Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 89

Through all that …the Journey to a Book
International School of Nanshan Shenzhen, Um, Tae Seo - 15
I
t was the first day of school. Mr. H woke me up from the nap I was having in the parking lot. I would
not call it a nap. More of a knockout. “What are you doing here boy?” asked Mr. H. The last thing I
remember was that I was going to get my bike from the parking lot, and then someone barked my
name. Something like a metal container struck my head and then I was down. I knew if I told Mr. H that, I
would get more interviews with the guidance counsellor so instead I told him, “Sorry, it must’ve been all
the anti-depressants I’m taking. They made me feel dizzy and then caused me to fall asleep.” I looked at
him with a smile. He looked back at me with a strange look (the kind of look you get when you tell people
you are from the future). “I have a suggestion for you, go hit the gym. Get some muscles. Then no one will
be able to do anything to you. Get rid of those skinny arms and legs.” He suggested…me…going to a
gym…I didn’t even know where a gym was. After a brief moment of silence, he blurted, “Um, Tyler… I
don’t think a person can get a cut on the head from losing consciousness.” Staring at my forehead, he
looked really shocked. I didn’t understand what he was talking about until I lost consciousness again.
I was woken up by people crying from a distance. It smelled like the hospital. The ceiling I was
staring at was the exact same one I saw the last time I was at a hospital. Five seconds of hard thoughts later, I
knew I was at a hospital. Feeling both puffy and surrounded, I slowly sat up. On my left, I saw my mom.
Her makeup was all ruined by the tears rolling down her face, and her curly blonde hair was wet, which I
believe is because she came here right after her shower. On the other side of the bed was my dad. On his
phone, playing his online Poker game. He didn’t seem to care whether I was dead or alive. Classic. I glanced
at my mom, puzzled. Before I could ask any question, she mumbled, “Why. Why did they do that to you?”
I was about to say something before my dad interrupted, “Obviously, ‘cuz he’s a freaking nerd who doesn’t
have any friends. Who wouldn’t have done that do him? I’m surprised he didn’t end up in a freaking
garbage truck.” My mom couldn’t say anything. She just glanced back at me with her shiny green eyes
(something we both have in common) … and smiled.
With my head wrapped, I was on my mom’s Chevy on the way home. The car ride wasn’t so
pleasant. The entire ride was my dad’s dark brown eyes staring at me through the rear-view mirror. Of
course, I was forced to sit at the back with ruined leather seats, since dad didn’t want me within a 60-cm
radius. Intense air was just flowing through the whole ride, until the barking started. “YOU KNOW HOW
MUCH YOUR TREATMENT COST? Money enough to get me and your mom food for the next two
months!” Obviously, that was Dad. Mom sat in the seat in front of me. Even with a seat between us and the
loud noise from the engine, I could hear her sighs and cries.
Right, I forgot to mention, my dad isn’t my real dad. My real dad passed away 7 years ago during
the bombing of Iraq. Unfortunately, he was there when it happened. Anyways, the ‘dad’ I have been
mentioning the whole time is my step-dad.
Upon hearing the running river and the quacking of ducks, I knew we were almost home. When
we arrived, Dad was the first person to get out of the car. Slamming the door shut while saying almost every
curse word the English language has to offer.
The seat squeaked in front of me. Mom turned around and looked at me and started a lecture. I
could only understand bits and pieces of what she was saying because, first of all, I couldn’t think properly
because of the head concussion. Secondly, I couldn’t hear her because my ear was also affected. I was able to
get, “Tyler, you are a grown boy. You are in high school and you have teachers who look after you. Why
do you let others torture you like that? How long do I have to wait until you learn how to take care of
yourself? It’s been 8 times that the school has called because something like this happened. I love you but I
am tired of this. Please. Try to understand.” Her last sentence ended with tears dripping down her round
cheeks. She and I both knew that I wasn’t going to say anything. Then I sniffled, “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t
dare to look at her eyes. Inside the awkwardness, we both felt that we were having a nice moment.
As usual, me and my mom’s nice moment was broken by the sound of my dad. The window
shattered from the second floor with my chair falling down followed by broken shards of glass.