Discretion
“Girl, you makin’ shit hot,” India shouted at her little cousin Az, her gaze scorched with a teenager’s disdain. Az had just asked yet another question to the man their uncle had sent over to jailbreak the cable box. With her mama off in the kitchen grabbing the man a glass of water, Az was having a field day with her inquiries. Thankfully, India thought, the man had not entertained most of her prodding. Just a few inches shorter than India, Az was tall for eleven but slow-growing in her understanding of social cues — two facts which annoyed India to no end. Az looked older but couldn’t act like it. “Askin’ all them damn questions,” India murmured under her breath, sucking her teeth at the preteen. “Go upstairs if you don’t know how to be quiet,” she snapped, having grown progressively more annoyed with her cousin’s unrestrained curiosity.
Chilled by India’s disapproval, Az tensed up, her body running cold then warm with frustration. Looking down toward her grey New Balances, she kept her tears at bay by giving her eyes another job. Az traced the curves embroidered on her sneakers, anchoring herself in repetition. Upon building up a reserve of emotional control, she looked back up at her cousin, her eyes indignant but patient. Knowing better than to embarrass her mama by arguing in front of company, Az vowed to bite her tongue for the time being. Her memory was about as long as her legs, which is to say that she forgot nothing. India would get hers when the time came. Az couldn’t understand why her cousin was always yelling at her anyway, why she was making such a big deal about asking the man a few questions. How could questions be bad?
The man in question, Roe, was a friend of the girls’ uncle, Taylor. A few days before, Uncle Taylor had called Roe on behalf of his little sister, Az’s mother. Though the cable had been cut for nearly six months, it was not until earlier that week that she had finally given in and called her brother Taylor for help. Taylor made a point of making and keeping friends like Roe. He had a friend who did jailbreaks, another who made bootlegs, and a number of other contacts who made themselves indispensable through these sorts of specialized skillsets. A prudent and sociable man, Taylor thought it best to amass relationships that also granted him resources. Simply put, he didn’t have any friends who couldn’t help him. In maintaining these friendships, Taylor was big on reciprocity, extending himself to help others whenever possible. For this reason, though Roe lived all the way in Baltimore, he agreed to come out to Prince George’s County just to set up a cable box for Taylor’s sister.
As the girls reached a stalemate, Roe was still tucked away behind the TV. Lucky for him, he had effectively zoned out their bickering. He was used to little kids being curious about his work and adults or older kids reprimanding them in his defense. Though he didn’t actually mind talking to the children, he never said anything when the scolding began. Over the years, he’d found it best not to interfere with the lives of his clients unless explicitly requested. After all, some things could not be jailbroken.
Walking back into the living room with a glass in hand, Az’s mother placed the water on the coffee table for Roe. Looking over at her daughter and niece, she grew suspicious of the quiet that had overtaken the room. “And what happened over here?” she asked the girls. Az’s mother looked back and forth between India and Az searching for answers. Breaking the silence, India spoke first. “Nothin’, Auntie. We was just watchin’ Mr. Roe do his thing,” said India, her tone softer and sweeter than before. Az’s mother smirked. “Roe a damn tech genius,” she exclaimed. Directing her attention to Roe, Az’s mother began to reminisce. For a few minutes, she raved about all the times Roe had come through for her and Taylor “back in the day.”
“This man right here the best kept secret in the DMV,” Az’s mother proclaimed. Smiling from behind the TV, Roe laughed softly under his breath at the compliment. Were he not on the job, he might’ve pushed back on the affiliation that had just been made. Roe was from Baltimore, or “B-More” as some affectionately referred to it. And as far as he was concerned, B-More was a world of its own, something separate and distinct from the “DMV” of the greater D.C. area. Resisting the urge to rep his set, however, Roe instead took this moment of affirmation as his cue to take a break. “Thank you, thank you,” he said, getting up to take a bow and then a sip of water.
