The worst part didn't even happen sixty years ago. It still haunts me day and night for what happened to my poor son, Noah.
He would've been 58 years old today. He probably would have had a loving wife and beautiful children; maybe even grandchildren. He would have a well working job that would've put food on the table and clothes on his family's back. He would have a whole life of his own with his family and, he would be happy.
Everyone in the family would've loved all of his achievements. They would have celebrated every victory and expressed about every loss.
No one knew he wanted to be an astronaut when he got older. He wanted to go to space and be the first man to walk on the moon. Our family, and everyone else who shared the same skin color as us, would have been overjoyed that he would have made history as not only the first man on the moon, but the first black man on the moon.
Even if 100 years would've gone by after he would've made history, we would still talk about it as if it would've happened yesterday.
I loved my Noah. I still do love my Noah. I miss him every day. It's painful to walk past his room like nothing ever happened. To know someone lied and took my Noah.
Didn't make it better that that woman lied. After everyone hearing me say that he didn't do anything wrong, nobody believed me. Everyone was marching downtown with signs saying: Let him go! while I was trying to save my baby's life with real words.
Everyone was trying to get the police's attention but I was trying to distract attention from the press. Noah's face was everywhere you turned. I threw all the things that reminded me of what happened thirty years ago in the trash can.
The protest signs. Gone. The shirts and all the clothes. Trash. The endless pile of blankets and pillows. Garbage. The voice messages from Africa. Nonsense. None of them can bring my Noah back. None of them can change the fact that the lady lied and ultimately killed my son. Nobody can change that.
She came to my house one time. it was about forty years ago - maybe fifty, I don't keep track of the years anymore. She came to apologize for everything that had happened. I hit her in the face. I told her to never show her face in my neighborhood again. I guess she got the message because I haven't seen her in a while. Not even in the supermarket where she worked, or where she supposedly been offended.
The press asked me for my statement after it happened. I told them that she deserved it. She knew not to walk onto my property after all those years. After the trial. After they hanged my son. After all this time, you think that an apology will make everything disappear and all the pain will go away? You wouldn't even come to the funeral.
I told the officiant that I wanted Noah's casket open. I wanted everyone to see what she did to Noah. I can admit, I wanted her to feel ashamed. Almost ashamed enough to disappear from the planet? No. Just ashamed of what she did. Probably to atone to the Lord.
She went to the press a few months ago. She said that she lied about what happened with Noah. She said that nothing could justify what happened to him and she was sorry. No. She said she felt "tender sorrow" for me. I don't care what she feels. She had plenty of opportunities to come clean and sixty years later, now she wants to apologize.
I'm old now. I'm about to be 81 in the fall. I still remember the cheers of the police officers watching his execution. I remember seeing a little boy in the crowd from the article I saw - where they posted a picture of everyone in the room with Noah. He didn't look happy; he looked disgusted.
I could tell he was uncomfortable and he didn't want to be in that room with those men. He probably didn't want to see that execution and his dad brought him anyway. Every time I close my eyes I see that little boy and it brings me peace that there are nice people in the world. Even the ones that don't have the same color as my skin. There are world changers in the world.
I wanted Noah to be a world changer. Make history. But Noah did make history. Everyone around the world knows his name. They know what happened and why it happened. With this in mind, am I only at peace with the world.
This is the shortest story I've ever written and I'm so happy with how it turned out. Everyone who responded to the first part of this story, "Noah Adir", thank you so much! You have no clue how much you boosted my self-esteem. It's people like you who keep me writing stories and sharing history. I'm giving a huge shoutout to everyone who read the second part of my story, "Witnessing Adir". You all prompted me to make a part three so I did (as you can see). I think this "trilogy" turned out so amazing and I thank anyone and everyone who enjoys my stories and gives so much great feedback (A.G. Scott, I'm mainly talking about you😁)
I have nothing else to say so I'm just going to spam Thank you's everywhere until I get 1,000 words. I'm not going to individually go out and comment that I have a part 3 to everyone like I did part 2 so whenever you see this is whenever!! Bye!!
THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!