Stitching these Wounds (Michael Jackson)

3. Injustice

[Michael]

•••

May 8th, 1976

My eyes wandered over to the clock once again.

5:00 PM.

I took a sigh of relief as I finished the last of my tasks for the workday, knowing that I'd soon be receiving my paycheck and heading out. I walked out from behind the counter, starting towards the staff room to pack up all of my belongings before hearing a familiar voice that never failed to instantly irritate me.

"Jackson!" my boss yelled harshly from behind me, causing me to give a long eye-roll, which I was thankful she couldn't see. "Where do you think you're going?"

"My shift is over, ma'am," I answered shortly as I began to turn around to face her. "Five o'clock, remember?"

My boss' expression showed a look of irritation, and it took everything in me not to flash her that look right back. "If you say so," she spat out. "Just know that you'll have extra hours tomorrow because of this."

A look of confusion was written all over my face. "But, this is the time that I'm supposed to lea—"

"Not another word, Jackson," my boss said sharply, her index finger pointing right at me as she narrowed her eyes at me. "If I can give you a paycheck, I can sure as hell cut it down real quick."

It took every bit of self-control within me not to snap right then and there, but I kept my composure, not wishing to lose my job over something as minuscule as this. "Yes, ma'am," I simply responded. "I'm sorry."

My boss held a smug smile on her lips. "Good," she remarked. "Now, go pack up your stuff quickly before I had an extra hour to your next shift."

With that, I continued my walk to the staff room, pushing through the doors with eagerness to get out of there as soon as possible. When I entered, I viewed all of the familiar faces—although, they never said a word to me. I grimaced slightly at the lack of people of my same race that were in the room, but it didn't shock me.

I began packing up all of my items into my backpack, not making eye contact with a single person. As I continued doing so, I heard my co-workers uttering many racial slurs as they chuckled amongst each other, and within an instant, I knew that I was the only person they could be talking about.

I bit my tongue, resisting the tempting urge to fight back. But, nevertheless, I took a deep breath as I packed up the last of my things.

Soon, I heard the doors open quickly, and sure enough, my boss barged into the room with many envelopes in her hand. "Alright, everyone," she began. "I appreciate you all working hard." She paused briefly. "Some of us more than others." Immediately, everyone looked at me, as if I'd been the one slacking off. My cheeks burned as I looked down at my feet. "But, nonetheless, most of you guys have been doing your parts."

She continued her rant before she finally passed out our paychecks, and I was overjoyed to know that the time had finally come; that is until I viewed its contents.

Seventy-five dollars.

That's it? I thought to myself. After all of the work I've done this week and the hours I've gotten...that's it? My eyes drifted over to my co-workers and their obvious excitement at their rewards.

"Can you believe it, man?" one of my co-workers asked his friend. "One-hundred and fifty bucks!"

"I'm saying!" his friend responded, his tone showing the same amount of enthusiasm.

I continued observing the rest of them, soon realizing that I'd been the only one to receive a significantly lower pay than them. This wasn't anything I wasn't used to, but each time it happened, I couldn't help but to feel my blood boil. The pit of my stomach burned with hot rage as I threw my backpack over my shoulder, starting to walk out of the room.

I was determined to find my boss, and as soon as I spotted her, I wasted no time before interrogating her. "Ma'am," I started, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. "I just opened my paycheck, and I think there might have been a mistake. Everyone else got a way bigger pay than me, and—"

"Oh, no," my boss cut me off, her blue, judgemental gaze piercing through me. "That was no mistake." She snickered. "Now, why would I pay someone of your color the same amount as everyone else?"

My heart sunk at her words as I held back a grimace. In fear of saying something I'd regret later, I turned around and headed for the exit without another word. Hot fury was building up inside of me, and I knew that there was only one person that could cure my aching heart.

•••

When I stepped up to Imani's doorstep, I held a bouquet of different varieties of flowers in my hand, smiling as I thought about how she'd react once I gave them to her. I allowed myself to calm down from the anger I'd felt earlier, not wishing to worry her.

After knocking a few times on the door, it opened to reveal the familiar woman. "Mrs. Harris!" I greeted warmly. "Wait, it's still okay for me to call you that, right?" I was referring to the passing of Imani's father. "I know you've been remarried since...you know."

"It's okay, Michael," Mrs. Harris insisted with a small smile. Still, I could see the look of sadness written all over her expression. "Don't worry about that." She invited me inside, closing the door swiftly behind us. "Imani should be in her room," she informed me. "I have to take care of some grocery shopping, but I'm sure you two will have fun."

I smiled at her in thanks before I made my way to Imani's room. It'd been a while since I'd last been to her house, as she'd always insisted on coming to mine. But, I was sure that I was going to make this surprise visit worth our while; until I pushed through her door, seeing her emotionless expression as she laid numbly on her bed.

She didn't acknowledge me when I walked in, which concerned me even more. "Imani, are you okay?" I asked as panic arose in me. "Please, tell me what's wrong." I walked closer to her, in my attempt to comfort her. I soon saw her move away from me on the bed, and that practically shattered my heart.

"No," Imani protested, continuing to slide herself further away from me. "Don't touch me."

My feelings of anxiety grew even more at her words. "Imani, it's me," I told her, putting my hands up in surrender. "Why are you acting like this?"

I tried comforting her once again, but her uneasiness grew. "I said, don't touch me!" Imani yelled, her fear obvious to me.

Confusion was the only thing that was able to make itself known within me. She'd kept repeating that same phrase, and many dark emotions filled my heart. I needed to know what was going on with her, and I was determined to do so; no matter how many times she continued to protest.

•••

This tea! What do y'all think is up with Imani? I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter! I love you all so much, and as always, thank you for reading.