What happens when the world breaks

“You can’t catch me!” Jabier shrieks as I chase him around the room. His skinny little legs carry him under the table, through the living room, and over the couch, all the while dodging my outstretched hands. Knowing he can do this for hours, I switch tactics. I crouch with my hands on my knees, breathing with great heaving motions.

“Oh, Jabi,” I moan, “I think you are just too fast for me.”

My little brother cautiously peeks out from his hiding place, his brows knotted in confusion. “I am?”

I nod so vigorously that one of my braids smacks me. “Oh yes.”

He comes closer and pulls one of my arms. “You catch me, you can do it, run Esme, run!”

Perfect.

I lunge at the unsuspecting boy, scoop him up in my arms, and tickle the snot out of him. 

“Now I got you!”

Jabi screams with laughter, which makes me laugh.

“Hey, you two giggle monsters,” Mama calls from the other room. “It’s time for dinner! Jabi, go tell your brothers and sisters to come eat. Esme baby, tell your daddy. I think he’s in the basement.”

I put down the giggling kindergartner and watch him run up the stair, hollering. I made my way to the basement door and cracked it open.

“Daddy?” I call down the steps. I stop midway down and lean over the railing to call him again. The door to his workshop is cracked.

“One moment, baby girl!” He appears a few minutes later in overalls and his carpentry belt.

“Mama said to tell you it’s dinner time.”

A smile lights up his handsome face. “Ahh, well then, let’s not disappoint your Mama after all her hard work.”

Almost everyone is already at the table when we enter the dining room.

“Took you long enough,” Gilberto grumbles, leaning back in his chair. Ever since he turned fourteen, I suspect my brother had become part black hole, consuming everything in sight.

“Yeah,” Rapha chimes in. “I am sooo hungry.”

Gloriana grins. “We had to fend them off with carrot spears.”

“Yeah, they were gonna eat all the food, but we stopped them.” Connie sat up straighter with a triumphant smile. Daddy leans over and kisses her forehead with a smile. “There’s my good girl.”

 “There you two are,” Mama smiles as she puts Jabi in his booster seat. Once we all are seated, Daddy bows his head and says grace.

Mama had already left for the store that afternoon when I found my two brothers arguing in Daddy’s office, the floor strewn with papers.

“You have to help me,” Gil whispers fiercely. “I wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t called me.”

Rapha fumes, sticking out his chest. “Nah, huh, it’s not my fault; you’re the one supposed to be watching him. Mama put you in charge!”

“Well,” Gil shoots back, crossing his arms. “I would have been if someone hadn’t called me over to look at that new video game-“ 

I march into the room. “Alright, what are you two yelling about?”

“Nothing, I did nothing!” Rapha shouts, then scatters. I grab Gil to make sure he doesn’t. He avoids eye contact, which means he messed up.

I sigh. “What happened, Gilberto?”

The words tumble out. “I was watching Jabi, but then Rapha called me to show me something, and Jabi got loose in Dad’s office, and he messed with a bunch of Dad’s papers, and now they are all over the floor-”

I sigh again and hold up a hand. “Fine, I’ll clean it up; just watch Jabi, like you were supposed to be doing.”

Gil’s body relaxes with relief. “Thank you, Esme. I owe you, big time.” And he runs off to find Jabi.

I shake my head, then start picking the papers up. It takes me only five minutes to make it to the last slip of paper, which is actually an envelope. I reach for it but make the mistake of picking it up the wrong way.

Five pristine slips of paper flutter to the ground.

“Dang it!” I cry, then quickly pick the closest one up.

It was an adoption certificate. Listing Lucinda and Jeremy Jimenez-Mama and Daddy- as the adoptive parents.

Of Jabier Sanchez.

The paper slips through my fingers as the realization crashes into me.

No. No, no, no, no, no!

