My Death Made Them Drop Their Act
On my birthday, all because I spent ten bucks, Dad drags me out to kneel in front of the store owners. "Go beg them to give us a refund!"
Tears burst from my eyes, but he doesn't give me a chance to fight back.
Just like that, he forces me to kneel my way down the street, from the candy shop at one end to the stationery store at the other.
Piece by piece, we return everything until we get the ten dollars back.
A crowd gathers around us, pointing and whispering. The color drains from my burning face.
Once we get home, Dad pulls out a yellowed bankbook and points at the balance with a blank stare. "Read it. How much is that?"
I grit my teeth and force the words out. "T-Twelve dollars."