Clad in a yellow checkered swimsuit, I dig my toes into the sugary white sand of Avalon's South Shore beach. A cool, fresh breeze lifts the hair around my face, blowing the oversized red beach towel off my tanned shoulders. I sigh, inhaling the intoxicating, salty scent of the ocean. Avalon's exclusive beach is heaven during the hot, Jersey summer. Stretching a mile further into the Atlantic than other barrier islands, the air is always a few degrees colder. Even the town's slogan is chill, Cooler by a Mile.

My brother, Ryan, swims a safe distance from the rip tide, staying close to the shore. I watch as his tanned arms cut through the water. He knows I won't venture further into the water than my waist. I'm afraid the powerful waves will drag me out into the undertow. Overhead, seagulls circle, scavenging for food. Their mournful cries are almost drowned out, as they dive into the roaring of the surf.

Without warning, everything changes. The rhythmic pounding of the waves cease, while the wind, blowing from the east, switches to the west. My hair whips back from my face, as if a giant fan's been reversed. Frightened, the gulls drop their mollusks and head inland. Once they're gone, an eerie silence fills the air...until the surf retreats a mile out to sea. I'm transfixed by the sight of the marine life, starfish and crabs, thousands of flopping fish, stranded in the slimy sediment accompanied by a with a sickening sucking sound. A dark shadow rises above me, blotting out the sun. My knees falter when I see a colossal wave looming behind it. In the distance, a towering tsunami crests as it races towards shore. There's no way to outrun it! Horrified, I search for Ryan. He's swimming frantically, almost reaching the breakers. With my heart in my mouth I see him dragged backwards. Running towards him I scream, "Keep swimming, Ryan. Get out of the water!" But it's too late, the giant wall of water swallows my brother whole.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My nightmare ends as heavy footsteps rush past my bedroom stopping at my brother's bedroom. The night's silence is shattered by loud banging, followed by angry yelling. "Open this door! Open it now, or I'll break it down!" I hear the cold fury in my father's voice.

No! Don't let him in! Go out the window. Frightened, I pull my pink bedsheets over my head.

I cringe as the sound of a leather strap, hitting something soft, starts. I imagine the way the muscles work under my father's jaw as he whips us, his implacable rage.

"Please dad, stop!" Pain reverberates through my gut. God, I hate when my father hurts my mom or my brother. I wish the bastard would die. Trembling under my covers, I wonder what's unleashed his drunken fury tonight. A dirty plate left on the dinner table? A washcloth scrunched in the tub? Ultimately, the severity of the punishment never matches the crime.

"No! Please, stop!" My fifteen year old brother's pleas wrench my heart. I wish I had the courage to help him. Instead, I cower under my sheets, hating my weakness. I'm thirteen. I'll be fourteen in a few weeks, but I feel like I'm six years old again. I imagine my brother, hands clasped protectively around his head, as the vicious blows reign down on his bare shoulders. I hope the beating sounds worse than it is. Fear and violent images dance through my mind.

Fifteen minutes later, I hear our tormenter exit the house. His drunken rage exhausted, my father's on his way to the local bar. Probably to rant about politics and drink until they close. If there was real grace in this world my father would wrap his car around a tree trunk and never return.

Raspy sobs seep through the wall next door. They tug at my heart, but I won't venture into his room. My brother's too proud for me to see him this way. After  witnessing his humiliating punishments, Ryan's often lashed out at me. Eventually, I hear my mother enter his room, finally awake after the three Valiums she took. I can't believe she slept through all that noise.

"Why was your father angry?" I hear her soothing voice trying to calm my brother.

"He didn't tell me. He just kept hitting me." My brother hesitates, "Mon, why does he hate me so much?"

"Your father doesn't hate you. I doubt he even knows what he's doing when he's drinking. He's going through a midlife crisis."

Midlife crises? I grit my teeth. He's certifiably insane.

I've come to grips with the fact my mother is too weak to face the truth about our father's abuse. Sometimes Ryan hits me or breaks something I own when we fight, but he never deserves to be viciously beaten. I often hate his guts, but I never want him to see him hurt. My father's jealousy might be a factor because my brother's skin is paler than his. I've heard him muttering about this to himself when he drinks.

When I was twelve, I first realized our lives were built on an unspoken lie, an ephemeral castle in the sand. I didn't foresee the force the incoming waves of hate would have, tearing us apart. Perhaps we could have overcome the evil by shedding light on the deceit. But the delicately hidden lie, nurtured in secrecy, hidden away in the darkness of our hearts took on a monstrous life of it's own.

The voices continue for a while, but one exchange catches my attention. "Ryan, I know you're not looking forward to going away to college next year, but I think you should leave for school early. Before the end of summer.

"You know I can't get into college. That's why I enrolled at the Oklahoma Technical Institute.

"A trade's just as good as a white collar job. Don't worry. Everything will get better once you're out of this house."

"I just want to be free of him. I almost have enough money saved to buy the Firebird I was looking at. Once I get my car, I'm going to leave. But what about you and Evie? Dad's going to take his anger out on both of you once I'm gone."

"Don't worry about Evie and me. We'll both be fine."

I sit up in my bed, suddenly alert. Ryan's leaving for Oklahoma, early? Why does he have to go far away? And why does he have to leave before Christmas? I hate my father. Why does he destroy everything good in our lives?