A Rebel Dream

The Rebel Dream

There are several different kinds of parents in the world; for example, some are strict, some are kind, some spoil their children, some are very protective, and others just let their kids do whatever they want. My parents? Well, for one, my father is dead, and two, my mom isn't anything like those types of parents. One word can describe her: abusive.

My mother barely says 'I love you' and when she does, I don't believe it. Regular mothers hug and kiss their children, but my mom slaps me and orders for me to do chores for her while she lays on the couch and watches TV. My mother's actions don't say 'I love you'. Instead, they scream at me that she hates me.

Why couldn't she act like a regular mother and ask me how was my day when I return home from school? Why couldn't I have a mom that will attend my dance recithals and tell me 'good job'? All Mom does is beat me down! The woman made me forget how to smile...

If I ask her opinion on an outfit, all she does is glance over at me and mutter something like, "You need to lose some weight." Her awful criticism has left me falling for the stupid lie that I'm not pretty.

Every hurtful word is a stab in the heart. Does she even realize what she is doing to me? Does she know that I cry daily because of her horrid attitude? Everything she does affects me. My mind tries to block those hurtful words and actions, but it is no use.

I love her... but how come she doesn't appear to love me? Mothers play an important role in a daughter's life, but a daughter is supposed to play an important role in a mother's life. In my mom's eyes, I am nothing more than an irritating pest.

When she gives me dirty looks, my heart aches. When she insults me, my heart cracks. When she slaps me and beats me, my heart breaks. My heart is scarred and more wounds are yet to come. Happiness is a foreign feeling to me, now. The last time time I smiled... well, I can't remember...

Only one thing has kept me going all these years: dance. The jumps, turns, and twirls give me hope that one day, I won't be weighed down. I will be as free as the moves I make while I'm dancing. If my mom would let me, I could move my body to a rythym all day long.

My mom thinks dancing is nonsense and is useless, but I can't live without it. Why does she despise everything I adore? Why does she get pure joy out of my pure misery? How can a human being act so vicious?

Ocassionally, I wonder if my life would be a thousand times better if my dad was still alive. If he didn't get hit by that drunk driver when I was a baby, would everything be all right? If he still had oxygen flowing through his lungs, would Mom still act like this? If she would still act this way, would my dad protect me? These thoughts are useless, though, because Dad will never return.

"Crystal, are you done doing the laundry yet?!" My mom screams from downstairs before she lets out a loud, deep belch, making me cringe.

"No, m'am." I call down to the unloving woman.

"Get down here!" She screams louder. My feet pitter-patter down the stairs and into the freezing cold living room. Mom is sprawled out on the filthy, stain-covered couch with another beer in her hands. Her body gives off a very disturbing scent that assaults my nose, and she hasn't bathed in days which is obvious.

Her dark green eyes, that I inherited, narrow at the sight of me, "What's taking you so long?"

"You just gave me the task not even an hour ago along with cleaning the bathrooms, sweeping, watering the plants, and mopping the floors. They all take a while, Mom. I did all of those, and the laundry is my last chore to do for now." I try to explain but she doesn't want to listen. Mom never listens and she is never satisfied.

"Ugh, whatever." She growls in frustration. "Ya know, I could go for another drink. Go fetch one for me, you brat." Her speech has a strong slur to it.