian took the money," Jerry said, removing his car keys from his pocket. "Try texting or emailing Jasharian. I'll try calling him."

Jerry hurried out the door and got in the car as Larinda stood at the door holding her phone. Jerry drove as fast as he could to the airport. As he drove around the vast parking area, he came to a stop when he saw it. 

Michael's bike. 

Jerry hurried into the airport to try to find who could tell him if a small boy had boarded a plane while he scanned all the departing flights that might connect to Scandanavia. 

Finally someone could help him. Yes, a young fellow matching Jasharian's description boarded a flight to the United Kingdom. Jerry tried dialing the number over and over to Jasharian's number, trying to get hold of him. 

Jerry sat down as he dialed the number again, but something told him the situation had changed. Even if he dragged Jasharian back home, his son wouldn't be the child he had known. 

Or maybe he didn't know his child before this; that Jasharian would have such loyalty toward a friend he had known practically all his life, virtually a brother from when they were first able to cross the road to each other's house. 

And the decision was made to remove Michael from Jasharian's life without discussing anything with Jasharian first. 

Jerry made a phone call to Larinda. He told her what obviously had happened and what he was going to do. After he hung up, he approached the ticket counter and bought a ticket. 

He was going to bring his son home, and if he had to, he'd bring Michael home, too. 

   

 

Reviews

[lauren]

Hey!
I just read your story, and I’m completely hooked! Your writing is amazing, and I kept picturing how incredible it would look as a comic.
I’m a professional commissioned artist, and I’d be so excited to collaborate with you on turning it into one, if you’re up for it, of course! I think it would be a perfect fit.
If you’re interested, message me on Discord (Laurendoesitall) or on Instagram (lizziedoesitall). Let me know what you think!
Best,
Lauren