12

Cries and Laughters

“I hate to burst your bubble, but nothing will ever be right again.”

Diary:

Working forty hours a week, and often more, is grueling. There’s time for only school, work, and sleep just about, forcing me to do homework at school if it’s to be done at all. I’ve found ways to do it but it’s crazy. Life is a long list of tasks to be completed as efficiently as possible. That’s OK, at least I don’t have to deal with my parents much because I’m rarely home. The less I’m home the less conflict there seems to be.

I keep telling them to schedule me for more, but they don’t listen. I know they want me to work as much as possible. They even call me when I’m not scheduled to see if I can work because they’re short of people. So I end up working overtime anyway. And if I’m getting off early and someone doesn’t show up, I usually volunteer to cover their shift. It’s gotten to the point where they simply assume that I’ll work if they need me. But they seem to feel guilty because they know I have school and can’t understand how I can work so much given that. I tell them that school’s easy, but I don’t think they believe me, they probably think I’m failing.

Work is actually fun. I keep myself so busy I don’t have time to think. It’s like a game — how fast can I do this, how efficient can I be? Often people would order and I’d know the price before punching anything in the register. Usually, they can order, pull up to the window, pay, get the food, and drive away in a matter of seconds. But to keep this up you have to do things in just the right sequence and make the most of every action, every movement. Making a shake, getting the food, and talking to the customer at the same time, for example, requires a particular sequence of actions and split-second timing. It’s like a study in the efficiency of motion — there’s something about being so efficient that you don’t waste a second. You’re so focused nothing distracts you from what you’re doing. Anything that comes along you handle easily, quickly without even thinking about it. I like that state of mind; life is so much more tolerable then. It’s exhausting, but work is the only thing I can stand these days.

Still, once in a while, I wonder what it would be like. To have a whole day with nothing to do, with no obligations to fulfill, with no one to tell me what to do, with no one to remind me what more needs to be done. Just one day all to myself, free from the trivial distractions of life, free from the harsh glare of authority, free from the overwhelming emotions always fighting to be heard. One day of complete peace . . .

SAT. Scholastic Achievement Test. Scholastic achievement my ass. A test of fancy vocabulary and basic math, that’s all it is. Shouldn’t be surprised, should’ve known they’d base your future on irrelevant test scores. Might as well measure your height instead. Better because it’s simpler, cheaper, and just as accurate.

Give scholarships to taller people or shorter people or whatever. I’m sure those with the help will do better than those without. Proof that height is a relevant factor, see? Morons.

As for determining the relations between words, how are you supposed to do that if you don’t know the words themselves? If that’s what you want to test, test it with a common vocabulary. I’d like to see you take the SAT in Korean and see how well you can determine the relations between words. What’s next? Test intelligence with language no one understands?

These superficial correlations have nothing to do with reality and nothing to do with your potential or your achievement. Who came up with this garbage? Probably the same morons that came up with intelligence tests. Is the whole world full of morons?

Fuck it. So I won’t get into great universities. So I won’t get any scholarship, even at mediocre places. So I won’t get any financial help because the bastards aren’t poor. If they aren’t going to help me with college, they should’ve at least had the decency to be poor so the government might help. Not that I’d ever ask them for help.

What did you expect? Nothing was ever handed to you. You thought it’d change if you went to college? Forget it, it’s ridiculous to expect life to be fair, you’ll just have to do it on your own. Don’t expect help from anybody, don’t even think about asking. You’re all you got, no one will ever help you. You either succeed or fail on your own. At least you don’t have anybody to answer to. Complete independence . . .

“Wouldn’t it be easier if you just gave me a permanent pass?”

“Well — ”

“I ask for it every day and you give it to me every day.”

“That’s true.”

“And it would save me time if I could go straight to the library.”

“OK, I’ll talk to the librarian.”

“Thanks.”

You don’t have much time to decide; one more year and it’s college. You’ll have to be brutally efficient because you don’t have the luxury of several years and paid tuition. Take lots of courses and graduate in two to three years. A semester or two off just to work. You’ll have to know exactly what to take, exactly what to study.

But what do I want to study? What do I want to be? Something practical and safe like engineering or computer science? Boring. Something fun like music or art? No, there’s no future in that.

What? What? What? Why am I not interested in anything? So much potential, so little desire. What a waste.

American Literature. Steinbeck . . . Faulkner . . . Hemingway . . . Yeah, they can write . . . but so long-winded in irrelevant details you want to put it down before discovering the good parts. No wonder they aren’t popular except among the academics who have the patience to sit through the tedious nonsense. For a literature appreciation class, it’s not doing much to make me appreciate literature. Why don’t they see the flaws? We should be analyzing them, seeing what’s good and bad, rather than just discussing the stories. Novels should be fun first and foremost. What good is the educational or philosophical content if people don’t read them? Literature is art, and boredom makes bad art.

“As you know, Candle Lighting Service is today and will take place during this period. Just sit and wait for a few minutes, someone will come by and hand out the candles. Then we’ll walk out and follow as a class.”

Candle Lighting Service. Every year. What a waste of time.

“If you don’t want to participate, you don’t have to. You can remain in the class. Is there anybody who’s not going?”

Raise your hand.

Stares.

Disapproval? Curiosity? Who cares, don’t bother me with this trivial stuff.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you going?”

That tone. That’s not a question, that’s an accusation. Why should I bother to answer?

“Why should I go?”

“Because it’s tradition.”

