Friends

PART TWENTY-THREE: FORGET

March 2, 1998, Monday

A cold morning breeze brushed my cheek as I walked to school. Along the way, I get to meet Wayne sitting with his palm on the bench. He waves his hand, smiling, "Rode, how was your essay? Got something to pass this morning, I bet you have.'

"I do have one, I'll let you read it," I said to him.

I carried the backpack behind my shoulders as I started to unzip the zipper. I tried to look for my essay as Wayne looked at me. It was handwritten and I searched for it in the deeper pockets, behind the notebooks, and even scurried to flip the pages. Nothing has come out. My essay has gone missing.

Wayne asked me as I rampaged through the pages, "What the matter? Did you forget your essay?"

"I probably have," my voice sounded worried. "I need to go back."

He stopped me as I ran, "Wait, Rode. I'll come with you."

"No, don't. I don't want you to be late. Please head to the class already. I can reach on time," I said, and I became frantic as I ran towards home. I ran through the alley, into the streets, and to our doorstep.

A loud, grumpy voice yelled out loud as I walked in the door, "What the hell is the matter with you?"

As I closed the door with my sweaty bare palm, I turned around to see my father sitting in the living room. I had to be in a serene manner, "What do you mean, father?"

He stood up and his voice started to increasingly get loud. He points his finger at my chest, "Are you now skipping school? Are you skipping classes? Don't even get me started on being a gangster. I did not raise you to be one."

"No, I forgot something in my room," I said, starting to look away at his eyes. Before I could say the next words out of my mouth, he intervened.

"Look at what the cat dragged in. Are you telling me this old hag piece of a mind of yours can't possibly remind you that you're being stupider every day," he said, tinting facial expressions that I couldn't look at. "Every day, I walked through these doors hoping to see a change in you. In you," he exclaims. "But guess what," he started to crash all the things on the wooden shelf. The next thing I knew the clock went straight to my left forehead, bleeding. He turns around to my face, "You're ruining my life and I don't like you tolerating even more when your mother out here is being unconditional.' He kept spitting out saliva stating this whole goddamn mess he has up his sleeve. I started to sprint to my room, passing by his shoulder so that I couldn't stare.

"What the fuck is the matter with you? Hey," he shouted at me as I made my way with defiance. "Don't you ever turn your back around me, answer me. You little idiotic shit," I shut the door behind me. He never stopped, even conversing with the door that I can't bear to hear was the one thing he could do.

I looked at the mirror and saw the wound that the clock created; it was throbbing. I imagined myself having a bad scab. I stayed in my room longer than I expected. Desperate to crawl on the floor but what is forced can't be pushed away. Tears start drifting away from my eyes and flowing like a broken dam river. I didn't know what else was waiting for me outside East High.