What Happens, No Matter What - Short Story by Aden Mandel

PROLOGUE: In this version of the present, everything is exactly the same except for the following: Whereas other races remained at human level, the black race continued to evolve.  By the 1980s, blacks had, for reasons unknown, acquired the ability to fly without technological support or any other form of assistance. In the name of equality, but more so out of fear of the newly biologically superior, the United Nations, in a statement issued in 1989, collectively outlawed flying. Their statement read:

“In order to preserve the balance and possibility of peace in this world, flying without assistance is hereby outlawed in all participating countries until the acquisition of flight is made by the entirety of the human race. The trial and punishment of flight may vary but shall be dictated by the nation in which the act took place.” 

Anthony Johnson thought he was different than most fourteen-year-olds. His mother had told him so, his school counselor had told him so. His father had told him so almost every night before he was sent away two years ago to a naval base in Bahrain. Even his best friend, James, had bet on the wild, attractive possibility that was so evident in Anthony. So much so that James continued believing until there were two bullet holes in his chest, one that pierced through his left lung and the other his heart, letting his glistening blood run over his black skin. 

Five days earlier, his mother had gotten a call from Anthony’s high school. She had picked up the phone, and, with an understandable amount of anxiety, asked what had happened. 

“Well, Ms. Johnson. Anthony… Well, he flew,” the counselor, Mr. Davis, explained.

“Nonsense,” replied Ms. Johnson.

“I’m afraid not, Ms. Johnson.”

“Anthony’s a reasonable boy, Mr. Davis, there’s no way he…”

“Yes, pretty high, too. Now, as far as punishment goes—”

“Now, hold on, Mr. Davis. Anthony knows he cannot do such a thing. I taught him from the very moment he was born how this world works. There’s no way—”

“I’m afraid he went and did it, Ms. Johnson. Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, flying is a criminal offense, but we see no need to take this—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis, but… I just can’t take your word for it. May I speak with Anthony, please? I just can’t believe he… flew.”

“Yes, he’s right here.”

After a few moments, wide-eyed Anthony, with his heart still racing and the joy of weightlessness in his mind, answered the phone from the counselor’s office. His voice was weak, trembling, and guilty, but behind it was pure awe and glee.

“Mom?” he said tentatively.

“Anthony, is this true?”

“I… Yes.”

“I can’t believe you. You understand what you—”

“Yes, but it was so wonder—”

“Don’t speak like that! Next thing you know they’ll take you away or-or kill you! Never do it again! I can’t believe… I thought I taught you...”

Anthony, now with his brow wrinkled and his eyes teary, thought back to the moment they had forbidden. He was standing in his empty English classroom during his lunch break when he planned on only going up an inch or two. He remembered being taught airplanes enabled man to do the impossible, that it was man’s dream to fly. That The Wright Brothers had been admired and praised. He just wanted to see what it would feel like. But then, overwhelmed by the feeling of flight, two inches became six, and then six became a foot, and a foot became three. He realized three feet was a lot harder to hide than two inches when his English teacher, Ms. Tallow, and his best friend, James, walked in. Ms. Tallow’s mouth opened in disbelief when she caught sight of Anthony and her already pale face grew white with fear. Both Anthony and Ms. Tallow had frozen as they realized what was happening, and when she shouted something with her shaky voice Anthony dropped immediately. On his way down, he caught a glimpse of James, who held a similar expression to Ms. Tallow, only something else hid in James’ eyes that Anthony couldn’t quite place. Back in the counselor’s office, Mr. Davis touched Anthony’s shoulder, motioning for him to pass the phone, and Anthony complied.

“Ms. Johnson,” Mr. Davis said. “No one but James and a teacher saw the incident. You can rest assured that this will not go outside the school. Now, as far as punishment goes, we’ve decided on a two week suspension.”

Ms. Johnson paused. “All right, Mr. Davis... Thank you.”