“And if tradition requires that we burn books, should we do that too?”

“It’s a good tradition. If you’re a Christian, then — ”

“And if I’m not a Christian? If I’m an atheist or a Buddhist?”

“Still, what does it hurt? You just go, hold the candle, take a moment of silence . . . It’s all symbolic anyway.”

“So if we had a symbolic Buddhist or Hindu service instead, you wouldn’t mind going?”

“Well, you don’t have to go. No one’s forcing you.”

“Yeah, you just get singled out in class, have everyone sneer at you, that’s all. All perfectly fair and harmless.”

Grin.

Just smiling and looking away: Can’t win with you!

Because you aren’t even trying. I left you plenty of comebacks, perfectly good ones, and you don’t even bother.

Yeah, go. Do your little meaningless ritual. I have better things to do, better things to think about. Like what to do with my pathetic life . . .

What did the aptitude tests say I should be? Who cares, aren’t those designed by psychologists? What do they know about anything? Fifteenth-century physics is more trustworthy. Not even a science, more like a Gallop poll of popular opinion.

OK, compromise. Math or physics. They’re easy and somewhat interesting. Maybe I could develop a real interest in time. Get an idea of what they do, read some biographies, read some popular books . . .

Albert Einstein. Quantum Mechanics. Theory of Relativity. Non-Euclidean geometry. Big Bang theory. Black holes. Dark Matter. History of science and mathematics . . .

It’s a good start. I must look like the quintessential nerd, checking out all these books. Well, let them sneer, their opinions mean nothing . . .

Physiology. This is called this, that’s called that . . . a more useless and boring thing I can’t imagine. Facts, facts, and meaningless conventions. A mere memory-machine I am to you. You waste my time with these trivialities when there are profound principles to ponder, and great ideas to think about. Not entirely your fault though. I’m the idiot who took this course.

“This class is so stupid.”

Yeah, I said that out loud, didn’t I? Everyone’s staring, and some smiling, but not the teacher.

“If that’s how you feel, why don’t you go to the library?”

“OK.”

Stand up, get your things. Walk out the door.

Wide eyes. Disbelief. Shock? At least I’m good for some entertainment.

What just happened?

I don’t know, but there’s no turning back. A stupid comment probably, but I’m not going to apologize. Not here. Not now. You can all go to hell.

What are you going to do? Fail me? Expel me from school? I don’t care, do whatever you want.

The next day you didn’t know what to do, so you left it up to him to interpret what happened. He said you should be at the library if you still felt the same way. So you went, you had no choice. What? Apologize on the spot and ask him if you could stay? Only a loser would do that. You couldn’t face anyone if you did, and obviously he knew. Everything was set in advance when you walked out the door, when you took his statement seriously and took it as a challenge. That was fine, you made your choice. You were willing to live with the consequences.

Or you thought. But you realized you’d fail if you kept going to the library. That bothered you, but not enough. You already knew your future was ruined, that there was nothing you could do about it, that failing a class could not make it worse. You weren’t going to receive any scholarship, so it made no difference.

But something else bothered you, bothered you enough to change your mind. You asked another teacher for advice though you knew what advice she’d give. You asked her because you knew she’d talk you into it. So you did it, went to him like a coward, and apologized. Not because you were wrong, not because it was the right thing to do. You weren’t even sincere, cursing him under your breath the whole time. The condescending smile. The palpable arrogance. Apologizing to this self-satisfied son of a bitch. Disgusting.

Couldn’t believe what you were doing, but you did it anyway like an actor. Suppressed all that anger and pride and disbelief and gave a splendid performance. So well that he thought you were sincere. So well that he practically offered his friendship and his help in anything you might need. Like you’d ever ask him for help. Like you’d ever talk to that jackass like a friend. What a fucking liar you are.

Why did you do it? What bothered you so much that you changed your mind? What bothered you so much that you betrayed yourself? What could be that important? Did you do it because you couldn’t stand that something was wrong? Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but let me tell you something: nothing will ever be right again. Not at home. Not at school. Not anywhere. Not with anyone. You keep clinging to that pitiful hope that something will happen, that something will change things, that something will make everything all right. What? What the fuck are you expecting? Are you expecting Stephanie to come back? Are you expecting some great university to ignore your SAT scores and accept you and give you a full scholarship? Are you expecting to win the lottery? Are you expecting God to suddenly appear and say, “I’m sorry you’ve suffered so much. From now on, I promise only good things”? What the fuck are you expecting?

And for such a trivial thing, you betray yourself, your own feelings, your own beliefs. You fucking coward. When will you stop pretending? When will you grow up? Haven’t you learned anything yet?

It’s time you abandon this foolish hope and wake up to the truth. There’s no sense in saving little wrongs here and there; it doesn’t make any difference. Will you be happy if you get a scholarship? Will you be happy if you get accepted into great universities? Will you be happy if your stepmother suddenly turned human? Will you be happy if you become rich? No, no, no, and no! Don’t turn away from the truth just because it’s harsh, just because it’s not to your liking. It’s too late, it doesn’t matter. Except for one impossible miracle, nothing can save you now, nothing will ever be right again. Nothing . . .

Shut up, just shut up. I can’t have conflict everywhere I go; I need peace, just a little peace. If I give up everything, even foolish hopes, I’ll have nothing to cling to, nothing to keep me here. I might as well kill myself.

A serialized coming-of-age novel about a boy who must decide whether to live or die after surviving an abusive family and the death of his love: first.