Reparations

Content Warning: This fictional story has details of race play and, even scarier, politics

I was twenty-six years old when the calendar flipped over to the year 2039. Social media platforms were no longer the wild wild west; they were the mainstream culture. A shift was being felt throughout the United States as a new decade approached, and soon enough, its politics shifted to reflect that. Younger politicians saw spikes in public approval, as their youthfulness hinted at a bright future. And much to the delight of girls and progressives everywhere, the women in politics began having more and more power throughout the last decade, with no sign of that changing heading into the 2040s.

I walked under the yellow Nevada sun, its balming heat made worse by the rows of glass turning the room into a greenhouse. I liked it that way. My office in Carson City gave me a perfect view of the soft mountains in the background. And on days when working as a Nevada state senator stressed me out beyond belief, sitting and listening to the silent hills gave me comfort. In fairness, I was still getting used to the job, having only recently been elected in at a young age. It started with a degree in political sciences from Reno, and after paying my dues for only 4 years, I was on track to stay in Nevada's capital city for some time. I love politics. I hate politics. I play the game of politics. Everything from my social life to dining with other state politicians, which sometimes included Governor Sandoval, was focused on my voters and my mission.

Like usual, I wore clean, ironed navy work pants and a matching suit jacket; my dark blue colored clothes slowly becoming synonymous with my "Senator Chanler" image. I considered myself lucky to be in this position. Even though it was sort of a trend in modern day politics to have women in power and to elect younger politicians, it didn't mean it was easy getting to where I'm at today. And working for the state I was born and raised in filled me with some nationalistic pride. Even my political opponents were pleasant to work with. Governor Sandoval and his inner circle were made up of men, but still, they were popular. Despite being a different political party than me, they were one of the good ones.

It's no secret that I wanted more than being a state senator. I wanted to work my way up. Put in my time and make it to Congress. Maybe come back home and run for governor. And then maybe, become only the second female president is the history of the United States. That was still a long way away, and right now, I was stuck sitting at my wooden desk, staring out at the unmoving Nevada peaks. I looked down at my watch. 11:34, the green digital face read. My lunch meeting at 12:30 with the Lieutenant Governor put me in an awkward gap of time. Not enough time to do anything else, but too early to leave. During these breaks, I often look out of the window and think of my dream. My goal. In a perfect world, the law I would put into place. Not a statewide one, but a national one.

Reparations; plain and simple. Other states already had reparation laws in effect, but not all of them. And in my eyes, not the ones that mattered. Washington and Oregon were the first states to implement their statewide reparation laws. A great start for me and my supporters, but not nearly enough for us to feel satisfied. California followed suit, and that was a massive win. The most populous state in the nation was sure to be a big sign for positive change, and it was. All the New England states followed suit soon after, along with New York.

Still our supporters were not fully satisfied yet; and they weren't alone. The states that needed to give out reparations; Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, the Carolinas, Indiana; had still not added a reparations law to their books. And the laws between each of the states were different. A single, nationwide, standard reparation law is what I fight for. It's what my supporters fight for. It's what 40% of Congress fights for, and just over 55% of US citizens wanted. Still, in 2039, the United States was not ruled by the majority.

I had lost track of time, and shook my head, waking up from my daydream. Just over a year ago, I could (and did) spend all my time thinking about it. Now, as an elected legislator, I was expected to do more than think about it. I have to do something, and there's nothing more I want to do than see my dream come to fruition. 12:06; plenty of time for me to leave and reach the restaurant.

I strutted down the hallway, out into the midday sun, and around the corner. Other politicians liked appearing fancy; going to steakhouses or fancy sushi markets were a common place for me to have meetings. Lieutenant Governor Maxwell was not like other politicians. Instead of any formal dining place, his preferred lunch spot was Ned and Bart's Classic Diner, a standard roadside American diner. Eating at a place like this was perfect for Maxwell, and more importantly, helped further his down to earth, "fighting for the common man" public image.

