On the appointed day, Mom woke me before
dawn.
We took a minibus to the county seat,
transferred twice, then took a city bus to the
school.
It was already past 9 a.m.
L
Dad wasn’t there. Mom and I asked for
directions and finally found the admissions
office on the third floor of the administration
building.
The hallway was packed with parents and
students, the line snaking down the stairs.
Mom, blushing, shyly asked the woman at the
end of the line about the procedure.
The woman smiled. “Here for your child too?
Get in line behind me.”
She praised my score when Mom told her I
got a 607. Then her face fell.
“Five thousand is all you need. My son’s
score was much lower. We have to pay over
ten thousand. If we weren’t zoned for this
school, we wouldn’t be able to afford it.
The summer sun beat down mercilessly. The
crowded hallway won stifling
<
crowded hallway was stifling.
Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead.
Mom fanned me with a small paper fan.
Slowly, the line inched forward.
Soon, we reached the office door.
A sheet of paper outlined the process: fill out
the form, pay the fee, then go to the
registrar’s office to finalize the enrollment.
The clock on the wall chimed.
Mom looked up sharply. It was 11 a.m.
She urged several parents behind us to go
ahead, then told me to wait for Dad at the
school gate.
“Your dad’s never been here before. He
might get lost.”
Mom stayed in line. I ran downstairs.
I stood at the gate, scanning the faces in the
<
crowd, afraid to miss Dad.
The security guard called out, “Waiting for
someone? Come inside, it’s too hot out
there.”
He turned on the fan, offered me a cup of
water, and said, “Stay hydrated. Wouldn’t
want our nation’s future to wilt in the heat.”
He chuckled. I couldn’t manage a smile.
I thanked him and continued to stare outside.
The school was in the heart of the county
seat, facing a busy main street.
Cars and people streamed past.
But I didn’t see Dad.
The sun climbed higher, its glare blinding.
My stomach growled. I glanced shyly at the
security guard.
He handed me a snack cake. “Go grab some
<
lunch and come back later.”
I shook my head, my eyes fixed on the street.
He took his lunchbox and went to the
cafeteria.
I continued to watch, chewing the snack cake
without tasting it.
Mom tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped.
She asked, “Is it Ethan’s birthday today?”
I remembered Uncle Mark calling a few days
ago, inviting Grandma to his place for dinner.
It must be Ethan’s birthday. Grandma never
went to town otherwise.
I nodded. “Why?”
Mom didn’t answer. She led me to the bus
stop.
On the bus, I assumed I wasn’t going to high
school after all. I squeezed Mom’s hand.
<
“Mom, it’s okay. I can get into college from
other schools too.”
Our county was small. This was the only good
public high school.
If I couldn’t attend this one, I could go to the
next best, which had a lower cut–off score.
Mom stared out the window, lost in thought.
Against the harsh sunlight, I saw tears
glistening in her eyes.
I’d never seen Mom cry before.
People said she was gentle and kind, like a
fragile flower.
She never argued with anyone.
But I knew Mom wasn’t weak. She was
stronger than anyone I knew.
“It’s Ethan’s birthday. Your dad’s probably at their place. Let’s go crash the party.”
L
Mom never went to parties, even if relatives
invited her.
But this time, she seemed determined to go
to Ethan’s birthday.
We rushed to Uncle Mark’s apartment in
town.
The family was singing “Happy Birthday” to
Ethan.
He wore a paper crown, his eyes closed as he
made a wish.
Aunt Sarah plastered on a fake smile and
asked if we’d eaten.
Relatives echoed her insincere concern.
Mom brushed past Aunt Sarah, ignoring the
seated guests.
Grandma even spat on the floor, but Mom
didn’t react.
L
She pulled me toward Dad, who was clinking
glasses with Uncle Mark.
Mom snatched Dad’s glass and threw it on
the floor. The shattering sound silenced the
room.
She grabbed Dad’s arm and yanked him out
of his chair.
“I’ll give you two hours. Let’s go to the
courthouse.”
11
