Sealing the Gap

A controversial story that deals with racism.

Note to Reader:

 

If you are sensitive to racism it would be in your best interest not to read any further. This story was hard for me to write in places, and albeit I wasted days and sleepless hours trying to perfect it I debated long and hard about publication. I strongly apologize to the offended. I only touched base on this subject matter as a demonstration on the bitter end. I am not racist. If you do decide to read this I hope you take the time, whether you’re racist or not, to reprimand and digest the core.

 

P.S. Due to my inability to acknowledge the N-word it is censored as: n--. Keep in mind, however, it is to be inferred.

 

Narrator

 

“I will not let that f*****g chimp stand in the way of my promotion, d****t!”

   “I know, Jim. You’ve earned it.”

   “F*****g porch monkeys! To hell with them all!!!”

   “Now, Jim, relax. Even if he does win his race would have lit--”

   “Even! Even! There’s not a chance in hell!” Jim paused. An expression of hate came over him. He turned to his right and hocked a loogie. “You voted for him, didn’t you? You f*****g b***h! You voted for the chimp. Next thing you know they’ll be running this damn country of ours! Why’d ya do it?”

   “For one, you’re delusional. Secondly, you need to get over your hate! Everyone knows about you being racist and the odds are stacked high a--”

   “You did vote for him. Admit it!”

   “You’re a shoe-in, Jim. It doesn’t hurt to support the underdog.”

   “Go to f*****g hell, Samantha! And take that no good for nothing n-- with you!”

 

Jim Bivins was overly opinionated and had one major flaw. He was racist. King Bigot, is what they called him. Not to mention, he was very arrogant. He worked for a company his dad was the CEO of and that was founded by his great, great grandfather--Chester Bivins. BIVINS ADVERTISING was the name. He was your basic second generation brat. If it didn’t go his way, he made sure they’d rue the day.

   It was his hate that stood out most. If your skin wasn’t white and you didn’t speak English you were acknowledged as filth. Jim’s theory, which he was very open of, was that every race and creed excluding Caucasian was experiments gone awry. And to make matters worse, he had to bite his tongue at work on many occasions due to one of his newly assigned partners--Mike Wyatt.

   Mike was a black man. He was highly sophisticated and very good at his job. However, when something went wrong, Jim passed all the blame to him. Jim had to be careful, however, of his outbursts for he had done been warned by his father. “One more outburst like that and you will find yourself washing the damn windows, you hear me!?!” But on the outside, bars and such, Jim was free to say and do as he pleased. And he did just that. One instance comes to mind…

 

Jim and his friend Steve were sitting at the bar. Jim was highly intoxicated. Steve, not as much. As he was goofing off, he leaned back too far on the stool and fell flat on his a*s. He looked up, his vision a blur, and sought out Mike. He spoke very loudly, “How many of you n--s is in here right now?” He heaved himself up and said, “Well get out of here! All of ya! Go tend to the chickens and plow a field where you belong. You damn n--s don’t belong in here!”

   It took Steve every bit of effort he could produce to shut his friend up. Finally, he just took a firm hold of him and forced him out the door. But then the next day came…

Jim was in the middle of closing a deal with another corporation when he was paged by his father. “Jim Bivins, come to my office.” Of course Jim thought he was in trouble. Therefore, he was in no hurry to respond. But the look on his face was priceless.

   Jim entered as his father told him to sit down. “What is it, Dad?” Jim said nervously.

   I am getting ready to announce the promotion, son. Would you care to take over in here until I get back?”

   Jim looked confused. “But will I need to be there?”

   “And why would you need to be there, son?”

   “To accept.”

   Jim’s father had a fit of laughter. “My boy, you didn’t even make runner-up.” Again, more hysterics.

   “Then who won?”

   “You can see everything straight out that window.” Jim’s father pointed. “Now, I’m running late.” He headed for the door, stopped, and turned around. Jim held his head low. “Son, I’m pretty sure I know why you didn’t get too many votes.” Jim didn’t say a word. The door slammed behind his dad as he went to the window.

   The window being soundproof made it hard for Jim to listen in. However, he just needed to see. He just needed to know who stole the promotion from him.