I entered the old school diner and was immediately hit by the smell of eggs and stale coffee; a smell I found comforting. And as soon as I stepped onto the polished checkerboard tiles, I was (nearly) hit by something else. Herb, the waiter, dressed as dapper as ever in his clean white shirt and black bowtie. The older diner never required such a fancy uniform, but Herb was old fashioned, as was evident by his gray stubble beard and even grayer curled hair. Normally, gray hair wasn't a particularly flattering sign of growing old; but thanks to his dark skin, his aging hair color looked graceful. It didn't hurt that I found black skin ridiculously attractive anyway. And Herb knew it; we've formed a sort-of... friendship over the years as my trips to Ned and Bart's grew more and more frequent. He looked up at me and smirked a toothy grin. I responded with a silent smile of my own and nodded my head down in acknowledgment.

"Tattoo's looking nice today," Herb said, softly gesturing to her right arm. Just below my shoulder, high up on the side of my left arm, was the only tattoo I had. A spade shape, like the one you would see on a deck of cards, and almost entirely black. The sole disruption of the inky hue was the letter Q, perfectly centered on the tattoo. There, no ink was tattooed into me, allowing for my natural skin color to shine and make the capital letter stand out. The telltale sign of a 'Queen of Spades'.

"Thanks, Herb," I responded with a smile, forever proud of the mark. Herb smiled another toothy grin and motioned me to a booth in the corner, next to a black trimmed window. I walked across the diner, passing around a waitress in a white shirt and apron. I unceremoniously plopped myself down on the worn-out booth. The waitress promptly started across to me.

"Hi there! Welcome to Ned and Bart's. You expecting anyone else?" Despite myself, I couldn't help but feel a smile spread across my face, listening to her bubbly voice. As I looked up to face her, I was met by an Asian woman. I guessed most likely Thai from her facial structure. The waitress was certainly younger than me, but not strikingly so. I'm fond of my own auburn hair and rounder face, but I had to admit the younger Asian's black hair, with streaks of red, and slimmer face structure were pretty.

After a bit too long of a pause, I spoke. "Sorry...yes, I am. Uh... Three others." The waitress smiled politely. I figured she was used to being stared at, and I felt a pang of guilt hitting me.

"Sure! Any coffee while you wait?" I simply nodded. I leaned back into the old cushions, expecting to think to myself for a bit, but the waitress hadn't stepped away for more than 10 seconds when I heard the sound of a metal bell hitting the door.

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The Lieutenant Governor didn't have Governor Sandoval with him, but that didn't mean he traveled alone. Lieutenant Governor Maxwell never traveled alone. He was an overweight man and didn't seem to care too much about slimming down. His towering height and full beard gave him an intimidating aura, but his soft green eyes and small wire glasses offset that look and made him seem soft. Having spent a few diner lunch meetings with him and his posse, I can confirm; Maxwell was a soft teddy bear. A gentle giant.

This time, two men followed meekly behind him. To his left was a young man, a year younger than me, Karl. Not nearly as tall and not nearly as rotund, but still tall and rotund in his own way. His skin was tanner than the other two men and it looked like he was trying (and failing) to grow out a goatee around his thick lips. I had only met Karl once, but I knew he was Maxwell's secretary and, from the office water cooler talk, he was apparently vying for a higher position himself. The third man was someone I never met. He was old, much older than either Karl or Maxwell. And...that's all the description I could make out. Equally as tall as Karl, with a gut bigger than his but not nearly as big as the Lieutenant Governor.

I rose out of my seat to greet them politely. I shook Maxwell's hand first, and although his hand dwarfed mine, I held the stronger grip. I turned to Karl, wearing a suit jacket in navy color, matching mine. Then, I turned to the old man.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir. I'm Senator Kayleigh Chanler." I stuck my hand out, awaiting a handshake back. The old man looked slightly underdressed next to my formal wear and his two friends' suits. A solid black polo shirt tucked messily into khakis. He did, eventually, reach his hand out, but didn't say anything in response. The only thing I could tell about him at all was that he smoked. Not marijuana, but cigarettes. 𝘞𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥, I thought to myself. Cigarettes were all but gone from the United States. Cigars still existed for formal use, and marijuana was more popular than ever, having just been legalized across the nation less than a decade ago, but cigarettes? I haven't smelled them in quite some time.

Maxwell guffawed at the old man and slapped him on the back. "This here is Mr. Crew, my advisor. Afraid he doesn't talk much, but that's alright." On the outside, I smiled politely and thanked him for coming. Suffice to say, I wasn't feeling all too polite on the inside. So, as is my luck, when the four of us turned to sit at the booth, Maxwell and Karl sat on one side, leaving me to sit with my new friend.

