The painting.

I woke up to the sounds of screams. There he was, snarling at me; I could smell the alcohol from a mile away, and I knew he just came from my mother’s bedroom. You know that feeling Alex, the one where you’re paralyzed with fear, and no matter how logical you think about the situation, leaving just doesn’t work.

Any who, I knew what he had done to my mom, and there was no escaping; It was a ritual. Most families fight about what dog to get, going past the point of passive-aggressive, my family, well my dad, he had no limit, and when he drank, it wasn’t pretty.

I had a tale-tell sign when things would escalate watching sports, a couple of beers, followed by a trip to the pub, but tonight was different, I missed all the cues, and now as a result of my actions, I am forced to bear the consequence; You know what happens next right? My mother, all bruised up, comes running into my room to save me “He needs to learn how to be a man” my father said “he needs to know the harsh reality of this world” my mom pleads not to do anything irrational, but he’s far from himself.

It wasn’t always like this, he was kind, sentimental, we even hung out, but things started to change drastically, and we couldn’t figure what it was. The cold air surfaced the room as he approached, I stood there frozen, like ice, waiting for what was to come; when the blows started coming in, I went to my happy place.

I didn’t know what else to do. It was better this way. It was beautiful Alex, I would picture the most exotic places, the coolest people would always be there, it was where I felt most alive, and when it was all over, I would return to the harsh reality I lived. The same pain, the same problems, I needed a way out.

I saved enough for me and my sister, with the intent of finding paradise. It was all I could think, see, or do. My grandmother had an apartment in the Dominican Republic. It was close by the beach; when she described it to me, I fell in love, I dreamed about the moment I walked in so many times, it became automatic for me. So, it was set, I would stay there, and escape the reality I lived.

Along with my sister, we would evade all the pain and misery we had known. So, when I had saved enough money, we packed up quietly and left; no one knew about anything. For once, I felt like an optimist, like everything was going the way I planned. It was Beautiful Alex, the sunrises would reflect off the mirrors and bring in light to the entire place, the ocean was close by, so the breeze was constant. The smell of saltwater in the afternoon was the best thing I’ve ever experienced, but it was unfamiliar.

It felt strange living like this, I guess, you get used to something for so long that change is difficult. We tried various things to get accustomed; we got jobs, but our lack of involvement got us fired, we tried clubs, but we felt too awkward around people, so we never showed up again; we even tried taking classes, but when we realized that our Spanish wasn’t as sound as we thought it to be, we had to drop. After many attempts at failing to find something that would dissipate our discomfort, we thought about giving up and returning, but the thought of having to go back was pure agony.

Just as we were about to truly give in -- there she was, doing, what felt like the most serene thing, I have ever seen; she was painting. Out on the beach, her feet covered in sand. A canvas, a paintbrush, and a stand, she was painting the sunset. I was hypnotized, I watched her for hours; with each stroke, she wrote a symphony, the colors from the sun were so detailed, I found myself covering my eyes to block the reflection. I was hooked. You know the feeling that this is the moment that's going to change your life, that it’s all crystal clear from here on out? "Well?" That was me. I wanted to become a painter. And so, I did.

I walked up to her that same day and asked if she could teach, and she gracefully opened her arms and started teaching me. With every stroke on the canvas, my problems went away, with the color schemes I had picked, I told a story full of emotions, and with every tear came liberation. I had finally settled in, but it was all too good to be true. Two days later I got a phone call; It’s my mother, she worried after she found out from my grandmother where we were staying.

I knew what was going to come next. A cold sweat started to develop on my neck as I anticipated the words, “Come home NOW!” Just like that, my paradise had evaporated into thin air. I did the best I could to resist, but after heavy convincing from my grandmother, we had to come back. When I arrived at the airport, I kept my head high because I had finally known what it meant to be at peace. It wasn’t where you were, but how you make of it.

"How you make of it?" yes, you (he points at me) define how you’re going to react to a situation, no external factor should influence your emotions, only you can do that from within. When I realized such a thing, everything changed, I stood up for myself, my sister, my mother and encouraged her to get help, I even got help for my dad too. And the paintings? I never stopped.

Now I paint for those in need of an escape, with the message of showing that you are in control of your actions, you can escape whatever it is that holds you back. You are in control.