Wicked Snow

~Ten Years Ago~ “Mommy look at my painting!” Grace shouted, excited to share her picture with her mother. Grace was at the dining room table, painting flowers and trees while her mom cooked dinner in the open-plan kitchen. Her mother gave the pot of soup a final stir before walking over to see the artwork. She looked over Grace’s shoulder, taking in the colorful and swirling picture that her daughter had just completed. “Wow, honey. You could be the next Van Gogh,” her mom enthused. Grace wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What’s a Van Gogh?” Her mom chuckled and ruffled Grace’s hair. “Van Gogh is a famous painter. I think you could be as famous as him one day.” “Really?” Grace asked excitedly. “Of course. One day you’ll have your own gallery and people will line up just to get a look at your paintings.” Her mom was smiling down at Grace’s picture, looking at it as if it was the most precious thing she had ever seen. It was a beautiful and cheerful moment, but it's scary how quickly something good can darken in a single second. Grace and her mother jumped in fright as they heard the front door violently slam shut. Her mom’s mood changed instantly, the smile wiped from her face and the light gone from her eyes. “We have to clean this all up, Grace. Quickly!” she whisper-shouted, gesturing to all the papers, paints and paint brushes on the dining room table. Her voice was trembling and panicked, and her hands shook in fear. Grace knew why her mom was scared. Her dad was home, and he was always really mean to her mom. Her mother always left a drawer in the kitchen empty for occasions like this, because her dad didn’t like it when Grace left her stuff around the house–in fact, he didn’t even seem to like his daughter at all. “Hurry!” Grace’s mom encouraged her, sounding terrified. They tried to clean up the young girl's mess as quickly as they could, but before they could put it all away in the drawer, her father came into the room. He stopped in his tracks and narrowed his eyes when he saw the mess on the table. “What’s this?” he asked in a deceptively calm voice. “N-nothing,” her mom stuttered, protectively pushing Grace behind her. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” he replied, his voice taking on a slight edge. “Let me just clean it up,” her mother pleaded with him. She made a move toward the table, but he grabbed her wrist preventing her from picking up the pieces of paper she had been reaching for. Grace’s father kept a punishing grip on her mom’s wrist, while he reached with his other hand to pick up the painting Grace had been so proud of. “Is this what you’ve been teaching our daughter?” he asked her with a clenched jaw. “She was just having fun, Lyle.” Her mother sounded terrified and her throat bobbed as she swallowed nervously. “Oh well that makes it all better then,” he replied scornfully. He roughly shoved his wife away from him, making her stumble. She held her arm to her body, her wrist in pain from his brutal grip. “This garbage will not be allowed in my house,” he said through gritted teeth as he held up Grace’s painting. “Is that understood?” Her mother hesitated before reluctantly nodding her head, looking defeated. Grace didn’t understand why her father hated her paintings so much, but she knew not to disagree with him. So she held her tongue, even as she watched her father rip her beautiful painting into pieces. The remnants of her picture fluttered down to the floor as tears fell down Grace’s face. “Clean all this s**t up,” her father demanded as he left the room to go upstairs. “I’m so sorry, Grace,” her mother cried as she looked down at the destroyed picture. “Why is dad so mean?” Grace sobbed, her tears choking her voice. Her mother kneeled in front of Grace and held her face lovingly, her pained blue eyes meeting Grace’s tear-filled ones. “I don’t know, honey,” she said helplessly. “But I love you more than anything in the whole world. You’re my angel.” Grace smiled through her tears, her mom’s words making her feel a bit better. “I love you too mommy,” she said. Her mother pulled her in for a hug, but it was short-lived, as they had to clean up the dining room before her dad came back. Grace picked up the pieces of her painting, hating her father for destroying something she had worked so hard on. Even though it was hard to do, she threw away the pieces of paper, wishing all the while that she could somehow fix it. It was the first thing that she had loved that he had destroyed, but it wouldn’t be the last.