As Roe returned to his work, Az’s mother looked past her niece and over at her daughter. Az still had not responded to her initial question. What happened over here? Tapping her daughter on the shoulder, Az’s mother was determined to get a response from her child. “Azzy, what’s going on?” she asked, a hint of frustration decorating her voice. Reading her mother’s shift in energy, Az responded quickly, out of respect. “Sorry, ma. I-I’m good. I promise,” Az said while avoiding her mother’s eye contact. With a light irritation returning to her tone, India interrupted to contradict her cousin. “She upset ‘cause I told her to stop asking Mr. Roe so many questions,” said India.
Extinguishing the early flames of another heated argument, Az flatly rejected her cousin’s comment. “No,” said Az, her voice firm. “I’m just trying to answer my own questions for once,” she explained, her eyes fixed on Roe and not India. “What are y’all on about now?” Az’s mother asked, confused by the exchange between the two girls. “What questions you tryin’ to answer, baby?”
Az didn’t know where to begin in answering her mother and so, she remained silent. There were far too many things circling through her brain. If India didn’t want her asking Roe directly about his work, she’d have to answer all her questions indirectly, through observation. And so, Az watched him. Intently. Her mother, beginning to recognize her daughter’s behavior, nudged India to come help her in the kitchen with lunch. Sometimes, Az got lost in moments like these. She’d become hyper-focused on something and lose track of time and space. In the past, when Az “went away” like this, her mother would try to snap her out of it. But, by now, she’d learned to wait for her daughter’s return to reality. She always came back.
Since Az was a child, technology had captivated her in this way. Whether she was spending hours downloading music onto her MP3 player or going over her allotted computer time in elementary school, she’d obsessed over gaining access to everything. When she was seven, Az got a hold of her mother’s old Blackberry. After weeks of carrying around the SIM card-less device, Az had transformed herself into a woman with business. Suddenly, with that phone in hand, 40
Az had calls to take and meetings to schedule. “Playdates is for the birds!” she’d shout across the small hallways of their townhouse.
Like magic, a smartphone could make a child, employed only by her whims, into a woman employed by a wide set of social and corporate demands. Az relished in this transformative power of technology, for it educated her on a world that seemed so far out of reach. Accelerating her maturation in ways others did not recognize, these gadgets gave Az the tools to build her own world. In return for this education and stimulation, Az always gave her undivided attention to this magic which she could not deny.
Though she didn’t understand even half of what Roe was doing with the router behind the TV, Az desperately wanted to discover the particular magic of jailbreaking. It was one thing to create technology but another to hijack it. And the difference was life-changing. To access that which you’ve been denied is to gain the power to disorder your world. Az had so many things she wanted to undo. Somehow, Roe created this possibility with his bare hands. The TV was back on! In what seemed like a chaotic world of wires, chords, and connections, Roe had quietly and meticulously returned images, sounds, and channels to a screen that had been retired to darkness. What the cable company taketh away, he giveth back without hesitation. Magic man. Miracle worker.
Az stood transfixed by the bright TV screen and nearly cried. While she lingered in her trance, everyone else in the house managed to be quite productive. Roe began to pack up his equipment. Exiting the kitchen with plates in hand, Az’s mother and cousin had prepared lunch for everyone. The sounds of the fridge opening and closing, potato chip bags popping, and plates jumping from cabinets to countertops had all gone by without Az’s recognition. Though she had not yet eaten lunch, she declined the sandwich India attempted to give her. Az hungered for something food could not satiate. She had just decided that, if Roe’s brain was filled with an assortment of cheat codes, she would need to hack into him to get access to his magic. If she learned how to jailbreak the TV, maybe she could learn how to jailbreak anything.
Az scoured her brain for the right question to ask Roe before he left. He was packing up his things and taking the sandwich her mother had made him to-go. He had a long drive ahead of him and he wanted to get going. Interrupting Az’s brainstorming, her mother called out to her from the dining room table. “Az, baby, go get my purse,” she shouted. For all his hard work, Az’s mama wanted to make sure she paid Roe whatever little bit of money she had. As Az ran up the stairs to her mother’s room, she racked her brain for the right question to ask the magic man. While searching for her mother’s purse, Az ran through potential questions. Where did you learn how to jailbreak? How long did it take? Is it illegal? Each one, she thought, was worse than the last. Defeated, Az made her way back down the steps with her mother’s purse in hand and without a plan.
