One day, I was sitting at my desk, waiting for him to finish sweeping the last row.
He skillfully gathered the dust at my feet with a broom. Just as he bent down to pick up the dustpan, he suddenly looked up at me and said, "Hey? It looks like the sole of your shoe is worn out."
"Huh?" I feigned surprise, a hint of panic flashing across my face. I then lifted my foot to inspect it theatrically and complained, "There really is a hole! What a hassle!"
"You've only been wearing those shoes for a short time; they’re already falling apart. You should get a better pair!"
"I have a pair of Nike."
For some reason, I blurted that out. In reality, the shoes on my feet had been repaired several times already, and I had never dared to mention buying new shoes to Mother. By saying it today, I felt like I was pushing myself into a corner, my heart racing as if it would leap out of my throat.
"If you have Nike, then you should just throw these away!"
He bent down and swept all the dust into the dustpan. To me, his attitude seemed as indifferent as towards my worn-out shoes, and a wave of disappointment washed over me.
After dinner, Father was intently watching the news, his eyes glued to the television screen. Mother was clearing the table, muttering, "After eating, not even a single dish is washed; no one works at home or outside. All day long watching this useless news—can news be eaten?"
Father's enthusiasm waned as he reluctantly got up to help clear the dishes, weariness and annoyance etched on his face.
"Mom," I called softly, my voice tinged with timidity and unease.
Mother had just been in a bad mood and pretended not to hear me, continuing to clear the table with somewhat rough movements.
"Mom, I want to buy a new pair of shoes." Although it wasn't the best time, I steeled myself to say it anyway, gripping the hem of my shirt tightly as my knuckles turned white from the pressure.
"What shoes?" Mother shot me an irritated glance, her attitude dismissing my request. Her eyes reflected impatience and anger.
Normally, I wouldn't have dared to say anything further, but today I was determined to persuade her. Taking a deep breath, I continued, "The shoes I'm wearing have been repaired several times; they really can't be worn anymore."
I took off my shoes and waved the hole towards Mother, my face showing a hint of grievance and expectation.
Father was trying to smooth things over from the side, saying, "Looks like it's time to buy a new pair of shoes. Otherwise, on rainy days, both your feet will get soaked."
His voice was somewhat low, tinged with helplessness and concern.
Mother remained silent, expressionless as she carried a bowl out of the room, her footsteps heavy.
Then I heard the crisp sound of dishes being placed in the sink, but there was no sound of washing.
Mother quickly returned, holding a pair of sneakers. She said to me, "Why don’t you wear mine for now? Tomorrow I'll check out the shoe store at the market for you. They’re having a sale there; I can buy you a few pairs."
"I want to buy Nike shoes..." My voice was so soft it was almost like a mosquito buzzing. I lowered my head, not daring to meet Mother's gaze.
"Nike shoes?" In our small room, Mother still heard me clearly. "How much do those cost?"
"The store is having a sale too; they were originally over 800, but now they're only around 400 each."
I patiently explained, sneaking glances at Mother's expression, feeling anxious inside.
"Over 400?" That number infuriated Mother. She threw the shoes she was holding towards me, her face turning red as she scolded, "Who are you hanging out with at school every day? You haven't even gotten into college yet and you're already chasing after brand names. Our family barely makes enough in a month, and you want to spend 400 on shoes? What are you going to do next—wear them to beg?"
"Alright, alright, the kid rarely makes a request; just agree to it!" Father played the peacemaker role, wearing a conciliatory smile in an attempt to ease the tense atmosphere.
"Agree?" Mother's voice shot up as she placed her hands on her hips, her eyes wide with anger as she glared at Father.
She rushed to the head of the bed and lifted the blanket; that was where we kept our monthly living expenses. Her movements were somewhat rough, as if she were venting her inner fury.
Mother grabbed the cash recklessly and hurled it at the two of us, her voice hoarse as she roared, "You might as well spend it all! We're already this poor; it doesn't matter if we have this little money or not. Who told us that the man in our family is useless?"
Father's veins bulged on his forehead like worms, his face flushed red. He raised his right hand high, poised to strike, his arm trembling slightly in the air, and that deformed hand looked particularly out of place.
"Go ahead! If you have the guts, hit me! You can't make money, but you sure know how to hit a woman!" Mother challenged, thrusting her head toward Father's hand, her eyes wide with provocation and fury.
Father's hand froze mid-air, the two fingers drooping helplessly. The muscles in his face twitched slightly, revealing a hint of helplessness and sorrow in his gaze.
"Useless!" Mother seized the moment, a mocking smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
I could no longer hold back my tears as they streamed down my face. A Father so weak and a Mother so domineering plunged me into the tragic farce of their conflict, and I simply couldn't bear the heavy weight on my heart!
"You only know how to argue! Have you ever thought about me? You're so selfish!"
For the first time, I raised my voice during one of their fights. I didn't know why I suddenly did it; perhaps I had been suppressing my feelings for too long. My body trembled slightly with agitation, and my hands were clenched tightly into fists.
After I said those words, the night fell silent.
The house was eerily quiet, as if death had settled in; even the air seemed to freeze, with only the faint sound of wind occasionally drifting in from outside.
No one would have imagined that a pair of Nike shoes would become the spark that ignited the collapse of this family.
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