The room became really quiet, which I had never experienced before. The silence in the room was something that I had never felt before. It was like there was no one in the room. The room was silent.
My school books were all over the floor. I saw my notebooks and pencil box and a half-eaten biscuit packet. Then I saw something that did not belong there. In the middle of all my school stuff was a big bundle of cash. The cash was really thick. It looked very out of place. My school books and the cash were a combination. The cash was the thing that caught my attention the most. My school books were the cash; something was different. The bundle of cash was just lying there with my notebooks and pencil box and the biscuit packet.
For a second nobody moved.
My mother looked at the thing like it was something that could hurt us. My father stared at me with a look on his face. My mother thought the thing was news. My father just kept staring at me.
Not angry at first. Just… searching my face.
The man asked this question in a voice. He wanted to know where this thing came from. The man was really curious about this. He asked the question quietly.
The quiet voice really scared me. It scared me like someone had been shouting at me. The quiet voice was very frightening.
I had pictured this moment in my head a lot. I figured they would be really surprised and maybe even feel a little better. I thought that money would make things okay, not make a mess. As I stood there and saw their faces, I realized something that had not occurred to me before.
Money is really interesting when it has a history. When money does not have a story behind it, that is when people start to ask a lot of questions about the money. What I mean is that money brings up questions when the money does not have a story.
"I told you," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I found the thing, the one I was talking about. I found it.
My mother asked me where I found it.
"Near the market."
"On the road?"
"Yes."
My father did not look convinced. He picked up the bundle. Turned it around in his hands. He pressed the bundle with his thumb like he was checking to see if the bundle was real. Then my father looked at me again.
He wanted to know how much money the person had found. "How much did you find?" he asked. The person was supposed to tell him how much money they had discovered.
I did not answer.
I did not know that was the reason. The thing is, I just did not have that information. I did not know.
There was still a whole stack hidden inside the bag.
I think he saw something in my eyes that caught his attention because his face changed all of a sudden. The gentle look on his face was gone. His jaw got really tight.
The man told him to bring the bag. He wanted the bag to be brought to him. The bag was really important to him, so he said, "Bring the bag."
My heart was beating loud. I thought for sure they could hear my heart beating. It was beating so loudly that I was worried they would know how nervous I was. My heart was beating loud. It would not slow down.
I told them that I already emptied it.
He said, "Bring it."
I gave it to him. My hands were shaking. He opened every zip on the thing. He checked every pocket too. Then something else came out of this compartment inside that I had pretty much forgotten was even there. Another bundle of stuff just slid out of the inner compartment of the thing.
My mother put her hand over her mouth.
My father did not shout. That was really worse.
The man sat down slowly on the sofa. He had the money in his hands. The money was all he could think about. He looked at the floor for a long time, the money still in his hands, and he did not say a word. The man just kept looking at the floor, thinking about the money.
He looked at me. Said, "Tell me the truth." He then added, "Now."
I wanted to tell a lie. I really wanted to tell a lie... There was something about the way he was sitting there that got to me. He looked smaller than I had ever seen him before. This made it hard for me to say the words. The words got stuck in my throat when I looked at him.
I told them that I helped someone.
"My mother looked at me. Said, 'Helped how?' with a voice that was shaking really badly. She really wanted to know how I was helped."
I swallowed. He gave me a bag. Told me to keep the bag safe. Then he gave me this thing.
"What was in the bag?"
I did not answer.
My father looked up slowly. He said, "Drugs?"
I looked down at the ground. The ground was there, in front of me. I was. I looked down.
That was enough.
My mother sat down beside him like her legs were not strong enough to hold her up. She did not cry. She just looked really tired. My mother looked more tired than I had ever seen my mother before.
My father got up fast, and then he threw the money down on the table. The money was just lying there on the table after my father threw it. My father and the money on the table are what I am thinking about now. The table had the money on it that my father threw.
He was really mad. He shouted at the person. Do you know what you have done? That is what he wanted to know. The person should know what they have done. He shouted this question at them.
I flinched. This was the first time in a long time that I saw real fire in his eyes. The fire in his eyes was something I had not seen for months.
What kind of people are you dealing with? What happens to boys who get caught up in these things? You have to think about the people you are involved with. These things can be really bad for boys who get caught.
I said it loud. I did it for our family. We do not have a lot of money. You have to ask our uncle for everything. My mom works during the day. I just wanted to help our family.
The words came out all messy and loud. I felt like my chest was really tight. My eyes were burning much. The words were still echoing in my head they were really messy and loud. My eyes were burning from all the tears I was holding back.
I did not take something that was not mine. I just held onto a bag. That is all I did with the bag. I want to make it clear that I did not steal the bag. I simply kept the bag.
My father looked at me like he had no idea who I was. He just kept staring at me. My father had this look on his head—a look on his face, like my father was seeing me for the very first time.
"That is how it starts," he said quietly. Nobody becomes a criminal overnight. First you just keep a bag for someone. Then you just deliver something to somebody. Then one day you do not even remember when you became a criminal, when the criminal activities of the criminal started to feel normal to you, or when you crossed the line into being a criminal.
The things he says hurt more than when he gets really mad. His words have a lot of power. They can be very hurtful. When he is angry, that is bad. His words are even worse. The words he chooses to say can hit you harder than his anger ever could.
My mother finally said something. "What if the police had caught you?" she said in a quiet voice. "What would we have done then? What would have happened to your life?"
I did not have an answer.