I tear through the next, then the next, then the next. My siblings’ names pour out before me, all with unfamiliar last names, last names that burn themselves into my brain until I know I will never forget them. Gloriana Thompson, Raphael Pavel, Consuela Law-Gomez, Gilberto Aces. Finally, I come to mine, I am cold all over, and I know I’m not breathing, but there doesn’t seem like much I can do about it. I unfold the paper, my hands shaking so much I barely make out the name.

My name.

Esmerelda Willow Johnson. 

I throw up later in the guest bathroom while Gil plays dinosaur with Connie and Jabi, their laughter ringing in my ears as I flush the toilet.

My window for the truth comes the next day. Once I am sure all my siblings are busy in or outside the house, I look for my parents. I found them in the den, writing and watching tv. Like everything was normal. My stomach knots with so many emotions I take several deep breaths before entering. I stepped in and pulled the pocket doors shut. Seated at her desk behind the couch, the desk we had given her for Mother’s Day, Mama-or-my adoptive mother, glances up from her writing. Upon seeing my face, she sets down her pencil. “Esme, is there something wrong, honey?”

I grate my teeth and clench my fists so tight my palms hurt. “Yes.”

Mama jumps to her feet, knocking her pencil to the floor. “Is someone hurt? What happened?”

 By this point, Daddy-or-my adoptive father had turned the tv off and came over to stand behind his wife, placing his hands on her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

I take a shallow breath, focusing on a small birthmark above Mother’s left cheek. “No one is injured. I just need to talk to you now.”

Adoptive Mother sighs and relaxes somewhat.

 “Ok, we’re listening,” Adoptive Father soothes. “What do you need to talk to us about, baby girl?”

Their concern temporarily loosens some of my anger because I know it is genuine. For a moment, I imagine what it would be like if I didn’t say anything about this. Would everything go back to normal?

In my heart, I know it wouldn’t.

Holding back a sob, I yank the paper I had taken from his office from my shirt and shake it at them. “This, this!”

The color drains from Mother’s face, leaving her a pasty brown color. Father opens and closes his mouth like a fish. They stare at me, then at each other with wide eyes.

I jerk awake the next day as my alarm blares. I groan, then swat at it till it turns off. I had just got one leg out of bed when I remember. My breathing intensifies, and I grasp my pillow like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling. Remember is a nice way to put it, more like the memory almost knocked me senseless of how my parents-my heart tightens-or whoever they are- their lies.

“You were all adopted.” Mama had said, her face twisted in pain and tears.

“No, No, NO!” I jabbed a finger at her, my voice, my heart breaking. “I-I-I remember, I remember you pregnant with Rapha, then Connie and-and then Jabi, and everyone saw you, and we have pictures! You were pregnant for nine months with Jabi, then-then you went to the hospital for three days and then came home with him! And you were pregnant with Connie for-for-for- only seven because she was a preemie, you had to be rushed to the hospital, and Grandma babysat! And I, I, remember before Rapha was born, I laid my head on your stomach, and you told me I was going to have another brother! We have pictures!! We have pictures!!” I grabbed my head, the tears ripping out of me.

“Esme, honey,” Daddy walks toward me, his face full of sorrow and shame. “I am so so sorry for everything-”

Avoiding Daddy’s arms, I rush from the room. Seventeen years. Seventeen years of lies and deceit. Seventeen years of being someone I am not, someone I never was. Seventeen years of Esmerelda Willow Jimenez are now gone.

 I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back a sob, holding back a scream, holding myself together. I count every breath that enters and exits my lungs until my grip on the pillow loosens. Opening my eyes, I see Gloria snoring, her pink and black braids splattering across her peaceful face.

I think about letting her sleep, about letting them all sleep just a little longer while their world is still together. Suddenly, jealousy hits me hard. My…parents had begged me to not tell anyone before they did, to give my siblings one more day. I never got one more day.

I never got eased into it.

I leap out of bed and lumber over to her bed.

“G, it’s time to wake up,” I growl, shaking her.

A soft snore answers me.

“Gloriana, I said it’s time to wake up!!”

Nothing. Relief and guilt flood my body. What is wrong with me? Screaming at my younger sister for no reason. I wipe my eyes, then try the one thing I know will work, the one thing she hates.