After Anthony’s school had ended, Ms. Johnson picked him up and began driving home. They sat in silence, Anthony staring straight ahead, his gaze fixated on the back of the empty leather car seat, and Ms. Johnson occasionally glancing back at him. It was Ms. Johnson who finally broke the silence.

“Anthony,” Ms. Johnson said, looking at her son’s reflection in the rearview mirror. You could hear disappointment in her voice. “What in the world were you thinking?”

“I don’t know, mom,” Anthony replied as he looked out the car window.

“You gotta be outta your goddamn mind,” She said, shaking her head. “You know what happens to boys like you? When they do something like that?”

“Huh,” Anthony said dismissively, crossing his arms.

“They go to jail. Or get shot. You’re lucky the school… I mean the school could have expelled you.” She continued, “I don’t understand...”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t ‘yeah’ me,” She said angrily, watching Anthony stare off through the window. “Look at me. Look at me!”

Anthony looked at her, his eyes hard and cold, the feeling of flying ingrained in his head. 

“Why would you even think to—”

“Why not, mom?” Anthony said madly. “I mean, why can’t we—”

“Don’t even start, Anthony!” She shouted. “I am not gonna sit here and tolerate that type of thinking. You know as well as I do how ridiculous you sound. Honestly… What do you think your father would say if he saw you like this?”

“I mean… Dad always says that law’s bullshit, anyway—”

“You watch your mouth. You know that he would not tolerate something like this. And you can fly as high as you want, but you do it after the law gets changed, otherwise you might as well just fly over to the juvenile detention center. You ain’t getting your phone for a month, and after your two week suspension you’re grounded for two more weeks. And if you pull something like this again I don’t know what I’m gonna do…”

Anthony looked away, the same look still in his eyes, but remained silent. 

***

Three days later, Anthony and James had met up and were talking on Anthony’s porch. They lived on the same block, James in a rundown brick apartment complex and Anthony in a one story, grey house on the corner. The liquor store on the opposite end of Anthony's block meant men often loitered in the area, and cops came through every hour or so to deter the ideas that often came to drunk men. James was close, so it had only taken a phone call and three minutes for James to show up. It had just rained, and as James spoke, Anthony trailed his umbrella through the shallow puddles that had collected on the worn wood planks of the porch, the tip of his umbrella making indents in the water. James spoke about how he hated practicing the piano, about how it was boring and he didn’t see any use in learning an instrument. He didn’t see any use in worrying about the suspension, either, so he took it upon himself to be a distraction.

“Hey, Anthony, look at this,” James said, pulling something out of his pocket. Anthony looked over to see James holding a thin gold chain, the yellow shine reflecting the Sun at Anthony. “It’s a gold chain, bro. I’m stacked.”

James dangled it in front of Anthony’s face. Anthony shook his head. 

“Bro I don’t fucking care,” Anthony said, looking up at James. “Have you ever thought about it?”

“Thought about what?” James replied.

“About why we can’t fucking fly!” Anthony said.

“What do you mean? Like it’s a law. Like it says you can’t fly.”

“Yeah, but why. Like are we hurting anyone? And why are we tryna hide it? I know you can fly, too. All black people can fly.”

“Bro, you can’t think like—”

“And it felt so good, too,” Anthony said as he looked back at James, his eyes eager and his fists clenched. “Just because white people can't, doesn't mean I shouldn’t be able to. Like I’m sorry we’re better or more evolved or some shit.”

“Anthony, man, why are you—”

“Bro, someday, Imma fly right up to the White House and just be there, right in front of the presidents’ white ass. I don’t care if they shoot me or nothin’.”

“Bro, I understand,” James said as he tossed his chain up and caught it with his other hand. He looked around impatiently, expecting someone or something, but their block was empty. “But leave it to some MLK dude or something. We can’t do anything about it.”

