This is a story that illustrates that sometimes there is more anxiety in waiting for something bad to happen than the actual event. I’m concerned with grammar, and the dialog between the people.
I am so scared. My heart is about to burst out of my chest, my legs are numb and make it difficult to walk.
If this keeps up, I’m going to flunk the fifth grade.
I always think this is the worst part; the walk home, the last few minutes before he beats me. Once the beating starts I remember that is the worst part. The strange thing is once I’m getting beaten I don’t feel this discomfort anymore, I don’t think about anything. All I do is feel the pain of the blows and hope it will stop soon.
Man, this time will be bad. I got four D’s and two F’s. Even my friends told me to get my shit together..that was so embarrassing. They must think I’m stupid, and my teacher seems to have given up.
I wish I could tell them I’m not stupid, or mediocre. It’s just that I can’t even do homework because my dad will snap at the smallest thing. I’ll get a slap out of nowhere because I’m not sitting up straight, because I’m daydreaming, or because I left a smudge on the paper when I used the eraser.
I wish I could go back to live with my mom. I really thought she was bluffing when she told me she would send me to live with my dad if I didn’t behave.
God, I’m sorry I only pray when I need something. If you help me this time I will for sure believe you exist.
Sometimes I think it would be nice to have a girl like me, or have the new Robocop toys that just came out. But at moments like this I only wish I could hide in a hole for the rest of my life. I don’t care if I never fall in love, or see my friends again.
I wish I could be that half eaten French fry on the ground, or that cigarette butt… they might not be alive, or ever fall in love…but at least they don’t have to face my dad in less than fifteen minutes.
He was smart, this time he took a day off because he knew today I was getting my report card and he wanted to be there before my step mom gets off work so there is none to stop him.
God, I know much better kids than I am are suffering a lot more for a lot less, but I really wish you could send someone to help me.
I have to ring this hellish doorbell, he knows I should have been home five minutes ago; taking longer will only make the beating worse, but ringing this bell will be music to his ears and he will know I’m here.
He will know I am so scared I’m about to throw up, faint and pee myself and I know he enjoys knowing that just as much as he likes beating me and my sister.
Well, now he knows I’m here… the maid is still here?…”Martha! I though you would be gone by now!”
“No, I stayed a few minutes longer… did you get your report card?”
“Yes, right here.”
“Is it good?”
“Awful…”
(she gasped covering her mouth with sadness and concern in her eyes)
“Oh no Michael!”
“Is he here?”
“Yes, he’s upstairs in his office… don’t go. Wait for your mom to get home.”
“I can’t, he didn’t go to work on purpose so I could show him my report card when we were alone so none would get in the way. I have to go, he knows I’m here and I can’t keep him waiting or it will be worse.”
“I will listen form outside and knock on the door if he hits you.”
“No, that will only make him angry and he will yell at you. Don’t go upstairs until he comes down.”
“Ok, I’m sorry you have to go. You have to know that this is not ok, not all fathers are this way. He shouldn’t beat you because you have bad grades. He should help you get good grades, parents are supposed to help their kids, not hurt them.”
If I knock on this door there is no turning back.
Wow… I’m so afraid my vision is blurry, I have lump in throat, I want to cry and throw up at the same time but in less than three minutes it will all go away and I will only feel the blows and hold my breath until it’s over.
Knock. Knock..
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,…Michael.”
“Come in… close the door.”
“Do you have your report card?”
(I showed it to him because I was too scared to talk)
“Did I fucking ask you to show it to me? I asked you if you had it!”
“Yes, I have it… I have it right here.”
“Give to me.”
“So let me get this straight. I send you to the best school, spend all that money, give you a nice house to live in… I buy you things kids in this country would love to have and this is how you thank me!”
“I’m sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry, we are going to make sure this is the last time you bring home a report card like this.”
Oh man… a minute ago, I was outside that door… and now I’m going to take one of the worst beatings I have ever taken.
I wish I could go back a minute to the moment I stood behind that door, and I wish that moment would last an eternity. Here it comes…
Ok that hurt, but not much because he punched me on the shoulder… he has never started a beating with a punch before so this is a bad sign…
(ten minutes later)
“Michael… are you ok?”
(Sobbing I nodded my head)
“What happened?”
“He got up from his desk and punched me in the arm so hard he sent my flying to the chair in the corner, but that didn’t hurt too much. Then he stood above me and started slapping me. I was trying to cover my face but I couldn’t because he slapped my hands out of the way. I tried to get away without thinking and that only made him angrier and more violent. I hated myself for doing that, but it was a reflex I couldn’t control. After that it’s all a blur. I went from the chair to the floor, to the desk, to the wall, to the floor again, the window and then he grabbed me by the neck, took me to the bathroom, washed the blood off my face, grabbed me by the neck again, brought me to my room, made me sit at the desk and slapped me in the back of the head so hard that I slammed my face on the desk. Then he got my math book from my back pack and told me to have all the exercises on the last ten chapters done by the time he gets back, and then he hit me in the back of the head three more times before he left.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Are you in pain now?”
“Not too much, I just feel my heart beat in the back of my head, and my nose is still bleeding a little.”
(She gave me a hug and said)
“I’ll get you some water.”
“Thank you.”
I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to live like this anymore.
I am tired of being afraid. I know I can’t kill myself but if this is going to be my life I hope
someday I get the courage to do it. That would stop him from doing this to me again and above
all, it would stop him from doing this to my sister.
