I make sure my face is completely dry before I come out. Max finds me a few minutes later. He’s smiling. Of course, he passed.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’ve been venting.”
“How bad was it?”
Like you didn’t see it for yourself. I don’t answer him, but I congratulate him. The fact that I failed doesn’t mean I have to be a shitty person.
After break-time, Thunder comes to class. He’d already taught that morning, so I guess he’s here to address us.
He is. “I assume you’ve all seen your results?”
Half the class answer, “Yes sir!” I’m not among that half.
“By the different expressions I’m seeing, I can assume not all of you passed.” Like you didn’t make sure it was so. “Some of you will be tempted to blame others for your failure. Don’t. It is entirely your fault. You might see me as a monster for saying this, but I’m not. It’s the truth. You didn’t prepare hard enough. But now you know what you have to do; study harder.”
He goes on for a long while, tiring everyone before taking his leave.
I decided then that I’d do anything I can to pass. Failing feels wrong. I never want to experience it again.
I get home that evening, ready to be the bookworm my parents have always wanted me to be. I see my father’s car outside. He’s home early. When I get inside both my parents are sitting in the living room, waiting for me.
“Good evening, sir. Good evening, ma,” I greet, skeptical. “Is everything okay?”
My mind goes immediately to Rich. Oh God, I hope something bad hasn’t happened to him. But that doesn’t explain why my dad is home early.
There’s evening service today. But that, too, doesn’t explain what my father’s car is doing here. If he wanted to come for the service he’d do so from work. Something else is wrong, and I don’t know what.
“You tell us,” my mom proposes.
I think about a million things that could be the reason for this. I come up blank. “Mom, what’s wrong?” There’s fear in my voice, and rightly so. This is about me.
“How was your mock result?” my father asks, anger evident in his voice.
My heart skips a beat. I gulp saliva. In all my resolve to be a better student, I completely forgot I’d have to tell my parents about my failure. But seeing as my dad’s home early and they waited for me like this, I conclude that my principal took the liberty to disclose my results to my dad, amongst other secrets. Freaking snitch! He didn’t even give me the chance to come up with something.
“Answer me!” I jerk back, a reflex action. “Or are you going to shout at me again? Because that’s your new trend, right? You disrespect your father and go to school to waste my money from being a failure?”
I’m not a failure, I want to say. You’re the failure, you cheat! You failed this family. I want to scream. He doesn’t get to judge me. He’s the one cheating on his family with some bitch. But I don’t say those things. It’s hard to do, especially at this moment, but I cannot let my family be ripped apart. I can’t let my mom be ripped apart.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead.
“Sorry for yourself,” mom says.
My backpack feels like the whole world crushing me down right now.
My dad lunges to his feet, and within a second he’s in my face. I can’t move back. I’m frozen. My heart’s pounding. I disappointed them, I know it. And I hate myself for that.
“You’re a disgrace,” my father says. “There wasn’t even a practical exam, and yet you failed woefully!”
“Dad–”
The slap stings. The next one stings, a lot harder. “You cannot pass a common mock exam, but you can insult your father!”
My father begins to unload on me, one slap after the other. I raise my hands to protect my cheeks, but my hands get hurt instead.
“Samuel, please use a whip.”
My father whirls around, and I’m happy for the reprieve. “Don’t tell me how to discipline my child. This is your fault. He’s a failure because of you.”
I don’t defend her this time. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. My entire body is on fire. Hot tears flow down my cheeks, and I begin to cry.
He’s right. I am a failure.
But I tried. I did try. I just couldn’t pass. I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Why did I have to be born into this kind of life? God, why? Why am I a failure?
The tears don’t stop flowing. I don’t want them to. Maybe it’ll make me feel better.
But I am a failure. And tears cannot fix that.
“Stop crying!” my father screams, unloading another slap on my now exposed cheek.
I fall to the ground, partly from the force of the slap, partly from my wanting the comfort of the floor.
“Samuel, the whip,” my mom says, firmly this time.
“Go to your room. Don’t come to church. And don’t even think of coming down for dinner. If you’re smart, you’ll use this time to pray to God to save you from your stupidity.”
It takes a little while, but I finally drag myself upstairs. I go straight to the bathroom, use the hot water, and remain there for a while.
I pray to God when I come out. I want to know why he made my life suck this much. I want to know why I can’t be smart. I want to know why my father’s a cheater. I want to know why I’m never happy… with anything. I want to know the reason for a lot of things. But all I do is cry and tell him I’m sorry. For what, I don’t know.