FIRESONG [Chapter 4]

I was in hell. From all the descriptions I had heard of the place, this was the closest thing I had ever experienced to it. This was where all the religious people said “bad guys” went. It was hell. Minus the flames and the pitchforks .1

Hell was a dinner table. 2

My family sat around it, talking pleasantly to each other about the days’ events. Pasta was slurped up, splattering tomato sauce everywhere. My dads’ big booming laugh echoed around the kitchen.3

It was still hell. It was hell because every ‘report card day’, we had fresh fruit for dessert with whipped cream. And during that cute little after – dinner scene, my dad would look at report cards. And he would look at Marks’ first, since he was the oldest. And then he would look at mine. 4

Hell. There was no other word for it.5

The plate in front of me was a barely touched mess of spaghetti. The tomato sauce was congealing and the pasta looked like worms. I was gritting my teeth so hard that I was surprised that I wasn’t feeling gums yet. Each hand was holding a dinner utensil so that hard my knuckles were white.6

My mom looked at me, worried.7

“You haven’t touched your dinner, dear. Are you all right?”8

I stared at her. She had read my report card, hadn’t she? And we all knew how my dad was going to react when he saw it. 9

I forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just too much ice cream with Benny,” I said.10

Mark’s hand twitched a bit. The knife he was holding bounced of his plate and made a crash loud enough for my mom to shift her attention from me to him. She frowned. 11

“Mark, dear, that’s not good manners,” she scolded lightly.12

Mark looked as if he was forcing a smile too. “Sorry,” he said. 13

My dad looked around at all of us. It looked like something was bothering him, and since my dad was always a very forward man, he got right down to the point. 14

“What’s wrong with you kids today?” he asked flatly, “I don’t see any happy faces at all.”15

This made me smile a bit. My dad tended to talk to me and Mark as if we were still five. Sometimes it was a good thing. Mostly, it was just funny.16

Before I could answer, my dad shook his head. “I don’t think I want to know,” he said, “Just bring out the dessert.”17

I think I may have bitten through my tongue. 18

After a few seconds I noticed my mom was looking at me pointedly. Realizing the request had been directed at me, I jumped up and ran to the fridge, nearly knocking over my chair in the process.19

Behind me, I heard my dad say to Mark, “And where are you hiding your report card, Markie?”20

I opened the door to the fridge. Cold air poured over me like a spring breeze. I hadn’t realized how warm I had been getting at the dinner table. The fruit was on the middle shelf of the fridge. There were strawberries and blueberries and melons, there were mangos (my favorite), pineapple (Marks favorite), and apples (my dads favorite ). I never know where my mom finds all these tropical fruits in the middle of winter. 21

Behind me, my dad was grunting his appreciation of a 90% that Mark had gotten in Canadian Law. 22

I picked up the plate in one hand and the can of whipped cream in the other. Moving slowly, so I wouldn’t trip, I made my way back to the table. Step by terrifying step.23

Mark was also taking a math course. It was one of those courses that just mentioning the name of could give people nightmares for weeks. It was called Integrated Algebra 2/Trigonometry. Just thinking about it gave me headaches.24

“And in Integrated Algebra, a respectful 92%,” said my dad happily.25

My hand swerved in the air for a moment as I caught my breath. A 92% in inte-whatever alge-thingy! A few pineapples started to slide towards the floor but I straightened it on time.26

My moms’ head whipped around and she jumped up to help me with the plate of fruit. 27

“Be careful with that Terra!” she said reproachfully, “We don’t want top waste any food, do we?”28

“Sorry mom,” I said, setting the fruit down carefully on the table. My dad looked up at me with a big smile on his face and speared a piece of apple. 29

“Thank you Terra,” he said, “Take a look at your brothers’ report card! Isn’t it great?”30

I took the sheet with clammy hands and looked at the marks. The other two courses Mark was taking were Physics and Physical Education. In Physics he had gotten a 91% and in Phys. Ed he had gotten an 88%. For some reason, gym was the only course I could ever beat him at. That never mattered of course, since Phys. Ed didn’t count as an educational course in my parents’ eyes. 31

