A short story by R. Craig Lord 

  It was so hot Mom waited in the car; doors open to catch what little breeze there was. I stood in the open door, my arms folded on the roof, talking with her. Dad and Grandpa made their way across the field to the site. We decided on a Sunday drive, not sure where to go I took them to my place of work. My new Ford was streaked with dust from the ride in. 

“So, this is where the park is going to be. The bathrooms will be over there just off the parking lot.” I pointed to a series of stakes in the ground their orange flagging hanging straight down.  

“It will be wonderful.” Mom fanned herself with a manilla envelope she had found on the back seat. She was done up, the Sunday drive remained important for her. The field was full of stakes. I was sure she could not make sense of it. “I’m so proud of you with your new job and all. Your father is too.” 

“He doesn’t mind that I am working for a competitor?” 

“He always said Troutman and Kilborn was a good firm.” 

“Yes, he did.” I leaned back and watched a car making its way slowly down the construction road, still managing to kick up a cloud of dust. Dad and I had never talked about me taking this job. I graduated from engineering school in May, and I took the job in June. The family firm, the boss’s son, never appealed to me. The point was moot though because he never asked. 

We were in a vacant lot on the west side of Cape May, New Jersey. The city was building a park on a fourteen- acre site that included a small beach on Delaware Bay. Starting back in the 1930’s the place had been a nudist camp. The city had acquired it through a tax foreclosure. Nudism falling out of favor. What had been a private club for the unclothed would now benefit all the citizens of Cape May. 

“Will, why don’t you walk over and see what Grandpa and Dad are up to. I’ll be alright here. Give them the grand tour.” 

“Aw, they know what they are doing. Nothing they haven’t seen before.”  It was hot and I was worried that she would be uncomfortable. 

“I know that, but they haven’t seen your work. Now go ahead.” 

They were standing in the shade of a giant silver beech tree. I started over. The other car had parked, and a woman and two kids had gotten out. The woman walked into the field the kids frolicking around her. I could hear their shouts of joy.  

“So, my grandson isn’t good enough to work for you?” 

“It’s not that way at all. I don’t have any work. This was supposed to be my job, with the democrats in charge I lost the contract. I couldn’t afford him.” 

“Some much for the family firm. Did you tell him why?” 

“No, I did not. Never got around to it.” 

“He’s a good kid. Probably ought to tell him.” 

Dad looked up as I approached. 

“Some fine work here Will. The stakes are straight and true, a professional job. I can see the parking lot and over there the retention pond. Did you run the calculations for storm water?” 

“Of course, he did.” Grandpa chimed in. “With GPS doing all the layout the only work left are the calculations. My day was different. We shot all the corners with a transit, did the elevations the same way. Everything went into a notebook to be drawn by hand back in the office.” 

“Dad we both know that.” 

“You see the stakes are all the same distance out of the ground and the flagging is tied with a clove hitch. Look familiar?” I was proud of my work. The information written on the stakes whether it was an elevation or coordinate was in careful block letters. Everything was the way I had been taught by these two men. 

“That is the family tradition, everything uniform and by the book. There is value in consistency. I remember an electrician; he made sure all the screws on the switch and outlet plates in the house were set with the slot facing up. When he came back to the job he could tell if anyone had messed with it. You know if you’re going to do it.” 

“Might as well do it right.” Dad and I filled in Grandpa’s credo in unison. We had heard it so many times before. Three generations of surveyors. Our family had been surveying for almost one hundred years. At that moment I felt proud to be part of it. 

“Look at that.” Grandpa had finally noticed the kids running around in the field. “Those pickaninnies shouldn’t be here. We should call it in.” My father responded quickly. 

“Dad you shouldn’t say that. Pickaninnies is a derogatory term. You can’t talk like that anymore.” 

“Look, they are wrecking the place.” The kids had pulled at two stakes and were having a mock sword fight with them. The woman was moving to stop them. She had left the car and was marching towards them yelling their names. “We should call it in.” 

‘It’s ok Grandpa. Happens all the time. I just put them back in. You know like you said with GPS it’s easy.” I didn’t want to hear anymore from him  

“He knows it’s ok. If they were white kids, he wouldn’t have even said anything.” 

“White kids are better behaved. They got a father at home who keeps them in line just like I kept you in line. Those kids probably don’t.” 

“Dad. You can’t say that stuff anymore.” The woman had grabbed the stakes from the kids and was attempting to put them back into the ground. “See she’s trying to fix it.” I didn’t know what was worse Grandpa’s blatant racism or my father’s belief that you should keep your racism to yourself. How about not being a racist? 

A small white car was approaching on the construction road. It had a whip antenna and the words Security decaled on its hood. When the driver saw the kids, he turned and drove directly towards them bouncing across the field running over several of my stakes. When he stopped a cloud of dust blew past the car and covered the family. 

“Look here, someone must have called it in. He’ll get rid of them.” 