   The auditorium filled with excitement as everyone stood in appreciation to the hard worker that was approaching the podium. Jim’s eyes swelled to silver dollars when he saw…it was Mike. He beat and banged on the glass but it absorbed sound. He ran out the door but was stopped by security and brought back. He fell to the floor in a tantrum. Every other word was, of course, a racial outburst. Then everything went black.

 

The sky rumbled like the civil war--flashes and claps not even a second apart. A set of headlights emerged from the density. Jim traveled down Highway 60 as he approached the gateway to Route 13. The bridge seemed unsteady. Jim assumed it was the raging wind that made the illusion but was still on edge. His foot became heavier, however, it wasn’t enough. In all his years of crossing that bridge this was the longest. Suddenly, there was a bright glare. Jim swerved through it as he squeezed his eyes shut. The car rolled several times as Jim lay sprawled out on the highway unharmed.

 

Jim’s POV

Jim unsteadily eased his way up. Getting his bearings was not easy in the slightest. He looked around, firstly, noticing that the storm was over. However, the more he examined his surroundings he discovered that everything was bone dry. There wasn’t a puddle or inch of dampness in sight. Then he started for his car but stopped. Where was it? Where had it gone? Jim rationalized spasmodically. I was just in a wreck. Right here! Wasn’t I? Wasn’t I just in a wreck? Where’s my car? Why, I don’t have a scratch on me. It must be a dream. That’s right…a dream!

   The ground began to rumble. Perhaps, an earthquake. No, worse! Jim turned to see a stampede of white Clydesdales headed for him where the bridge once existed--rolling in like a cloud of smoke. Quickly, he took to his heels and ran. He ran like the dickens. They were still coming…closer…closer…until a tumble and darkness ended the chase.

 

Jim’s eyes slowly began to open. He moaned in pain and tried to move but couldn’t. His hands were bound behind his back. He weaved back and forth on his knees. He examined his surroundings (a bit blurry) and saw many men standing over him donning white sheets.

   A noose was tossed around his gullet. “We gonna hang this n--?” shouted one of the men.

   “Yeah…we gonna lynch him real good, boys,” shouted another.

   Jim couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He struggled to speak but fear had paralyzed his vocal cords. Suddenly, he blurted out: “I’m white. I’m one of you. What are you doing?”

   “Damn, boy. You ain’t white. You as black as coal.” They hoisted him onto the horse.

   “No! It can’t be!” Then, out the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection through broken glass just before the horse dismounted.

   …He was black.

 

Narrator

 

The rain beat down on a car down in a ditch. A minivan pulled in behind it as a black man jumped out the driver side door and into the down trough to see if anyone was in the car. There was. It was Jim--unconscious at the steering wheel. The black man took a firm hold of him and pulled him into the ditch. The rain aroused him as he looked up to see his savior. The black man carried him from the ditch and to his minivan as he phoned for help. He was in good hands.

Author's Note

If you are sensitive to racism it would be in your best interest not to read any further. This story was hard for me to write in places, and albeit I wasted days and sleepless hours trying to perfect it I debated long and hard about publication. I strongly apologize to the offended. I only touched base on this subject matter as a demonstration on the bitter end. I am not racist. If you do decide to read this I hope you take the time, whether you’re racist or not, to reprimand and digest the core.

P.S. Due to my inability to acknowledge the N-word it is censored as: n—. Keep in mind, however, it is to be inferred.

Featured in Dead of Night (a collection of short horror fiction)

http://www.lulu.com/shop/billy-van/dead-of-night/paperback/product-22004402.html

Reviews

[Woody]

first, I'm suprised this story didn't get any reviews. it's that good.
secondly, I do not understand your fear of beingfrowned upon or termed as racist (that's what I gathered from your Author's Note).
I enjoyed the story tremendously. and the message is loud and clear. this is really good with a brilliant ending. kudos to you, Billy.

[Billy Van]

Thank you, Woody. So kind.

[Billy Van]

C'mon people. I need a review. Anything . . . as long as it's kind, lol. Jk, say whatever you want to say about it. All I ask is that you're honest. Compliments, criticism, it's all good. Writers have a thickskin, anyway. ;)