Tough Love, A Short Story

(Note: There are three characters in this story)

They yell at her in German, her native language, for pulling the other girl's hair in school.
She's been sitting in this room for god-knows how many hours now.  They tell her to behave herself in school, or she will be kicked out, something her family can't afford.
They are immigrants, learning english fluently is essential, as well as getting a good education so she wont have to struggle like them.
Money is tight, she works the family gas station after school days, getting her homework done from behind the shield of the cash register.
The homework she is assigned is so much harder for her than it is for the other kids... some of the words she can't read, and she has to ask the teacher.
Her parents are not fluent in anything but German, and they can't get better jobs than the gas station because they lack an american education.
She knows they only want better for her, that's why they are so hard on her. She knows school is important, but she wants to be a kid.
They all play hopscotch and four-square after school, she has to wok and do school work...
it isn't fair.
Her parents tell her she doesn't have time to be a kid, she is already behind in school, "disadavanatged" they tell her.
Once they leave the room, she opens her bag and takes out a notebook.  She sharpens her pencil and sits on her bed.
Sitting up against her pillows, she turns to a blank page, and begins to write "I WIL NOT MISBEHAVE IN SCHOOL."
Just one of many lines.

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She clears the dishes from the dinner table, her annoying brother thinks it's funny to move all the forks to the opposite side.  She picks one up and pretends to throw it at him.
Mom catches her and tells them both to cut it out. She asks if her homework is done, when she says she's yet to start it, she gets a scornful look and a swish to her bottom.
With that she races upstairs and turns on her desk light, but it wont turn on.
She goes out into the hall and finds her father cussing at the light in the bathroom. The electricity bill must not have gotten paid again. That happens sometimes.
She grabs a flashlight from the pantry and walks back upstairs, on the way she stops by the laundry room and picks up her hamper of hand-me-down clothes, the ones the kids at school make fun of her for wearing.
She puts her clothes away and takes out her book, she has a test tomorrow.
After an hour of taking notes and reading the chapter thoroughly, she looks out her window, it's late.  She takes a cold shower and dries herself off with an already wet towel.  The dryer must not be working well, that happens sometimes.
As she is just about to slip into sleep, she hears something hit her window... it's the boy across the pond throwing rocks.  He gestures from below, for her to come outside and talk with him, but she shakes her head and closes the window.
She can't go outside now, it's late and she needs sleep.
She has a test tomorrow.

***************************************************

She sits next to him in class.  His clothes are torn and ragged, like the ones the mechanic next door to her parents' gas station wears, dirty and stained.
He was poor, like her family, but poorer.  She asks him why his clothes are always so shabby, he says he has eight siblings.  He asks her why she talks funny, she say's it's because she doesn't know english very well yet.
He isn't eating at lunch again, so she goes over and sits next to him on the bench, her paper-sack bouncing by her side.  She asks why he doesn't eat, he says he's not hungry.  As if to argue with it's owner this stomach lets out a low growl.  She smiles and take out a sandwich.  She takes both sides and in a sad attempt manages to split it unevenly down the middle. She hands him the bigger half.  He looks embarassed, but eats quickly, as if he's afraid she will change her mind and take it back.
She likes sharing with him.  She pushes her lunch sack over to the side so that she can fit her books on the table, they are heavy in her lap.  He asks why she always carries so many books.  She says she has a lot of schoolwork, and it takes a long time because it's hard for her.
He asks her why she bothers then, to do it?
She smiles, and simply tells him she likes to learn.


She knows she pushes her, but she can't help it.
Her teenage daughter runs to her room with tears in her eyes.  She's already been out one night this week, homework is s much more important than going to a movie.
She sits down at the kitchen table. One of the wheels on the chair is broken.  It happens sometimes.
She remembers when she was in high school.  Her brother would always go out with his friends, and she would have to stay in and do her work.  She didn't think it was fair either.  So how was she supposed to explain to a hormonal, emotional teenage girl that she is only making her stay in because she cares?  She wouldn't have believed it either when she was a teen, and the world seemed so unfair.
She goes to pour herself a cup of coffee, but it's cold. She tries to warm it up in the microwave, but it seems to be broken.  It happens sometimes.
She sighs and goes to the window.  It's not a bad neighborhood, but there is crime. The house is much bigger than the one she grew-up in, and even bigger than the apartment above the gas station her mother had grown-up in, but still it was small.
How can she explain to her daughter that she wants only for her future to be different, to be better and full of happiness.  Not stress and decaying kitchen appliances.
She pours the coffee down the drain, where it sits in a puddle due to a clog in the pipes.  It's a good thing she doesn't buy expensive coffee, or she'd feel much worse about wasting it.
She takes a deep breath and heads up the stairs, down the hall, to the door that hides a sobbing girl in a tiny corner bedroom.
She's going to tell her what she's been telling her forever, and what her mother told her growing-up:  Tough Love.

******************************************************
Her parents have dreamed about this day for a long time.
She puts on her cap and gown and walks downstairs after a last glance in the mirror.  She's more worried about how her hair is going to look after she take off the silly looking cap, than she is about the ceremony.
She sits in the chair and watches as person after person is called to the stand, cameras flash around her as loving family and friends take pictures of their kids and grandkids on a proud day.  Her name is called and she takes the walk down the isle past her classmates, up the stairs of the stage and she stops when she reaches her school principle.  He hands her a square pice of paper, the third one received by a woman in her family.
It is her high school diploma.  It is her payment, her reward, for the twelve years of long nights studying when all her friends were out having fun.
She looks up into the stands at her mother and her Oma, the two women who pushed her to get here today.  Always encouraging, maybe harsh at times, but always with good intentions of wanting to see her succeed.
Her Oma stands, wiping her eyes and smiling, cane shaking in her hand.  Her mother catches her eye and smiles, nodding at her.  They are so proud.
She switches her tassel to the other side of her cap, and walks back to her seat.
As she sits she examines her diploma.  It's different than other people's.  There is a sticker for honor society, and another for her 4.0 GPA.
After the ceremony kids gather together and take pictures with one another, saying goodbye, as parents shake hands with on another talking proudly about their high school graduates.  She rolls her eyes every time her oma brings up that she was accepted to harvard, on a full ride.  But inside she's glowing knowing how proud she's made her family.
They pile into the van after a few last hugs and goodbyes.
"These tires seem very low, do they have a leak in them?" Oma asks her mother.
"Probably, that wouldn't be the first thing wrong with this car, It happens." her mother laughs, too happy to put any real thought or concern into the matter at the moment.
She hates being seen in the beat-up old caravan,it's embarassing.
They take her out for ice cream, a rare treat for special occasions only, and they end up tipping the waitress whatever is left in their wallet; a few dimes and quarters.
Oma and Opa are going to head home, and she gives them both hugs.
After the two are out the door, she turns to her mother and asks why Oma kept saying that things will be different now.
Her mother smiles, one of those painful smiles, forced when a person is about to break into tears.  Her mother tells her, it's because finally, hard work and struggle has paid off and led to a promising future.