I gulped. Mark had gotten only one grade below 90%. After seeing his report card, there was no way that my dad would be very understanding about mine. 32

As if reading my mind, my dad turned to face me with a faintly worried expression.33

“And what about your report card, Terra?” he asked, nudging me nervously, “Where are you hiding it?”34

I looked down. I wanted to shrink and shrink until I couldn’t be seen anymore; this was the moment that I had been dreading for the entire meal.35

“Mom has it,” I whispered to my socked feet.36

My dad smiled at my mom; my mom jumped up and ran to get my report card. Mark nudged me under the table and gave me an encouraging smile. It was as if they didn’t see how upset I was right now.37

My mom ran back holding the envelope that had my report card inside. It was glaring at me, I swear it was. That thing was evil. It was my demon in my very own private hell.38

“I didn’t read it when you gave it to me honey; I wanted us all to read it together!” said my mom happily.39

I stared at her. So this was why she was so cheerful! Now the reaction would be ten times worse. 40

“Well,” said my dad, “We all know how hard you’ve been working all year Terra. Now is when all that hard work is going to pay off.”41

I stared at back at my feet even harder. If the force of a stare had weight, my feet would have been completely flattened by now.42

It felt like a second was taking a thousand years to happen. Each tick of the clock was as loud as a hurricane. 43

My dad opened the envelope. He stuck his hand in. He got the sheet out. The sheet made a thundery sound as he shook it. He cleared his throat noisily. And finally, his eyes focused on the paper. 44

His eyebrows met in the middle like thunderclouds.45

“What is this?” he asked me thunderously.46

“What is what?” I squeaked, not taking my eyes off the tiles on the floor.47

“Math, 55%! English, 65%! French, 52%! Not one mark over 70%!”48

I think the way my family was looking at me was the worst part. My dad looked as if he would burst into tears if he weren’t so angry; Mark was staring at the tablecloth, massaging his temples. Only my mom, standing behind my dad’s shoulder, seemed at least a little normal. She was looking at me with a strange look in her eyes. 49

“I got a 93% in gym,” I muttered.50

“I think you understand why gym doesn’t count, Terra.”51

“I guess I do,” I told the kitchen tiles.52

My mom laid gentle hand on my dads’ shoulder.53

“She did work very hard,” she said softly. 54

Mark looked up. “Yes” he said, a little sadly, “I helped her. I know. Trust me dad, she basically had no life this semester for studying.”55

My dad still looked like she could smash something. 56

“Then why do I see these marks on this paper?” he asked.57

“Maybe she should be tested – ,” my mom started, but my dad cut her off.58

“No child of mine has a learning disability!” he roared.59

“It’s not that dad,” I said, “I know all the information. I just choke on tests.”60

“My dad glared at me. “Is that so,” he said, “Well, if I were you, I would learn not to choke. And very fast!” With that, he got up from his seat and stormed out of the room. 61

We heard footsteps stomping up the stairs and then a slam of a door. Then, there was silence. Seconds passed by. Then the seconds turned to minutes. Finally, I picked up a fork and speared a piece of mango. I took a tiny bite and swallowed. Then I picked the can of whipped cream, and tilting my head back, I sprayed it right into my mouth until it touched my nose a bit.62

There was a clatter of cutlery. I wiped enough cream off my face to see that Mark had speared a kiwi and was spraying a mountain of cream on it. He looked up and grinned at me. 63

“What?” he said, “We don’t want to waste any fruit. There are starving children in Africa who would kill for this food.”64

My mom sighed and moved from her rigid position behind my dads’ chair. She snatched the whipped cream from Marks’ hand. For a moment she just looked at the can. She shook her head. 65

“I don’t know,” she said, sitting down beside Mark, “I really don’t know.” 66

“About dad?” I asked timidly.67

Marks’ grin disappeared. “We’ll figure something out,” he said.68

My mom looked at him, a faint grin on her face. I think it did her good to see me and Mark behaving – it gave her something to brag about when she got together with the other mothers.69

“Pass a fork and the whipped cream,” she said as if having lost an inner struggle, “Let’s talk about this.”70