"So, Senator Chanler, let's get down to brass tacks," the Lieutenant Governor started. I noticed the waitress coming towards the table and I paused, letting her deliver my coffee to me. I thanked her. She, in turn, asked the other men if they wanted anything. The others ordered their lunch, but I was plenty content with my drink, and after dumping an inordinate amount of cream into my mug, my lunch was ready to go.

"Yes," I said, starting the conversation back up. "Karl didn't tell me what the nature of our meeting was, so I've been sitting here in suspense wondering what it is you'd like my help with." I glared at his secretary and half smiled. I wasn't angered at him, but it was a little annoying not having any idea on what we were discussing.

"Oh, don't you worry about him. I wanted to save the big reveal for when we were in person!" The big man bellowed. I looked besides me to see how Mr. Crew was reacting, but he wasn't even listening to us. He was too focused on staring at our waitress, probably wishing he could see under her apron. Fucking creep.

"So anyway," Maxwell spoke, drawing my attention back across the table. "The 2040 elections are just barely a year away, so these kinds of meetings will be a lot more frequent. And we've got a big decision coming up in this state. And I don't mean for the President!" I immediately knew what he was getting at. Governor Sandoval was voted into office in 2038. He wasn't up for re-election for another two years. And if it wasn't the vote for President of the US that Maxwell was getting at, there was only one other thing he could be referring to about next year's ballot. And I knew instantly why he wanted to chat with me about it, rather than any of the other legislators.

"Oh yes, a big one indeed." I coyly played along. "The question of reparations across Nevada will be at play." Maxwell smiled wide, but unlike Herb, showed no teeth.

"Right you are! And who better to talk to than State Senator Chanler, the voice of the pro-reparations people across Nevada!" I didn't understand. What was he trying to get at? Both he and the Governor were known opponents of reparations. Luckily, I was never one to beat around the bush.

"I thought we were getting down to 'brass tacks', Mr. Maxwell," I smirked at him. Karl stared at me, wide eyed. He'd kept his mouth shut the entire time and was looking like he was finally about to speak before he was silenced by our waitress.

"Here y'all are. Can I get you anything else?" Her voice was still sweet and kind, but I could hint a bit of hurry in her voice. I don't blame her. Mr. Crew hadn't been able to lift his eyes off her body the whole time. If I knew him better, I'd have no problem getting onto him for objectifying her. Our silence spoke for us, and in an instant, she turned on her heels and briskly walked into the kitchen.

Not for the first time, our silence was interrupted by Maxwell's loud laughter. "Sorry, old man, but she ain't available to you."

Mr. Crew looked up at him. "What do you know? You don't know her." For the first time, I heard his voice. It was a weird mix of deep and dark, while also being quiet. Like rolling thunder from a mile away. Maxwell didn't speak in response. He just lifted a thick finger and pointed at the waitress's ankle. I saw it. Mr. Crew saw it. It was the same symbol that was on my left arm. The Queen of Spades tattoo. I hadn't noticed it before, but it was there, clearly symbolizing the same thing that my own tattoo did, Black Men Only.

Mr. Crew sighed and turned to face his biscuits and gravy. "Damn," he muttered. "All the hot women are damned Queens nowadays." Despite myself, I smiled at his failed attempt.

"So, Senator, speaking of Queens, it's time we started working together."

"Well, I-" I didn't finish my thought. Maxwell's hand raised in front of his face, telling me to be quiet. Normally, I would never tolerate that from someone in the workplace, but Maxwell never did something like that. Say what you will about him (and I do), but he's respectful. Something serious must be in his mind.

"I apologize, Ms. Chanler, but I want to get my idea out to you first. No inputs or interruptions. That way there's no confusion. Then, you can respond, and I'll stay quiet. No inputs or interruptions. Is that alright with you?" I wanted to say no, but the Lieutenant Governor's always been kind to me, and if he'll give me my time to speak without interruptions, I could do that for him too. I nodded, and his face relaxed. "Thank you. Now, this might be a lot to take in, but this is an idea coming straight from Governor Sandoval himself." My ears perked up, but I stayed silent.

