The first thing I saw was purple. An endless sea of purple. It was a lavender field, but I thought we found fairyland.
            I scrambled to the window and squinted as best as I could with my poor eyesight to find fairies, thinking that their purple dresses were blending in with the lavender. But Dad was driving so fast that when he hit the brakes, I toppled off of my seat. The car door next to me swung open, letting in the cool air of the afternoon.
            Dad looked down at me. I was so dizzy from my fall that I saw three of him. He reeked from all the beer he usually drowned himself in. He then dragged me out of the car and planted me on the side of the road. That caused the dizziness to worsen, but I didn’t tell him that.
            Not letting go of my arms, he kneeled down to my eye level. He looked serious, which was rare. He was always either goofy or scary, depending on how many drinks he had had. He crinkled his eyes and tried to give me a kind smile, but his yellow teeth ruined that effect.
            “Okay, sweetie, I need you—” He sneezed, right into my face. I wanted to wipe my face, but when I tried to move my arms, he held them down. “Sorry, honey, allergies.”
            “Allergies?”
            “The flowers make me sick,” he explained to me gently, his nails digging into my arms. “Which is why I need you to go into the field and get Mommy. Did you already forget?”
            Of course I had already forgotten because I was seven years old, but I had learned how not to piss him off. “No, Dad,” I replied, relieved when I didn’t stutter. He hated when I did that.
            His grip on my arms slightly loosened, but his nails were still digging into my skin. “And do you remember what you have to tell Mommy?”
            “Yes, Dad.”
            Finally, he let go of my arms and turned me to the field. “Go get her,” he commanded, pushing me forward.
            That would have been an easy task if I had any idea where Mom was. Dad failed to give me any directions. The flowers towered over me, making it hard to see where I was going, yet I didn’t dare turn back. I walked blindly into the field. Once I felt far away enough from him, I quietly called out for Mom.
            Time passed quickly as I wandered through the lavender field. The sun was already setting, which frightened me. Not because it was getting dark or because I couldn’t find Mom, but because I didn’t want Dad to lose his patience and punish me.
            As if a miracle was sent from God, I finally got a response to my calls.
            “Talia? Is that you?”
            “Mom!” I squealed and ran in the direction of her voice. It should have been a beautiful, heartwarming reunion with the sunset and lavender. Instead, I found her drunk and lying on the ground with a bottle in her hand. She smelled worse than Dad. There was lavender in her hair and her clothes were stained with dirt and alcohol. She looked like a fairy princess that had been trampled on by filthy trolls.
            When she saw me, she sat up slightly and gave me a lazy smile. “You found me,” she slurred, raising the bottle in the air as if she was giving a toast, but then she fell back down.
            The sight of her made my stomach twist, not because she was drunk beyond reason, but because I had no idea how I would get her back to Dad. If I didn’t, I would be the one punished alongside her. I stood over her, hoping she would say more, but she took another sip from her bottle and spilled liquor onto her face and shirt. She looked up at me, but I felt like she was looking through me. She was in her own fairyland.
            “Dad wants to tell you something.”
            My words interested her as she actually sat up properly and looked at me, her eyes wide. I couldn’t tell if the shine in her eyes was hope or terror.
            “Dad is sorry and loves you and wants you to come home.”
            I waited, foolishly expecting Mom to suddenly sober up, grab my hand, and skip through the lavender field into Dad’s open arms.
            “That’s it? That’s his great speech?” She scowled and took another sip from her bottle before lying down.
            I panicked and tried to remember if there was anything else Dad told me to say, but if there had been, I forgot it. So, I told her something else Dad had muttered in the car –in hopes that it would fix everything.
            It had the opposite effect.
            Mom slapped me so hard that she knocked me to the ground, but she barely gave me a glance. She stood up and spun around as if looking for something. When she finally stopped spinning, she narrowed her eyes and pointed in a direction.
            “You piece of shit!” she screamed into the distance before going into a ramble of insults and profanities.
            It appeared she had spotted Dad at the edge of the field.
            I heard Dad shout back faintly. The scream fest began and with every roar from Dad, a sneeze would follow. Soon, his voice started to sound clearer and there was a looming shuffle of steps.
            Dad was in the field.
            That realization washed over me and left behind a cold trail of fear. I looked up at Mom, trying to think of a way to stop her shouting when a pretty, yellow butterfly flew in front of me. It landed on my knee and I fixated on it, blocking out whatever my parents were screaming at each other. They fought so often that it was probably nothing different from the usual.
            I tried to grab the butterfly, but it flew away. I leaped off the ground and followed it, right as Dad finally reached Mom. I heard his grunts and her shrieks, but none of that mattered to me as much as that butterfly did in that moment.
            The butterfly was fast, but I was determined to catch it. I ran as fast as my short, chubby legs would allow me. The lavender got caught on my hair and they brushed against my arms, tickling me. Even though the butterfly was small, its yellow wings stood out against all the purple. It was as if the butterfly was my flashlight through the lavender field, guiding me somewhere. Except I really didn’t care where it was taking me. The butterfly was the closest creature to a fairy that I had ever seen.
            I had to have it.
            It was about to fly higher out of my reach, so I leaped forward into the air. I will never forget that moment.
            I felt like a fairy — weightless, free, magical, powerful.
            I somehow grabbed the butterfly, but I instantly realized that it was a terrible idea when I felt the butterfly get squished to death under my plump hands. I didn’t even have time to mourn because when I landed on the ground, I tripped over my own feet and my head fell against a rock. Like a walnut, it cracked wide open and blood poured into the ground.
            The blood and pain didn’t scare me as much as the dead butterfly did. Its golden wings were folded awfully unto each other and its body was flat. It twitched for a few seconds, giving me hope, but then it went still.
            I tried to get up, but my head was anchored to the ground, too heavy to carry. Minutes passed and the butterfly didn’t move again. I tried to call for help, for my parents, for anyone, but my voice failed me.
            When I could no longer stand the sight of the butterfly, I focused on the lavenders –tall, perfect, and purple even in the dusk. I wondered if there were any fairies here and if they would save me. I waited, almost imagining the shapes of their dresses and the flutter of their wings, but nothing happened. The sun disappeared behind the horizon, leaving me in the darkness. There were no fairies and this was no fairyland.
            The last thing I saw was purple.