“Then I got a fuckin’ dream, ok?”  Anthony said wildly, his eyes tracing the chain as it moved back and forth in James’ hands. “I got a dream that someday my children will be able to fly as far and as high as they fuckin’ want. They’ll fly so high, they’ll pass the Empire State Building and then the Moon and then Venus. They’ll fly past Mercury and so high that their hair gets burned by the Sun.”

“Bro, stop!” James shouted. He stopped tossing the chain in the air. “Shut up. Keep this shit to yourself. This what gonna get you killed.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. Man,” Anthony said as he watched James toss the chain up again. He thrust his hand forward and caught it, then smirked at James. “you don’t even need this chain. You’re a pussy, bro, you don’t deserve it.”

James looked at him and put his hand forward, expecting Anthony to give it back. Anthony just glared at the hand, his eyes red and wild. He paused then looked at James.

“Give it back,” James demanded. 

“What?” Anthony said.

James paused, looking at Anthony, then lunged forward, grabbing at the hand that held the chain. Anthony had expected it, James’ hand only grabbing air, and before James could lunge again Anthony stood on the sidewalk. 

“Come on, pussy,” Anthony said with a smirk.

` James slowly walked down the porch steps, the old wood creaking as he reciprocated Anthony’s glare. What an idiot, James thought, he must think he’s so courageous, so ambitious. 

When James got close he lunged again, this time grabbing some of Anthony’s shirt. James swung him down and grabbed at the hand holding the chain. He missed, hitting Anthony’s ribcage, and Anthony kicked at James’ side. James dodged and dove for Anthony, grabbing at his hand. He missed, but his hand slid over Anthony’s arm and neck. He pinned Anthony to the ground, holding him and grabbing with his other arm at the hand holding the stolen chain. James grew tired, and Anthony was able to wriggle out of his hold to stand up. James pushed himself up off the ground, panting as he got back up.

James stopped, frozen. Anthony’s feet dangled in his face, and he looked up to see Anthony hovering in the air. 

“Come get it, pussy,” Anthony said as he flew over to the roof. He placed the chain on a roof shingle, taking the time to balance it so that just the slightest touch would cause it to roll off. He looked down at James whose fear held him to the ground, standing and staring at Anthony’s feet. His arms drooped helplessly by his sides and his face told no hint of their previous friendship. But hidden in his eyes was something else besides anger, it was the same look Anthony couldn’t quite place when he first flew that day in the classroom. It was jealousy, Anthony realized. The same emotion Anthony himself had felt when he watched the jets fly over during the July 4th parade. The same emotion he felt when a classmate got paired with Nia, the girl with hazel eyes. The same emotion he felt when he watched James’ dad pick him up from the bus stop, his low, fatherly voice welcoming James as only fathers can.

Anthony’s anger faded slightly, but James’ hostility seemed to only grow.

“Anthony!” Ms. Johnson yelled from inside the house. “You gotta leave for basketball, the bus leaves at four!”

Anthony quickly dropped to the ground and, before entering into the house, cast a quick glance at James. Anthony knew James’ mix of anger, helplessness, and jealousy would only be fueled by time.

An hour or so later, after going to his family’s apartment only to pace back and forth in between his brother and his beds, James walked back to Anthony’s house. He stood on the sidewalk for a second, but the glint of his thin gold chain dangling on the roof caught his eye, and he quickly walked to the door. He knocked, half expecting nobody to answer as he paced back and forth on Anthony's porch. Ms. Johnson opened the door, and, noticing James’ distressed demeanor, asked if anything was wrong. James paused for a moment, then answered.

“Nothing, Ms. Johnson, I just forgot my math notebook in Anthony’s room.”

Ms. Johnson smiled. 

“No worries, come on in,” she said.

