Page 91 of Unexpected Prejudice

He cleared his throat and then covered my hand with his. “Sure. Now eat your damn food.”

Levi

“Stop complaining and eat,” Babushka scolded from where she stood near the stove while stirring the pot angrily. The wooden spoon hit the metal repeatedly with each forceful stir.

I wasn’t complaining. In fact, I didn’t even say a word. I did cry, and even that, I did quietly.

Ever since Dad died a month ago, Babushka refused to talk about him. Just the mention of his name made her furious.

He’d been her only son.

“Eat,” she said in Russian. She’d never bothered to learn English.

I looked at the steaming bowl of soup placed in front of me. The deep red color of the beetroot never appealed to me, even less so when I wasn’t hungry.

Having no appetite, I pushed the bowl of borscht away. Before I knew it, Babushka’s palm forcefully landed on the back of my neck. I winched at the painful slap and swallowed my cry.

“Eat,” she repeated as she took the chair in front of me.

With unshed tears, I reached for the bowl and brought it closer.

My hand trembled the same way my bottom lip did while filling my spoon with the broth. The moment the warm liquid touched my tongue, I wanted to puke. Dad would never have forced me to eat. But Dad wasn’t here. He would never be here again.

“You’re a smart kid,” Babushka said while lighting her cigarette. “But your problem is that you’re weak. Fragile. Small. No one wants a sapless boy.”

I knew she wasn’t trying to be mean. She said those words because they were the truth. She genuinely believed I was weak, and that repulsed her. Knowing her words came from the depth of her heart only made it worse.

She blew out some smoke. “That’s why your mother left. She needed a strong man, not like my son. And you? You are the same.” She looked at me with disdain. “If you continue this way, no one will want you.” Again, she wasn’t mean but honest. She was taught to be strong and to focus on work. Emotions and hardships had no place between our walls.

I bit down on my bottom lip and focused on the borscht. My throat was sore from holding back all those tears, but I couldn’t let them out.

Be strong, Lev.

Don’t cry.

Don’t let her see she’s right.

The sound of a chair scraped along the floor, and then Babushka spoke. “Eat your food, and then come help me with the laundry.”

Only once she left the kitchen, I let my tears fall. My shame grew stronger with each tear shed, and with shame also came fear.

Fear of being rejected.

Fear of being abandoned.

Fear of being alone.

Getting a hold of myself, I cleaned my tears and wiped my nose. I reached for the soup again, and as I was finishing my meal, I reminded myself that as long as I kept my emotions to myself, I wouldn’t be alone.

“Hey there, Champ.” Chief’s voice snapped me out of my memories, and I looked up from the book I held. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been lost with my ghosts until I looked down to find that I was on the same page I’d been when he got out of the shop earlier. He was carrying in some surfboards, and when I checked the time, it showed it was closing hour.

“Let me help you.”

I put down the book and got up from my seat near the counter. Grabbing some of the surfboards he was holding, I placed them by the wall and was ready to help organize them when Chief stopped me.

“Are you okay?” His question came out of nowhere, and I looked away from his emerald eyes. They were too observant, always catching the slightest discomfort, and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like when people knew what I was thinking, and worse, what I was feeling.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” My voice came out unaffected, as always, after spending many years fine-tuning it—not only because I wanted to get rid of the shreds of my accent but to control my emotions.