He laughs so hard I want to strangle him where he stands.
"Ha! You think you get into college with this?" He laughs like a bipolar person. One second he's hysterical, and the next he's angry. Before I can protest, he's hit me over the head. "You don't get into college, we don't let you in house. Understand?"
For the umpteenth time, I nod and almost instinctively reach for my essay. Maternal instincts, I suppose. But he turns around, and begins to inspect it with cruel, malice-filled eyes.
"What this?" He asks. I know it's a simple question, but it is strange how only two words can become daggers. "This paragraph is only one sentence."
I wince. I don't know why I even bothered letting him read it. Probably because he would've kept nagging me if I didn't.
"I am just expressing how it is important." I say, looking at him in the eye.
He nods, as if he actually understood what I said. Then immediately he says, "It's wrong. Get rid of it."
And I am affronted. Wrong? How can writing be wrong?
I shake my head, and ask, "How can this possibly be wrong? It's just one sentence—"
"Paragraph can't be one sentence." He snarls. "You want to go to college with this essay? Ha! Try COD. You want to go to COD because you so stupid? Stupid boy. Listen to me." He whacks me over the head. "If you don't get into college, you live on streets. Understand?"
I want to protest. But what can I say? He won't get it no matter what I say.
So I just promise that I'll change it, just to get my mangled essay back. It's injured, half torn up, as if ripped apart by raging wolves, which is actually an accurate diagnosis of how it was treated.
He still grips onto it, eyes narrowing. I know he doesn't trust me.
"Put up on computer now." he orders. "I watch you change."
"You don't have to—"
Whack. "Stupid boy. Who know better in english, me or you? Admission officer closer to me."
"Look, dad, I don't need that much help—"
"Yes you do! You think any college accept you with this? I wouldn't even use this as a grocery bag!" he glares at me. "It's bad! Everything bad! To think I would let you send this to colleges." he snorts in derision. "Stupidness must be a sickness because I'm catching it from you."
Glancing up, he grins wickedly. He sees my facial expression. He knows I want to say something; he also knows I don't have the guts to say it. "Don't you see, this essay is bad!" He stabs at it with his middle finger. "Here." stab. "and here." stab. "and here!"
"I just wanted to—"
I feel the burn in my face before the sound reaches my ears. My head is twisted around, and I stumble backwards. Something salty fills my mouth. My ears are ringing, and my head feels like I've been rattled.
But when my ears clear up, I hear a sound that fills me with boiling water.
It is the sound of his laughter.
Before I know what I'm doing, I've gotten up. I wrench my college essay from his hands and before his eyes, I rip it to shreds and dump it on the ground. Then I storm outside, slamming the door shut behind me.
I don't want him to hurt me anymore. I don't want that pain. Why do they always have to be better than me? Why are they always the superior ones?
Why do they always have to be right and I always to be wrong?
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