The White Van

I have not been sleeping well. Besides the loss of my fedora months ago, I was unable to cope with the reality of some of those in my community disappearing. Where were they?

I checked up with my friend, Wayne, across town, but he was not there. I went by the bakery I always shop at, but the baker I’ve known since my childhood — he also wasn’t there. And I didn’t know how.

What is going on? Why is everyone disappearing? Across this town, it feels empty with the lack of people here. Why? Where is everyone? Why…

Two months later…

A new dictatorship took place a couple months back. My town, an hour’s drive from the capital, was in the dictator’s grasp. Finally he was consolidating his control, that dirty man, but I had to hide that attitude! I mustn’t let anyone know what I thought…

At this point, my coworkers were starting to disappear. And my panic slowly began to intensify.

My female coworker was taken aside by some strange men in black, and I hadn’t thought much of it. Then I heard she was taken away a couple of days later for violating social norms. And I didn’t speak out then.

My Jewish coworker was next; he went outside for a break and walked across the garden, but he never returned. We never knew why he was taken away. But I didn’t speak out then.

My disabled coworker would soon vanish; nobody cared for him, even I. We just saw him outside with his wheelchair, with the white van on the curb. And then both the man in the wheelchair and the white van were gone a moment later. But I didn’t speak out then.

My apathy had now been realized. My panic had burst, and I had a panic attack at work. How could this be? Why did I not do anything for these innocent men and women taken away? Why am I a pathetic coward?

Unfortunately, my thoughts were said out loud, and all in the workplace had heard me. As soon as I walked home, a group of men in suits came out of a white van and told me to enter said van. I tried to resist, but they shoved me in. Soon, I would be in a place that would chip away at my life decades of progress. I’ve built up my life up until this point, but I wouldn’t see my family for quite a while. And, as always, nobody spoke out – this time, for me.

Recovery

After a brief stint in a re-education camp, I had no way of getting money. No way to support my family. No way to help recover from the trauma of seeing my friends, my family, all gone; no way to help recover from the psychological damage I had from the camp.

It was a crisp autumn morning. The sun was shining, though the air was cool and the gentle winds passed me by as I walked around. With a new, albeit significantly more benevolent, dictator in charge, it would take me quite a while to repossess what I had lost.

But this is it, I thought as I walked back into the gray marble building. This is what I’m going to do for the rest of my working life. And with the struggles that had been endured, I knew that there was going to  be light at the end of the tunnel. In spite of what I had gone through, in spite of my property being seized, I was going to be strong. I had to be, or else I wasn’t going to survive.

And as I smelled the crisp air, I felt that for the first time ever, I would be free from what previously fraught me. The fedora being gone; the 2.0 GPA in high school; the lack of a supporting community. Because I persevere even if this community doesn’t care, because I don’t need school, and because I don’t need to worry so much about my appearance anymore.

As I was working, I saw a fedora on top of the lost and found shelf as I walked by the printer. I recognized this one, I thought. I asked the receptionist, “say, how long ago was it when this was lost?”

The receptionist said “well, it’s been here since a year ago. To tell you the truth, some of us are thinking of taking it for ourselves or auctioning it off since it’s been so long and yet nobody seems to have lost this. I guess the owner, losing it in the night, doesn’t care about it anyways. Doesn’t seem like it’s worth anything anyways.”

I didn’t think her comments about the fedora were warranted, but regardless, I saw that the black fedora had the right dents, the blood-like colored feather that had made me unique from so many others. I yelled, “I found it!” happy to see my most valuable possession back. This fedora that I lost in the wind, all those nights ago. This fedora, which had earned me many favors and compliments. This fedora was now in my possession again, and I was going to protect this at all costs.

And as I sat at my desk, I saw some of my friends from before the internment; those who had my back from the beginning and whose backs I had as well.

“Hey guys!” I exclaimed.

“Oh hello! How’ve you been? We haven’t seen you in a while” one of them responded.

“Well, not doing too great recently, but I’m getting myself back together again. Say, after this, y’all wanna go down to the dealership across town, see some cars?”

They all replied enthusiastically, “heck yeah!” As I reflected on the day, I realized that I had a job again. My fedora was back again. But more importantly, I had friends again. Dependable and reliable ones, who stuck out their kind hands when I was alone and isolated, and who I gave my money to when they were in debt. My friends, who never forgot about me, would be unforgettable and noble in my heart.