Slowly walking into the living room, Az passed her mother the purse and looked at Roe as he packed. Rummaging through her bag, Az’s mother worked to find her money in a sea of receipts, lip glosses, customer cards, and loose change. Finally, when her hand emerged from the bottomless pit, she pulled out two $50’s and a $100 dollar bill. Unable to commit to another monthly payment system, Az’s mother paid Roe with a lump sum of $200. “It’s not much,” she explained regretfully, wishing she could do more. “But, I wanted to make sure I gave you a little somethin’.” Roe took the money and shook his head. “Let’s call it the family discount,” he said, leaning in for a hug. Az’s mother stood up to hug him back and proceeded to walk Roe to the door.
“Alright y’all,” Roe yelled out to the girls before he left. As he walked out, Az’s mother moved to close the door, when her daughter suddenly appeared behind her, trying to get through. “Hey Mr. Roe!” Az shouted out the front door as the man was pulling out of the driveway. Looking in her direction, Roe stopped his truck and stuck his head out the car window so he could hear. Taking her chance, Az ran out the door to speak to him. Her puff of dark brown curls bounced in the air as she bolted toward the truck. Catching her breath, Az put her arms up on the car and blurted out the first questions she could think to ask. “Why won’t anybody let me ask you questions, Mr. Roe?” she asked. “Why can’t we talk about what you did?”
Roe’s gaze fell. He put the car in park and stopped to think. He tried to explain, as best he could, that discretion is integral to a marriage of complicities — that jailbreaking requires us to steal together. In exchange for illicit access, his clients were made to accept certain terms and conditions. To be the customer of a jailbreak is to know that you are on borrowed time. In a few months, or if you’re lucky, a year, your connection will inevitably be disconnected. Soon the channels will disappear, and the screen will go back to black once more. The cable companies always catch on. And they do not take kindly to these attempts at evasion.
As he rambled, Roe struggled to convey the stakes to Az. Unsure of how she would make sense of it all, he went on to explain the nature of his work. Though the world says we are not supposed to have TV unless we have gone through the “proper channels,” men like Roe bypass these rules to give people their lives back. To give their remotes something to control, children something to occupy their minds, and mothers the escapes they deserve.
Az listened to Roe without interrupting. When he finished speaking, the man looked at the girl to gage how well he’d answered her questions. Az’s brown eyes were bright as she processed his words. After a few seconds of silence, Az smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Roe,” she said as she turned to head back inside. Roe turned his key in the ignition and backed out the driveway once more. This time, he drove away.
After running back inside, Az sat on the floor in the living room. Looking up at the TV, she thought to herself that maybe there were such things as good secrets, that they were kinda like how Uncle Taylor would slip her a few dollars when her mama wasn’t watching. Her mother didn’t like to ask for money or help, so Uncle Taylor often aided them in secret. An accomplice in the conspiracy, Az would use the money he gave her to take care of things before her mother had to. Replace the batteries. Get more eggs. Buy a new uniform for school.
Though she suspected her mother knew about the money, Az never discussed it with her. She figured there was no harm in certain kinds of evasion, but that the exposure of small secrets could unravel her mother’s world. So, whenever Uncle Taylor’s hand found hers at a birthday party or cookout, Az would repeat the same routine. She’d hold his hand for a second, wrapping her fingers around the cash in his palm so as to conceal its green. Then, as her hand parted from his, she’d keep a tight closed fist, and wait until it was safe. Safe to transfer the bills into her pocket. Safe to release her grip.
Jordan McDonald was born in Washington D.C. and is a writer, editor, and cultural worker from the DMV. Her essays, criticism, fiction, and poetry have been published in HuffPost, Artsy, The Offing, Africa is a Country, Bitch Media, Smithsonian Voices, Hayden’s Ferry Review, Baltimore Sun, Teen Vogue, and more.