Untitled 12
Whomp!
It's so satisfying-- that perfectly engineered sound the car door makes when it's slammed shut.
I carry my shopping bag as I bound down the driveway with my sister. She opens the front door to let me in. I kick my shoes off at the entrance and make my way to my bedroom where I toss the bag onto my bed.
I turn on the computer, in a rush to chat online with friends. After all, what else does a 14 year old girl do with her free time at home?
Some moments later, my dad comes into my room and asks what I've bought.
Just some stuff for camp, I tell him, not bothering to move my eyes from the computer screen. I'm in the midst of talking to Kit, one of my best friends I spend all my time online talking with. He's a boy, but we're just friends-- I often give him relationship advice concerning his much beloved girlfriend.
My dad rummages through the bag, idly picking up each item-- toiletries, some clothes, shower slippers. It's all super cheap-- sale items from Old Navy.
I'm a little irked at his nosiness but say nothing. I hope that by not saying anything, he'll just get bored and leave.
He picks the pink foam slippers from the bag and inspects them.
I had been pretty excited about these-- they'd been only $2 on the sale rack, which was just about all I wanted to spend on shower slippers. I didn't really know what shower slippers were-- my older sister had recommended I buy them for camp because she said communal showers could get gross. I'd never been to summer camp before, or even been away from home for an extended period of time, so I was excited to buy all these novel items like shower slippers and travel sized toiletries I'd never otherwise own.
"I used to make sandals just like these!"
Pause.
“Back in the factory in Hong Kong.”
Goddammit.
“I started working there after we left Vietnam.”
Dad, noooo.
“A huge machine would mix up the rubber for the soles, and then roll out these giant flat sheets. Another machine would stomp down like this over and over, cutting out the shapes of the soles.”
14 year old girl here, come on!
“My job was to watch the machines all day, to make sure everything worked. Making all these sandals, hundreds and hundreds an hour.”
Don’t you think 9th grade had already been hard enough?
“That’s how I could buy my ticket to America! One day—“
It's like you don't even care about me.
“A part of the machine broke off and hit me in the eye.”
Whhyyyyyyyyyyyyyy—
“They had to pay me extra money for the injury, so I added it to my savings to buy my ticket.”
Pause.
My dad lets out a breath.
He puts the sandals back into the bag and gets up.
He leaves.
And I'm left speechless.