She opened the door and James walked in, starting on the familiar path through the house and to Anthony’s room. He arrived at Anthony’s door and entered the room, admiring the perfect order that each of his belongings conformed to. His books lay neatly stacked along his desk, on top of his wardrobe were a series of pictures placed symmetrically, and on his bed lay a single, centered pillow. James walked around Anthony’s bed to his nightstand, where on it sat a small book lamp and a faded silver watch. James recognized the watch to be the one Anthony wore almost everywhere since his dad left. It was worn but well taken care of, and the engraved numbers that had lost their edge stood in contrast to the sheen of the recently polished brown leather band. Imma just take it for a day, James thought, just to make him watch me fly up with my feet dangling in his face this time. James took it and, with the sight of Anthony flying with his chain still in his head, put it in his pocket. 

***

The next day, in the late afternoon, Anthony sat on the bench at the bust stop, waiting for James to come home from school. The previous day, he had gotten back from basketball practice too exhausted to notice his watch was gone. However, in the morning, when he rolled over and groggily reached out for the silver watch, his hand only touched the polished oak of his nightstand and he quickly realized something was wrong. He searched all day for it, looking under the bed, in his closet, and even in the kitchen drawers. He asked his mother, but his mother seemed as clueless as he was, taking part in the search as well. 

Once James stepped off the bus steps, Anthony got up and moved closer. 

“Hey, do you have my watch?” Anthony asked.

“What, the silver one?” James replied. “Nah, why?”

“Can’t find it,” Anthony said. He paused, then turned back towards his house.

“Ay!” James yelled. “You mean this piece of shit?”

Anthony turned around. Dangling loosely in James’ hand was the silver watch. It was the same watch his father had given him the day he left to Bahrain. Anthony had gone to say goodbye when he had turned around, his tall, broad body looming over Anthony. Keep this for me, his father had told him, I’ll be back soon, but I don’t want this to get messed up. In James’ hands, Anthony could tell the leather band was already lacking its familiar sheen. The silver glared brightly, reflecting the Sun onto Anthony’s face which began to twist with anger. 

“What the fuck, bro?” Anthony yelled. “You stole it from me?”

“Fuck you mean, I stole it,” James shouted back. “You see that?” James pointed with his other hand to the roof of Anthony’s house. On it was the thin gold chain that dangled on the tip of a grey shingle. 

Anthony lunged at James’ hand that held the watch. James quickly stepped out of Anthony’s range.

“Bro, come on,” Anthony yelled. “Give it back, I’ll get you your stupid chain.”

“Nah,” James yelled, a smirk creeping onto his face. “You just sit right there, I got it.”

James’ feet slowly came up off the sidewalk. First an inch, then two, then a foot. With each inch his smirk disappeared, and, as he succumbed to the freedom of weightlessness, he smiled in awe. Anthony, watching as his friend felt what he knew to be wonderful, felt his anger slowly fade as well. James had gotten to about five feet in the air, both boys oblivious to the world around them, when Anthony felt the stare of his mother.

The two young men’s yelling had permeated the thin walls of some of the neighboring houses, attracting attention from those in the otherwise quiet neighborhood. Ms. Johnson, who had been in the midst of cooking Anthony and herself dinner, stepped out onto the porch in her cream apron. She saw James hovering mid air, stopping her in her tracks, but she also saw the cop car that had unknowingly crept behind the two. She saw the cop get out of his vehicle, reach down and pull his pistol out from his holster. 

When Ms. Johnson saw the shiny metal of his pistol she screamed out, causing both James and Anthony to look over, but the cop didn’t hear her. The cop only saw the glint of Anthony’s silver watch in James’ hands and pointed his gun up at the hovering body. His white hands gripped the gun tightly, and, with his index finger steady, he fired two shots that pierced James’ torso. James fell to the ground, the watch tumbling out of his hand to land on the sidewalk. Ms. Johnson ran over, tears already forming in her eyes as she fumbled to pull out her phone. 

But Anthony stood still, staring at where James' body had once hovered. To Anthony, James never stopped flying. He watched James fly higher and higher, rising above the houses and through Earth’s atmosphere, passing the Moon and Venus and then Mercury as his hair caught fire from the Sun.