Secret
Chapter 11
-Chapter 11-
Over the next few weeks, Ryan struggled with his cutting. He did good for the most part but he did have a few relapses. In a month he had gone for a whole week without cutting. “I say we celebrate!” Ryan was ecstatic and I had never seen him so happy.
“Okay. What do you want to do?” I couldn’t keep from smiling.
“I dunno. Let’s eat!”
“Awesome!” He drove us to the pretty side of town and took us to this elaborate restaurant. Luckily, I had saved money in my debit account. I was planning on paying for everything but he didn’t know that. We parked and got out of the car.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have money for this.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Then why did you have that look on your face?”
“I dunno. We’re not necessarily… dressed accordingly.”
“Ahh… who gives?”
“Whatever you say.” We went inside and one of the wait staff gave us a dirty look.
“Forget them,” he mumbled.
“Can I take your names?” one of the people in the front asked.
“First, I want to know how long the wait will be,” Ryan stated.
“Around 30 to 45 minutes.”
“Okay. I’m Ryan Sherman and this is Jess Shaia.”
“That’s an interesting name. Where does it originate from?” He turned and looked at me.
“Umm… Syria.”
“Oh…”
Then Ryan said, “You never told me you were Syrian.”
“Guess it slipped my mind.” Truth be told, I preferred to keep that a secret because once people found that out they tended to shy away from me. Figuring I was with the Taliban or something stupid like that.
The waiter person slipped away for a moment and returned with the manager. The manager was a short, bald, fat guy. He turned to me and directly stated, “I’m sorry but we don’t serve your kind here.”
“Excuse me?” I said, shocked.
“I said, we don’t serve your kind here.”
“What do you mean by ‘our kind’?” Ryan was straining to stay calm.
“Terrorist and white American traitor’s who date them.”
“I am not a terrorist! I was born an American citizen!”
“Get out of my restaurant before I call security.” He was so unruffled that I wanted to squish the living shit out of him.
“C’mon. Let’s leave. They don’t deserve our business.” Ryan pulled me by the arm. “They’re just FUCKING IGNORANT ASSHOLES!!!”
We were outside when Ryan said, “Dammit. The day I try to have a good time at a nice place the service blows.”
“I’m sorry babe. It’s my entire fault.”
“No, it’s not. You can’t help your culture.”
“I suppose.”
“Let’s go just go to the movies or something.”
“Alright.”
For the rest of the day we didn’t say much. I guess race is a touchy subject…
Over the next few weeks, Ryan struggled with his cutting. He did good for the most part but he did have a few relapses. In a month he had gone for a whole week without cutting. “I say we celebrate!” Ryan was ecstatic and I had never seen him so happy.
“Okay. What do you want to do?” I couldn’t keep from smiling.
“I dunno. Let’s eat!”
“Awesome!” He drove us to the pretty side of town and took us to this elaborate restaurant. Luckily, I had saved money in my debit account. I was planning on paying for everything but he didn’t know that. We parked and got out of the car.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I have money for this.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Then why did you have that look on your face?”
“I dunno. We’re not necessarily… dressed accordingly.”
“Ahh… who gives?”
“Whatever you say.” We went inside and one of the wait staff gave us a dirty look.
“Forget them,” he mumbled.
“Can I take your names?” one of the people in the front asked.
“First, I want to know how long the wait will be,” Ryan stated.
“Around 30 to 45 minutes.”
“Okay. I’m Ryan Sherman and this is Jess Shaia.”
“That’s an interesting name. Where does it originate from?” He turned and looked at me.
“Umm… Syria.”
“Oh…”
Then Ryan said, “You never told me you were Syrian.”
“Guess it slipped my mind.” Truth be told, I preferred to keep that a secret because once people found that out they tended to shy away from me. Figuring I was with the Taliban or something stupid like that.
The waiter person slipped away for a moment and returned with the manager. The manager was a short, bald, fat guy. He turned to me and directly stated, “I’m sorry but we don’t serve your kind here.”
“Excuse me?” I said, shocked.
“I said, we don’t serve your kind here.”
“What do you mean by ‘our kind’?” Ryan was straining to stay calm.
“Terrorist and white American traitor’s who date them.”
“I am not a terrorist! I was born an American citizen!”
“Get out of my restaurant before I call security.” He was so unruffled that I wanted to squish the living shit out of him.
“C’mon. Let’s leave. They don’t deserve our business.” Ryan pulled me by the arm. “They’re just FUCKING IGNORANT ASSHOLES!!!”
We were outside when Ryan said, “Dammit. The day I try to have a good time at a nice place the service blows.”
“I’m sorry babe. It’s my entire fault.”
“No, it’s not. You can’t help your culture.”
“I suppose.”
“Let’s go just go to the movies or something.”
“Alright.”
For the rest of the day we didn’t say much. I guess race is a touchy subject…