The Gradebook

Chapter 7: The Voice Beyond The Wall

Dad was home? This was a rarity. He was always either working at the hospital, or crashing at his parents’ house since he’d liked to state it was too late to return. My grandparents always welcomed him though, but urged him to come home, which he did once or twice a week. But never at night. I shoved all thoughts out of my head and knew, in my heart, there was a good reason he was here.

Which is exactly why I was not expecting the sudden screams from the study room.

My face heated up and my mind was in overdrive, listening intently to the conversation, while trying to inch closer to the door going by unnoticed.

The light was turned off in the corridor, so my fingers flew around in the air before coming in contact with what I thought to be the wall. Slow steps followed afterwards, until I was so close to the entrance of the study room I could already make out many words.

“It’s not just about me; it’s about the kids, Peter! Think about it! How often do you sit down and have a conversation with any of us?” my mother yelped, most likely at my father.

Tears stung my eyes, but only for one reason; I knew that he never did sit down and listen. Not recently at all.

Then a sudden anger flared throughout me, giving me such a burst of energy that I wanted to punch a wall. The option seemed quite nice but someone else spoke up.

“How often do you, Raquelle? Yeah, sure, you have a movie night with Mia, but you work like there’s no tomorrow!” Dad retorted, and I could just about imagine the furious glint in his eyes at the remark my mother had made.

If you asked me if I loved Dad, I’d say yes. But right now, I didn’t feel a love; I felt a never-ending loneliness. Myself being dragged under. My body struggled against collapsing to the floor because of all the pressure on my broken heart. Overwhelming was an understatement.

“Coming from you, that’s comedy gold. You know what? Here’s the thing, Peter Byers, and I want you to listen. You either involve your kids in your life, or you don’t. Decide, and next time... I’d like a more diplomatic discussion coming from your intelligent mind, okay?” Mom breathed in slowly and footfalls approached the door.

Panic coursed through me, and everything blurred together in my line of vision. In the nick of time, my back pressed itself against the wall, and my breath held itself, all without permission from my mind.

The door was flung open and missed my face by an inch, and Mom stormed out so fiercely, she was basically emanating rage while I just stood here behind an open door, anxious.

Through the small crack between the entrance and the room, I saw my father, his palms nervously slapping over his face, red and puffy and remorseful. His eyes glittered with a wistfulness that only heartbreak could bring. 

The moment I saw him start to get up, I rushed all the way into my bedroom with my eyes pressing themselves together so violently, I thought they’d break.

Just like my heart. Even if in the slightest, smallest form, I knew it already had.