REGRET

The boy’s father gripped his son’s shoulder. “They can’t wait much longer. They may already be gone.”

The boy wanted to ask his father to stop them. To tell Uncle Albin that Adunya would not be better off in Ethiopia. He wanted to tell his father that Adunya was the best friend he ever had. And that if he went back to Africa, they may never see him again. He wanted kick the wall. He wanted to cry. Instead, without looking up, he handed his father the rabbit’s foot he had cut and dried.

“You should be the one to give him this.”
The boy did not answer. He stared down at his fingers.

“You'll regret it. Maybe for the rest of your life.”

The boy finally looked up, his eyes glossy with the tears he fought. “Can you give it to him, Dad? I want you to give it to him.”

His father knelt to one knee to look his son in the eye. “If you want Adunya to have this. If you want him to know how you feel. To know that you value his friendship, then it has to come from you.”

“I can’t.” The boy did not remember ever saying that before and it burned his belly. He turned away, no longer able to look at his father, knowing the old man's eyes would be filled with disappointment.

The boy stared at the floor, his fingers, the wall, anything but his father. He only looked up after his father had left the room. He heard the front door close. He heard Jon Jon ask why he wasn't coming, he heard the truck doors slam. When the engine turned over, he hurried to his window. He saw his father stare at the front door before shifting into drive and pulling away.

He closed his eyes and saw an image of Adunya's face.

“No,” he said and sprinted out his room, for the front door. He jumped off the porch waving his hands, yelling. “Wait! Wait!”

He stared at the settling dust cloud and he wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. Then he ran.