Sweet Dreams

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Fathers fist snaps me into reality, as it slams into the table.

"Eat." He demands.

"Yes sir." I grab my fork and pick around at my carrots. Only vegetable on Thursdays. I stack four, then stuff my cheeks. Mother used to make them on Monday too, but now they're only served Thursday during supper.

Father's eyes beam through my skull, making me tense. I begin counting down the seconds underneath my breath.

"Dismiss yourself, Chris." His alcoholic breath fills my nose. I do as told, lightly pushing away from the wooden surface. His eyes burn my back as I make my way to the stairs.

His shouting makes me flinch when my fingers brush the chill knob.

"Christina!" I turn down the steps as fast as I can. Father stands at the bottom step, his leather strap twirled around his knuckles. I stand still as possible, counting my blinks.

Father lashes me against my face. I keep my hands sealed to my thighs, and my head goes to the right. My cheek stings when salty tears trail down.

A fist to the gut. I instinctively fall into fetal postion, and Father grabs a handful of hair. Because I moved without permission, I assume. He yanks me up right and another blow to the temple. Blood streaks down my jawline. Another lie to be made up.

Father shoves a powerful kick to my ribs, knocking my breath away. Mother's bright smile flashes into my brain as warm sunlight kisses her face.

A stinging belt across my legs wiped her glowing cheeks gone.

"Get up, child!" Father yells into my left eardrum. His voice makes my bones ache.

I straighten up my posture.

"Now little girl, go to your room and think about what you have made me do." His words are thunder into my mind, and I turn toward the cement blocks that lead to my rescue. I walk with a limp into my room, and my insides feel corrupt.

I'm immune to washing blood out my hair every night after a half eaten dinner, and the sobs of Father until he falls asleep. Some nights I feel sympathy for the man, and others I want to suffocate him with Grandmother's pillow. I know Mother watches over me and would dissapprove my thoughts, but then again she would have prevented all this.

I can't disagree with what Father says, about it being my fault she's gone. Sometimes I wish death would have taken me instead, or there were a cure for that organ eating sickness she was diagnosed with three years after she had me. She was always ill.
I think of her too much. I see myself more and more looking like her as the years progress. Father can't stand my smile, he smacks it off my face.
At times I wish to feel her embrace, or her caress my cheek the way she did when I was young. When she had energy to spend time with me, I would actually live every minute of it. Those summer memories was the days of a child's life. Those Mother and Daughter moments haunt me.

I finish rinsing the soap out my hair, and turn the scorching water off. Cold air creeps to my bruised torso as I wrap it with a towel. I stand, gawking at the mirrors reflection. The left side of my face is welped, and my eyebrow has a knot.

I have no pity for myself, just disappointment for cowaring to him. Giving him all power over what my face wears. Letting him take over me. Controling what's in my head.

I graze the bump with my fingertips and wince. It's been a while since that's happen because usually I block out the pain. I have for five years. Seems like decades though, since Mother has passed. She was my light. Now Father surrounds me with darkness.

I slip over my night-gown with easy movement, my arms are weak. My mind is weak.

I step out my bathroom, and head to bed. That's all I can think about besides her; dreaming. Some nights, I think of her until I drift off, others I pray to wake up with her next to me. Although I know that won't happen, it wouldn't hurt to give God a try. If he's there.

Tonight I pray so hard, that I can almost feel her wrapping me into her arms. It feels so real.

~

There, in front of me, stands a tall, tan, lanky lady with curly red hair and angel kisses all over her face. She smiles so big, it makes me feel warm everywhere.

"Christina," her voice is small, sweet, loving, " I missed you." I throw the quilt off, and run to the woman. I pull her in so tight, I can smell the sweet honey-suckle perfume so strong. She clings as well.

"Mother." I whisper, and smile as I soak the feeling into my heart. I close my eyes in disbelief. But this has to be real.

She speaks almost inaudible through my hair, " I love you darling and only want whats best for you, he doesn't care about what you need like I do, therefore, you have to leave." She loosens her grip, and my eyes pop open. I stand in a dark, cold bedroom, with my arms open as my mother disintegrates and I no longer have her captive. My face saturates my tears, and I can't stop myself from balling. Tears push so hard, I began to get a migraine. I fall to my knees, and realize the floors a blaze. My eyes widen. All around me flames grow taller. The roar from the fire startles my jump, as I dive back into bed. I close my eyes real tight.

~

My eyes shoot open as broad daylight pours over my face and I feel dry tear stains as I blink. I have been lucid dreaming.

My alarm reads 7:22 a.m. I lazily turn toward the ceiling and blink rapidly, going into a daze.

I swallow hard. It's been years since I've heard her voice, and even longer since I've felt myself wrapped in love. I miss everything about her, especially when she'd take me out for icecream and laugh at Father when he would spill his sundae over his lap. I think it was more of her laugh than Father's clumsiness.

She would take me out to the dock and tell me stories about when they would chicken fight with each other, Mother's siblings and herself, and loser would have to eat sardines. We would make gagging faces, then crack up. I would lay my head in her lap and she would play with my hair as we'd watch the sun set over the horizon that sat perfectly above the rocky waves of the lake.

"Why do you always wake me up with kisses?" She would ask. I would always answer, "Because one day I won't be able to anymore."

The sound of birds chirping brakes my daydream, and I look at the clock. 7:30. Time to start my day.