“Grandpa. He has already done more damage than the kids. He just ran over twenty stakes. I see this guy all the time and he is an idiot.” The guard got out of the car leaving the door open, cop style. He hand rested on what I knew to be a taser because he had shown it to me numerous times. The woman seemed to be cooperating grabbing each kids arm and starting to walk them to the car. Their backs to the security guy. 

We all heard the word “Halt” and watched as the guard drew the taser. He spread his legs and with both hands on the taser shouted “Halt” again. 

“They are not following his commands. They should obey him.” 

“Just kicking them out would have been good enough. They were leaving.” 

“Jesus Christ what is this asshole doing?” 

The woman turned around and said something to the guard. We didn’t hear what she said, but they did not stop and were about halfway to their car. The guard was forced to follow them walking with the taser held in both hands, arms stretched in front of him. 

“You stop that this minute.” We all turned in unison as Mom went past us, moving faster than she should, shaking her fist at the security guard. “Leave those people alone.” 

Dad moved to catch her, but she was already past. “Darling you shouldn’t get involved.” 

“No Bill. Involvement is exactly what is required now.” 

The security guard, hearing all the commotion behind him, turned to see what the cause was. He immediately tripped on a stake and fell forward the taser going off and striking the woman in the leg. The woman went down like a sack, howling in pain. 

“Bill, do something” Mom screamed, but I was already by her. Four years on the Drexel track team were not going to waste. I reached the woman and elbowed past her sons who stood over their mother crying. Yanking the taser dart out of her leg, I rolled her into the recovery position to help her breathing. I took off my shirt and folded it under her head. She was starting to come around. 

“Step away from the prisoner.” The security guard had regained his composure. “These people are going to be arrested for malicious trespass and vandalism.” 

“No, they are not.” I turned to see dad had caught up and was standing next to the guard. “Son, pack your stuff up and get the hell out of here. I’m good friends with your boss and you will be lucky to have a job come Monday morning.” 

“He ain’t going nowhere. I want the real police here and I want him arrested. He shot me.” The woman was sitting up covered in dust and her hair full of grass. Her sons helped her to her feet. “This is police brutality.” 

“You should count your blessings mam. You’re lucky you are not being charged.” Grandpa had arrived on the scene. “You people are always stirring up trouble.”   

“Dad, you know that isn’t true. Why do you say such things?” 

“They’re guilty as hell. We watched em pull the stakes up.”   

“Is someone calling the police? I want this man arrested. And you, old man you can just shut your mouth. You ain’t never walked in my shoes.” She brushed herself off. 

“I know brutality. Served in Nam. Came home to a country that hated me.” 

Mom put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Honey if you want us to, we will call the police.” 

“I will take care of that. These people are going downtown.” The guard began to walk back to his car. 

His name was Justin. I finally remembered it. He hung around the site everyday telling us he was waiting to take the police academy entrance exam. I stood up and addressed him. “I wouldn’t do that Justin. The police aren’t going to help any of us. They will make it worse for everyone, including an unlawful discharge for you.” He stopped in his tracks, his shoulders slumped. “Mam, would you accept an apology from this man. I am sure you know, more than any of us, adding the police will only escalate our situation.” 

“He can’t go around shooting people. I don’t say anything now what about when he has a real gun in his hands? My people, it’s always shoot first.” She found herself surrounded by white people, some well-meaning, some not so, but all unable to understand her experience.  

“I say call the cops. You don’t want involvement with the law then stop breaking it.” 

“Dad, please stop they pulled out two stakes for chrissakes the law man here ran over twenty stakes and accidently shot someone. Who was worse?” 

“All I’m saying is that this country was founded on laws, and we should follow those laws.” 

“Are those the same laws used to enslave my people? Even after we were freed, we still didn’t have the same rights as you. You remember that?” 

“We fixed it.” 

“If it is fixed then how did we get to this point. You all just watched while a man shot me.” 

“I’m sorry. It was my hollering at him that got him distracted. It is my fault that you were shot.” Mom moved to hug the woman who backed up and dodged the embrace. 

I felt for the woman, she had to feel isolated and embarrassed in front of her boys, who stood on either side of her each clinging to a leg. She was keeping up a brave front, but she had to be nervous about what this jury of white people was going to decide.  

Everyone stood in place motionless, all of us uncertain on what to do next. It was as if we were graveside and the preacher had finished and everybody stood and stared at the ground lost in their thoughts. After a bit the woman put her arms around her boys and turned and walked to her car. We watched her as she loaded them in the car and drove off. 

“Those boys are lucky they weren’t charged.” 

“Dad there was no reason for them to be charged. They just shouldn’t be here. Like you never had a stake pulled out.” 

“You know what Dad and Grandpa; It’s exactly like what we read about every day. Excessive force used against the defenseless and you two, not in the exact same way, condone it. When will we get to the place where we recognize it as wrong?” They both looked at me with defiant faces.  I sensed a change in how they saw me. For better or worse I wasn’t sure. 

“Come on let’s get out of here.” I put my arm around Mom and started to walk her back pointing out the features of the new park as we walked.  

“Do you think this park will help change the way people think? I mean it is going to be beautiful and open to everyone.” 

“I hope so Mom. It would be nice if it did.”