Read This Over

Original:

“Read it one more time,” my mother said. It was 12:40 at night, we spent all day in my parents made bed with papers and folders covering the new duvet cover, and we were exhausted. No one should spend all day rereading the same two pages of an online application, even if it is for Veterinary School. I had already lost a page of text because my mother had accidentally unplugged my charger and my computer died before I could save it. It took me an hour to plug in all of my coursework, again. I was ready to murder her as she made me reread my work for the hundredth time.

“Sydney, if you don’t want to go to vet school that’s fine with me,” she said as she puckered her lips and waved a pointed finger at my face, “I know what it takes to apply to these professional programs. So, you better stop interrupting when I speak or you can do this on your own!” She was yelling now and I was crying angry, fat tears.

“Fine!” I said loudly, surprised by my own volume, “but I’m going to sleep after this page.”

“Fine,” my mom responded, passive aggressively.

There was a moment of silence. “Can you read it over?” I asked cautiously, “My eyes are killing me.”

She motioned for my laptop. When I placed it in her lap, she looked at the screen and immediately started squinting; she scrunched her nose which lifted her upper lip and bared her front teeth. “Make it larger, I can’t read this.”

I increased the screen magnification before I collapsed my upper body onto a nice cool pillow. My eyes burned as I closed them, but in relief. The moment I got really comfortable I heard, “Uh, Sydney. Come here.” My mother had found a mistake.

“Here,” she says as she pulls my computer back into my lap. “What biology course did you take? Do you see why we need to do this? You would have sent that to the schools and they would have laughed your application right into the garbage.” Her tone was full of venom, but not the kind I had a right to be angry at.

“Biology 220, Biology of Living Orgasms.”

I hate when she’s right.

* * * * *

Alternate Version:

“Read it one more time,” my mother says. It’s 12:40 at night, and we had spent all day in my parents made bed with papers and folders covering the new duvet cover, and we are exhausted. No one should spend all day rereading the same two pages of an online application, even if it is for Veterinary School. My mother unplugs my computer charger and the battery dies; I lose a page of text and my begins to twitch. It takes me an hour to plug in all of my coursework, again. I’m ready to murder her as she makes me reread my work for the hundredth time.

“Sydney, if you don’t want to go to vet school that’s fine with me,” she says as she puckers her lips and waves a pointed finger at my face, “I know what it takes to apply to these professional programs. So, you better stop interrupting when I speak or you can do this on your own!” She is yelling now and I am crying angry, fat tears.

“Fine!” I say loudly, and I am surprised by my own volume, “but I’m going to sleep after this page.”

“Fine,” my mom responds, passive aggressively.

There is a moment of silence. “Can you read it over?” I ask cautiously, “My eyes are killing me.”

She motions for my laptop. I place it in her lap and she looks at the screen and immediately starts squinting; she scrunches her nose which lifts her upper lip and bares her front teeth. “Make it larger, I can’t read this.”

I increase the screen magnification before I collapse my upper body onto a nice cool pillow. My eyes burn as I closed them, but in relief. Just as I get comfortable, I hear, “Uh, Sydney. Come here.” My mother has found a mistake.

“Here,” she says as she pulls my computer back into my lap. “What biology course did you take? Do you see why we need to do this? You would have sent that to the schools and they would have laughed your application right into the garbage.” Her tone is full of venom, but not the kind I have a right to be angry at.

“Biology 220, Biology of Living Orgasms.”

I hate when she’s right.

_______________________

I will keep the original version because having to change the tense forced me to alter sentences and rethink ideas. I already have trouble to sticking to a single tense and this just made it awkward and made me feel frustrated.

It also reminded me of Taylor Mali and his proofreading sketch.