In the spring of her freshman year, Grace spotted a poster on the bulletin board outside the English department, announcing the annual essay contest. The contest was open to students in all grades, and the winner would have their essay entered in the National Essay Contest. The national winner’s essay would be published in Reader’s Digest.
That night, she and Rose discussed topic ideas for the essay. Once she decided what she was going to write about, she raced up to her room and began writing.
Over the next week, her mind churned with thoughts and ideas, and her teachers admonished her more than usual for her lack of attention in class. Her history teacher even sent her to the principal’s office after warning her for the third time, and they told her that they would be sending a letter home to her parents. Grace pleaded with them, but they sent the letter anyway.
It arrived on Saturday. Mike beat her to the mailbox. He sat in the living room watching sports as he opened the mail, and she watched from the kitchen as he read the letter. She held her breath while he read it, and exhaled loudly when he ripped it in half and dropped it onto a small stack of junk mail.
Two days passed and Mike said nothing about the letter. The third night, Mike came home early for dinner, which was something he’d never done since she’d known him. She could feel an odd tension in the air as they sat down to dinner, and her stomach churned.
She pushed her food around on her plate, unable to eat, oppressed by the silence at the table, so different from when Mike ate with them on the weekends. Without realizing it, she put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. She looked at Rose, who gave her an odd smile, just as Mike jerked his hand out and knocked her arm off the table. Grace caught herself and sat upright, her eyes wide open and alert.
“You need to learn some manners, young lady, both here and at school. You’d better start paying attention in class, and you’d damn well better not ever put your elbow on my table again. Is that understood?”
A tremor of fear passed through her. “Yes. I’m very sorry, Mike,” she said. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”
“If it does happen again, I’ll show you what sorry is. Now go and get me a beer.”
Grace noticed the pinched look on Rose’s face when Mike spoke, her lips pressed together as if trying to keep herself from speaking out. She’d heard them fight before, and she hoped that she hadn’t caused Rose any trouble. But even Joey looked somber, staring at his plate but not eating.
After she finished the dinner dishes that night, she went to her room to finish her homework. Mike and Rose got into a terrible fight that night, and Grace crawled in bed and pulled Theodore Izzle over her ears so she didn’t have to hear it. She could hear the shouting anyway, and her body quaked. She couldn’t stand to be sent away again. She just couldn’t.
The next day, everything seemed back to normal, and over the next couple of weeks Grace worked hard on her essay. She finished it two weeks before the submission deadline, which gave her plenty of time to review and edit it in order to make it as perfect as possible. She was her own toughest critic when it came to her writing, but it showed in her work.
She went downstairs to see whether Rose needed any help with dinner. It was Sunday, and Mike was home watching sports on TV with Joey. He’d been drinking all afternoon and everyone, including Rose, was tense again, like they’d been the other night.
Grace tried everything she could think of to distract Rose. She talked about her math teacher’s toupee, which she swore was on backward one day that week. She told a couple of jokes, she even tried speaking in pig Latin—but her efforts to lighten the mood in the kitchen went unnoticed. “Rose, is everything alright?”
Rose was distracted and didn’t hear her the first time. She asked again.
“Huh? Oh, yes dear. Everything’s fine. Mike lost a major contract yesterday so he’s a little on edge, but it will be fine.”
It will be fine. There were those words again.
She finished her dinner quickly that night and asked to be excused. She explained that she had a test the next day, and wanted to study for it.
“You may not leave the table until I say so,” Mike said, slurring his words. “Now go get me another beer.”
Grace sprung from her chair and fetched the beer from the fridge. She handed it to him without making eye contact and sat back down. Everyone had finished eating, but nobody moved. She looked from Rose to Joey, both of whom were looking down at their plates, so she did the same. Mike continued drinking and they sat in silence. Once again, without realizing it, Grace slid her elbow onto the table and rested her head on her hand.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw Mike and Rose both get up, but not quickly enough to react. Mike swung his arm across the table, hitting Grace across the face and knocking her to the floor.
Rose screamed. Mike yelled for Grace to get up. When she got up and sat back down in her chair, he hit her again, knocking her to the floor once more. Rose grabbed Mike’s arm in an attempt to distract him, but using his free arm, he knocked her down to the ground and turned back to Grace.
“Get up!” he said.
Grace’s heart fluttered like the wings of a moth in distress. She climbed onto her hands and knees and was about to stand up when Mike kicked her in the ribs, knocking her back to the floor. This time she stayed on the ground, holding her sides, too afraid to move.
Rose screamed again, and Mike turned his anger on her. She yelled at Grace to go to her room. Grace got up and ran as fast as she could, taking the stairs two at a time, and locked herself in her room.
She climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head and buried her face into Theodore Izzle, soaking him with a mixture of blood and tears. She cried so hard that she could barely catch her breath, but as she held her little bear, she calmed down and slipped into another dream.