Paradise

When She Was Just A Girl

Grace was just a small seven year old girl. The world was a huge place for her, and she wanted to explore every inch of it.

She wanted her pale hands and feet to splash in crystal fountains and lakes. She wanted her wavy blonde, shoulder length hair to be filled with colorful autumn leaves. She wanted her blue-green eyes to see everything, and experience it all. But what she wanted most, was just to get out of the house. To get away, and leave home with her mother. She would've liked to take her father along as well, but she didn't know if he'd like it very much. She didn't like it when he was angry.

Her daddy used to be a handsome guy, with curly black hair and clear blue eyes. He had a bit of a temper, but mama always calmed him down by saying, 'Now, Charles, is it really worth the stress and struggle?'.

He would always reply with something like, 'of course not Beth,'. They would sit on the couch together, mama on daddy's lap, and talk quietly.

Then Grace came along, and they had a family of gold. For five short years, Grace got to experience a taste of what she dreamed of now. She only wanted that family of gold back.

Mama didn't say things like that to daddy anymore. She didn't calm him down, so he didn't calm down. He got worse. And worse. Until Grace practically screamed that he was a monster. But she never did. She knew the consequences.

She didn't used to.

She was just finishing dinner, her fork clinking in her plate and the wooden legs of her chair sliding across the floor were the only sounds in the house as she got up.

She remembered the words. 'Clear up the table, if you would.'

'Okay, daddy... Daddy?'

'Yes dear?

'How long will you be out?'

She noticed a silver gleam in his coat pocket.

'Just a bit.'

And she finished dinner. It had been two hours since her daddy left. She kept running to the window when ever a car drove past, looking for her daddy's blue truck. So much, that she forgot to clear the table.

Daddy finally came home, and Grace practically jumped on him to give him a big bear hug.

She would have, too, if he didn't smell so funny.

'Grace Marie Alexander!'

'Yes daddy? Her little feet hopped down the stairs in a pink nightgown.

'Why is the table not cleared like a told you!?!?'

'Oh! Sorry, daddy I forgot.'

'Get in there, NOW!'

She remembered her dad looking very angry. She wished her mama would tell him that she was only six, and people make mistakes.

'But, you told me to go to bed.'

She remembered a sharp sting on her left cheek.

'Daddy....'

'Get out.... GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!'

Grace shot up the stairs, sobbing. What did she do wrong? What did she do to make him angry? It was her fault he was so angry, she was positive.

Would he be so angry that he wouldn't take her to the museum tomorrow, like they always did on her birthday? She glanced at her cloud themed calendar, before burying her head in her white sheets. She really hoped he would take her... She liked it when he would buy her a pretzel, show her the exhibits, and tell her how each one of them reminded him of something. She would listen to his stories until she was sleepy. He would carry her to the truck, and she would sleep the whole ride home.

She'd like it if he would take her.

He didn't though.

He didn't take her the year after, either.

And she didn't remind him. She never had to before, and she didn't want to see him angry.

But she saw him everyday after school. angrier and angrier. The silver glint in his pocket became very familiar. A flask filled with strong,funny smelling liquid, reminding her of her fathers breath. It was always in his hand, or in his pocket.

She wanted to leave with her mother. She would've really liked him to come. They could all go to the art museum together, and eat pretzels, and tell stories.

But daddy wasn't ever happy anymore. He never smiled. He only sat and watched tv. His eyes were bloodshot, his breath always smelled foul, and his hair was messy. The neighbors didn't invite them to bar-b-queues anymore, and Grave didn't think he would come regardless. He never showed up for teacher-parent conferences, or talent shows, or school exhibits. He didn't take her trick-or-treating, or buy her candy, or put up the Christmas tree, or throw her birthday parties. He would give her small gifts in her birthday or Christmas. But that was all.

She remembered the light pink teddy bear with the reddish nose and bow around its neck. That was her favorite present.

He didn't give her stuff like that anymore. It was usually some kind of candy, melted from his pocket, or a cheap beaded bracelets.

Daddy didn't have much money anymore. He lived off loans, and spent most of his money on the contents of the silver flask.

Yet still, every night, Grace would step quietly down stairs and tell her father goodnight. And every night she would wish for a response. She had stopped wishing for him to kiss her on the head and tuck her into bed. She only wanted a 'Goodnight, sweetie,', or even just a simple, 'You too.'

Her mother used to tell her that wishes came true, if you really wanted them to.

Every night, Grace wished.