The Divorce

Jacob found himself somewhere at the beginning of the 21^st century with what felt like a very anachronistic life. Commuting home in his sedan, he was grateful for the lighter traffic the pandemic had wrought, even as it caused him to reflect on his life. Most people were still working from home, if they were lucky enough to have a job, but here he was, traveling after a long day of work as the director of engineering at his firm. It was the old way of doing things, and those things had served him well; They had allowed him to provide for a family, allowing his wife to stay at home and raised their children, paid for the house and the cars and the savings account, and all the other stereotypical middle-class trappings. He rolled down the window of his car and allowed himself to feel the small bittersweet joy of being one of the last of his kind.

Jacob knew that something was wrong, though, the moment he stepped into his house. The usual rambunctious noise of three children was replaced with a quiet that only had the murmurations of a television laid over it. Setting down his blazer and laptop case, he walked through the kitchen and into the living room to find the twins sitting on the couch and very quietly watching their favorite cartoon. Both of them watched the screen with a languid intensity, neither of them breaking from the show to greet him.

Unsettled by this break from routine, but reluctant to disturb, he said, “Hey girls. Where’s Mom?”

Jacob watched the television’s images reflect in the eyes of the girls, who only nodded at the question. When he was about to repeat it, Regina removed the corner of the blanket from her mouth to say, “She’s upstairs with Sam.”

“OK,” Jacob nodded, “you two stay here.”

At the foot of the stairs, Jacob could hear his wife’s voice, loud but not quite yelling, a sure sign that she was truly upset. She didn’t like to scream at the children, didn’t approve of people who did, and this level of volume was the closest her restraint would let her get when she was tested. It was with this in mind that he slowly opened the door to his son’s room where he could hear her voice.

On the bed, hands in his lap, staring at the floor was Sam. Visible, just under his right eye, was the beginning of a black eye. Rather than the anger he was expecting, Jacob found he was filled with sympathy for his son. Judging by the expression on Sam’s face, he wasn’t the winner of the altercation. It was only after he focused past this paternal concern that he heard what his wife was saying.

“I never want you playing with that boy again!”

Those kind of eternal edicts were things Jacob and Sabrina had agreed to try to avoid, so he stepped into the room and brought himself up to an adult height, hoping his presence might calm things. He touched her on the shoulder and said, gently, “Hi.”

The anger in Sabrina’s eyes fled at seeing him, a relief flooding in to take its place. “Oh, thank God. Please talk to your son.”

“Sure,” Jacob nodded, turning to Sam. “You want to tell me what happened, buddy?”

“Me and Antoine got in a fight.” His son didn’t make eye contact, keeping his eyes on the tips of his shoes, which he swung out from the bed. After a moment’s consideration, the boy added, “We were arguing over who won four square.”

Whatever anger Jacob might have felt at his son causing his wife to be upset was cooled further by his son’s expression. Jacob didn’t detect anger or pain, only regret. “Well, I mean,” he sat down on the bed next to his son, keeping a few inches between them. “That doesn’t sound like a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Sabrina’s voice carried a shrill tone that Jacob had never heard before. “Did you look at his face?”

Suddenly uncertain who needed his help, Jacob stood having just sat down. He took a moment to make certain his examination of the bruise was obvious. “Sure,” he nodded, paused to indicate he understood the seriousness of this, to play his role in the drama. He brought his gaze to Sam. “But it’s the kind of thing we learn from, right? So it doesn’t happen again?”

Sabrina continued, “Learn from? Antoine smashed in your son’s face!”

Eyes still on his son, Jacob blinked, the image of Antoine coming into his head. Antoine, soft-spoken, smart, a kid with a good laugh who didn’t seem to care he was the only boy on the block without a pigmentation deficit. The evidence of his son’s face suggested he was as capable as any little boy of losing his temper, but ‘smashed’ seemed like a very strong word.

Processing all of this, Jacob said, “OK, so they fought and Antoine hurt him.” Jacob caught his son’s gaze and asked him, “Did you hurt Antoine?”

There was a blushing on his son’s cheek’s that Jacob recognized as the residue of shame. After a bit of urging from Jacob, he continued, “I gave him a bloody nose.”

Jacob turned to his wife. “This sounds like a mutual thing. We’ll let things cool off and I’ll speak to Mark. We’ll get the boys together and have them apologize to one another.” Back to Sam, Jacob said, “That sound OK with you?”

Jacob could tell his son was about to nod when his wife interrupted, “No! I don’t want him near our son again.”

Jacob stared uncomprehendingly at his wife for a moment. Then he asked, “Aren’t you over-reacting? Just a little?”

“No! Look how he hurt my baby!”

“There boys, Sabrina. Boys fight.” Jacob felt a twinge of guilt at the “boys will be boys” logic, but it was also true. You could only teach children to overcome their worst impulses by being honest about them.

That was something he and Sabrina had discussed but her response held none of the compassion her voice had back then. Instead she said, “Not like this. Look at what that little savage did!”

At the word ‘savage’ Jacob felt something in his mind fall into place. Slowly and carefully he took his wife by the elbow and gently began to guide her out of their son’s room. “Sabrina, I want you to think about this carefully.” On the other side of the threshold he asked, “Would you be reacting this way if Antoine were white?”

“Excuse ME?!?”