Then, LG Maxwell began his spiel. "As you know, our party is opposed to the reparations. We have our reasons, as you know, in the same way you have your reasons for supporting them. If we're being honest, at the rate this is going, Nevada will have statewide reparations in a year's time once the electron results are pouring in. Results from political surveys show a pretty sizable lead for the 'yes' vote on reparations statewide. Naturally, Mr. Crew here and I would like to see those results changed. That's where you come in, Senator. You'll be our ringer. It's not a secret to anyone that you've gained a ton of popularity; an unheard of level for someone in your position. Sure, your high approval was initially due to your attractiveness..." Thanks, I guess "...but it's grown even more thanks to your passion for politics and for the people of Nevada. Plus, everyone loves female empowerment! So, to put it bluntly, Governor Sandoval, myself, and Karl here want to recruit you. You're both very popular and a proud, public Queen of Spades. And that's exactly the kicker we need. We need someone like you to announce, publicly, that you do not support reparations across Nevada." As he finished his talk, he leaned back, proud of himself. "What do you think?"

He had to be joking. There was no other option. "What do I think?? I... I genuinely can't tell if you're joking!" I tried to keep my voice down, while also trying to convey my emotions. "You know what I stand for. Everyone knows what I stand for. Even if I was to go along with this, for some God forsaken reason, don't you think that would cause people to raise their eyebrows? Cause even a scintilla of suspicion?"

"Not if you base your reasoning off of the other states that have already voted in-" Now, it was my turn to raise a hand and stop him from speaking. My smaller hand with blue nail polish wasn't as imposing, but it did its job.

"You had your chance to speak. This is mine. No inputs, no interruptions, remember?" I was getting a little more worked up than I was initially anticipating. I glanced over at Karl. His plate was completely cleaned of food as he started back and forth between his boss and me.

I shook my head in disbelief and continued. "To start, no. I won't be doing that. I don't want to do that. My supporters don't want me to do that. Hell, the people of Nevada don't want that! And you want me to bring up the other states?? Do you know the polling numbers in California? Across New England? There's OVERWHELMING support for the reparation laws after they were put into effect." I was on a roll, and lucky that the diner was mostly sparse. I'm passionate about politics in general, but about reparations? My number one main platform I fought for. I knew my shit.

"Unless you and Sandoval have forgotten, this is what I spend my time fighting for. Talking to supporters about. Hell, I helped draft up some local legislation in Clark County, and that's not even my district!" I dug my hands into my right pocket, and pulled out my phone, quickly opening my notes page I had typed out on. I read off the numbers. "In Oregon and Washington, 65% of all citizens supported reparation laws. 52% of white state citizens believed that even stricter laws could be helpful. In California, 83% of white women supported reparation laws. Do you know how hard it is to get 83% of ANY group to agree on ANYTHING? And you want me to 'base my reasoning' off other states, as if they don't show OVERWHELMING evidence that reparations are loved across the board?"

I ended my diatribe by dropping my phone on the table, causing the forks to shutter and clank into each other. I leaned back in the booth, careful to not touch Mr. Crew to my right, and took a breath. Maxwell's eyes were as soft as ever, his grin as big as ever, but he wasn't happy.

"I understand Ms. Chanler. I told Governor Sandoval it was a long shot."

"Look," I started back up, trying to mend the bridge and show that I wasn't angry with Maxwell. Well. I mean, I was angry with him. But at the end of the day, he was just taking orders from the Governor. That's where my anger is placed. "...I know we have our disagreements when it comes to this. But this is the stance I believe in the most. And the facts are the facts. In states where this law has gone into effect, wealth distribution has begun to equal out. Poverty has decreased. Not to mention all the intangible societal changes that have come from this law have been overwhelmingly positive. Even white men, who seemingly have nothing to gain under these laws, still show support for it by nearly 55% across these states."

"I know. I know the facts, Ms. Chanler. But you know the game of politics as well as I do. I'm grateful those states are happy with their decision, but Nevada is a different state than those up north, or even California. Those with power in this state, those down in Clark County, don't show as much support as the common, everyday man does across this state." I hated that he was right, but it didn't change the fact that he was, indeed, right. The wealthy in the state of Nevada was the only demographic that opposed reparations, but of course, they mattered disproportionately.