Blurred Lines

A young man is forced to face what he's taught vs what he's experienced

There was no one for him to turn to. Jason was on his own.

A few days ago, he had been in the principal's office, in some fairly deep shit. His subtle racism had finally come to a boil, and blows had been exchanged. He sat there in his leather jacket with swastikas and white power symbols on them, trying to look tough and cocksure. Inside, however, he was scared. He'd been able to fly under the radar at home by throwing a torn-up denim vest over his jacket. His mother told him he looked like a hood, but let him wear it anyway. She realized there was only so much you could do to keep a middle-school kid from expressing himself. But if she had seen the angry marks under the vest, she would have intervened, and Jason knew it.

So as he sat there waiting for Mr. Terrington to come in the office, his mind was more on how much trouble he would be in at home than the impact of his hateful behavior.

To his relief, Terrington called Jason's father rather than his mother. His father understood. His father had lost his job and it had been filled by one of "them." He claimed it was an affirmative action move. He didn't mention to Jason that he had popped positive on a random drug test for marijuana; he didn't mention he had already been written up twice for racially-motivated incidents. He just said it was another case of the white man being slowly and systematically replaced.

Jason was suspended for the rest of the day, and further disciplinary action was going to be discussed at the School Board meeting the following Wednesday. When his father picked him up, Jason didn't say anything. His father broke the silence. "Who swung first?"

"He did."

"Sucker punch? That's always how they do."

Jason didn't tell him that it was indeed not a sucker punch, that Landon had warned him enough was enough and that Jason had been the one to push it too far. Landon had swung a good one, right on Jason's cheekbone. But he left it at that. While Jason deserved more, Landon relied on that one blow being the shot across the bow to warn him off. Mrs. Warren had stepped in right away, so there was chance for a back-and-forth. Then the principal's office, then the car, then his father's poison: "Sneaky bastards'll creep on ya every time, just like at the plant."

Jason relaxed and agreed with his father. "Bet he gets the scholarships once we get to high school, too, right?"

His father nodded the affirmative, his face set in an angry sneer. "You're catching on, son. God help us all, you're seeing the light."

That was Wednesday. It was Friday, on the way home from school, Jason ran into the Prouden boys. The Proudens were the poster children for white trash in the community. Vulgar, hateful, angry, misguided children and young adults that drew the worst element to them. They saw Jason crossing the field behind the school grounds and called out to him.

"Hey, punk! You're on private property!"

"No I'm not," Jason called back.

The Prouden crew stood up from the wall against which they had been lounging and came toward Jason, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, muscles bulging along their sunburned arms. "You mouthin' off, you little shit?"

Jason was instantly scared. He only looked tough; he'd never been in a fight in his life. The Proudens had been in many; this he knew to be a fact. And they didn't just tussle. Jason was certain he was about to get a pretty bad beating. He turned to look back at the school, wondering if he could run for it. He knew he couldn't. He knew there was nowhere to turn. It was at that moment one of the big boys tackled him to the ground, hard.

Jason didn't want to cry, not in front of these tough guys, but he felt the fear building. Just as the youngest of them raised his fist.

There was a yell from the treeline. "Hey! The fuck off him!"

Jason and the Proudens looked around. Landon and his friends were coming back up the field.

"You heard me, get the fuck off him!"

The Proudens stood, but there were a lot more of Landon's friends than there were of them.

Landon and the rest surged past Jason. He heard running, a few scuffles, then nothing as the bigger kids ran away.

First he heaved a sigh of relief. Then he realized: he was behind enemy lines.

He stood and looked around and saw Landon standing behind him. Jason held his breath. The other boy reached and brushed the dust off Jason's shirt.

"You alright?"

Jason looked at him. He didn't feel powerful or big. He didn't feel hateful. "Yeah. Um, thanks."

Landon looked him in the eye and nodded; he didn't say a thing. Jason stood there, the rest of the black kids coming back now, understanding how fundamentally flawed his viewpoint had been, his father's viewpoint had been. He looked at Landon silently, then slowly took his jacket off, standing there with his skinny arms sticking out of his sleeveless tee shirt. He dropped his eyes to the ground, ashamed and embarrassed. He mumbled, "I'm sorry, man. I... I'm sorry."

Landon didn't reply to that. He just turned away to continue his way home. He called over his shoulder in an even tone, "See you tomorrow, Jason." Nothing more was said by any of them. Jason was silent; Landon's friends caught up and headed home with him.

Jason's mother never asked why he stopped wearing his leather jacket. She saw he was quieter and had less of an attitude, but she didn't worry. He didn't seem depressed, just... introspective. Thoughtful. When he wasn't looking, she would smile at him, thinking: "My baby's starting to grow up. Thank God, he's starting to grow up."

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 1000
Submitted for "The Writer's Cramp" 
Prompt: A story where a young man's worldview changes from the start of the story to the end.