Fear Unspoken

I arrived home from an arduous day at school. After completing the homework assigned for that particular night, I finally summoned the audacity to go up and tell my father the grade I received on my recent exam. I languidly approached the door to his bedroom. I hesitated to turn the doorknob, but timorously, I entered and found him heavy with sleep, so I decided to show him some other time. As I advanced to the door, the old wooden floor creaked, and he awoke. He asked me what I wanted: if it was money, because I was instantaneously made the scapegoat of all his problems, or to just purposely disturb him from his heavy slumber so as to remind him of what type of a disgraceful daughter I was to him. I told him it was nothing, and that was when he really became angered with me. He said previously that I must always have a purpose to disturb him from his sleep. He got up from bed, grabbed my shoulder and forcefully sat me down in a chair nearby. He saw the folded paper that I was clinging on to, and he seized it from me. He saw the 99 on it, in bold, red ink, and paused. He asked me if I was stupid. He asked me if I was so intellectual as I claimed myself to be, why then couldn't I have gotten the extra point. He said with grades like these, I would never advance to college. He said that if I didn't acquire a scholarship, I wouldn't go to college. He yelled and he yelled, and at one point I thought he would never stop. It seemed like a perpetual cycle of name-calling on his part. I couldn't stand the fact that he would consistently bellow, THINKING he was right. So, in tranquil speech, I reminded him that the only thing he excelled at in highschool was math. He towered over me, lifted his left hand and slapped me on my right cheek. I was so used to ignoring the pain, I didn't care. As he commanded me to leave his bedroom, he crumpled my test paper with a puckered countenance, aimed for my head but missed. I exitted the room feeling ashamed at myself..I didn't thik i was THAT stupid. Everytime my father did that, it made me wonder how it would feel like to be referred to as "daddy's little girl" instead of just his "wife's daughter." I went upstairs to my aunt's house to use her computer room to conduct more research on my project of three years. My uncle opened the door. The door creaked. The sound of the door was deafening. He stepped inside, informed me that it was only him and that there was no need to be alarmed. But, his nonchalant words provided no impregnated security. He sluggishly approached nearer to me. My heart pounded with impending dread along with each step. I was eager for his favorite past time to come to an abrupt end. Then, he carressed my face as I desperately cried out, "Tito, no.." I went downstairs, debased and deprived of bliss. I took a razor and started cutting myself, fruitlessly repeating that there's no place like home.. Written March 3rd, 2002 © on Mar 03 2002 05:57 AM PST   0 • 1