The Nightmare From My Past
I cowered in the corner of the living room and watched helplessly as my mother dropped to the floor from the hard contact my father placed upon her skin. Mother always told me that when father drinks, he’s out of his mind and can’t think straight. She always told me that father loves us and means no harm. But, I couldn’t help being afraid- afraid of my own father. With a beer bottle in one hand, my father threw it across the room. Glass shattered and the liquid that wasn’t consumed spills, creating a pool of mess. I sat in fear, afraid of the outcome. It was as if my feet had been glued to the floor, refraining me from moving any further.
Run upstairs and take your baby sister with you,
my mother says, calling out to me.
But I couldn’t. Not when my father’s eyes locked with mines. His eyes were red, full of rage, while his pupils dilated from the alcohol consumed.
Now!
my mother yelled out.
Breaking contact, I quickly took my baby sister out of her crib and ran upstairs. I searched for the closest room and run inside, making sure to lock it on the way in. The fear in my body had still yet to die down and with every breath taken, my heart rate pulsated wildly in my chest as if it was kept in captivity for far too long. Through the thin walls, the voices of my father and mother were still heard, and with each passing second, the voice of my father increased volume. Money was what he wanted. Money was always what he wanted. All of a sudden, glass shattered and the muscles of my heart tightened with an absurd force, sending the flow of blood down my veins in a single movement. Suddenly, without warning, wet hot tears filled up my eyes and I began to blink rapidly, in hopes to past the rim of warm wetness that threatened to overspill my eyes. As each word pitched higher than the last, my throat closed tight and a tear slowly fell down my cheek. I quickly wiped the tear away and hold my baby sister, who slept peacefully, close.
Minutes pass by and no sound was heard. It was as if everything had stopped. I slowly stood up to quietly open the door when, suddenly, the door knob began to shake. I froze in fear; every muscle in my body screamed at me to hide, but I remained frozen. Though the door was locked, there was no reason it couldn’t be opened a different way. My father then opens the door and comes into the room, overwhelming it with the staggering smell of alcohol. As he advanced his steps made in my direction, I felt my body tense up. I look at the bedroom floor that seemingly became more interesting, when a pair of black boots stopped in front of me.
Look up.
says my father.
Only two words, and yet, the power in his voice intimidated me. I slowly lifted my head to see nothing but cold eyes gazing upon my form. I tried to talk . . . say something…but no sound came out; my mouth went dry. I see my father lift his hand up, and, without thinking, I quickly curled into a ball and covered my head with my hands, ready to take the hit.
Please let this be over . . . Please let this all be over.
I silently told myself.
My eyes shoot open and I begin to breathe heavily. I sit up and the sweat beads forming on my forehead run down my face. I look around my surroundings, trying to gain a sense of where I was just to realize that it was only a nightmare. The difference was that this nightmare was real. I take a sigh of relief knowing that I’m safe . . . that my mother and sister were safe. Though the incident took place five years ago, I couldn’t help but still remember. The pain and the suffering . . . it’s not easy to forget. I look out to the glass panes and watch the sun slowly rise into the distance. With each passing second, the color grows more vivid, making the morning sky more radiant as it climbed higher and higher into the sky. The light cast against the tall buildings and I never recognized how beautiful New York was, until this very moment. I turn my head to see clothes folded neatly on the chair. Today is the day. Today is the day where I will be walking across the stage to grab my diploma; to see my mother standing in the distance, making her proud. I guess what they say is true; There’s no success without hardship . . . and it’s only the beginning.