“Sorry about this,” I whisper before moving to Connie’s trundle that Father had separated from my bed to give me some privacy. Connie always sleeps hard, but the only thing that wakes her is Gloria’s shrieks.

I half carry half drag the slumbering eight-year-old across the room, dump her on my other sister, and wait. And wait. And wait.

Neither girl even stirs, let alone wakes up.

“Gloria. Connie. Wake up!” I shout into their ears. Both continue snoring with

 Panic trickles into my mind. They never sleep this hard.

I hurry to the boys’ room. After navigating toys, smelly sports gear, and dirty clothes, I arrive at the bed with the biggest lump.

“Gil?” no response. I try shaking him this time. “Gil? Gilberto, wake up. I need your help!”

He doesn’t stir, and I would’ve thought him dead but for his covers’ steady rise and fall.

I try Rapha, then Jabi. I try blasting music, shouting in their ears, and even as a last ditch effort, flicking cold water them. But just like the girls, nothing works on any of them.

I back out of the room, my heart pounding. I don’t know what else to do, so I call the two people who will know.

“Mama? Daddy? Mama!” I shout as I fly down the stairs, shoving my anger inside me. “Where are you?!”

I stumble into the kitchen to see if they left a note when I hear Daddy’s voice.

“We’re downstairs, Esme.”

His voice sounded distant, like when Gloria had pneumonia, and they didn’t want us to worry. “Everything’s alright,” he told us cheerfully. “She’s going to be ok.”

I sprint to the basement door and rip it open. Charging down the stairs, I take them two at a time.

“Something’s wrong with everyone,” I pant, on the second to last one. “I tried waking them up but-“

I freeze on the last step. It takes my eyes a bit to adjust from the brightness upstairs, but when they finally do, I wish they hadn’t. Mama and Daddy are seated in folding chairs in the middle of the basement, away from Father’s workshop. Mama’s beautiful dark eyes are puffy, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, her usual loungewear replaced with a dark green suit. Daddy’s mouth is twisted into a tight line, his hands are balled into fists, and his expression emotionless. Right before them sits a small round brown-haired woman in a blue suit dress. On either side are masked individuals dressed in black outfits and carrying guns.

“There you are, Esmeralda darlin’,” the brown-haired woman raises from the folding table in front of her and extends a hand. “why don’t you join us?” Her smile, while bright, doesn’t reach her foggy blue eyes.

“What’s going on?” I ask my parents. “How does she know my name?”

“Don’t you worry your head, now please come down and join us?” She gestures for me to come.

My first thought is robbers or thieves, then I think kidnappers. One thing’s for sure whoever the heck these people are, they don’t belong here. I spin around and dash back up the stairs, phone in hand, ready to dial 911. I just make it to the top when a man appears.

I see him too late, so I smash right into him, then stumble back down a few steps. The man doesn’t even flinch but tasks and wags his figure at me like I’m some naughty puppy.

“Now, now, little one,” he scolds in a surgery voice. “I do believe the nice lady asked you to join them.”

I open my mouth to scream when he withdraws a knife. The words dry in my throat, and my mind blanks. I look at my parents. After briefly glancing at me, Daddy leans forward, eyes on the man.

“Ms. Greenstone,” He growls softly. “I’d advise you to remind your man of the dangers of drawing weapons in our home.”

A tense moment follows before she flicks her hand and the man. Sighing, he sieves his knife.

“That would not have happened if she had listened when I first asked,” The woman criticizes coldly. “I thought you raised her to respect her elders.”

Silence ensues. Finally, Mama speaks.

“Esme, honey,” Mama’s voice is chock-full of restraint. “just do as they ask. Please.”

Seeing no viable option, I grasp the rail to steady my shaking limbs and walk back down.  

Two goons materialize from behind the stairs when my foot touches the concrete. I dodge one, but the other grabs me.

“Let me go, let me go!” I cry, twisting and flailing. “Daddy, help me!”

“Ericka, she’s just a child!” Daddy shouts, advancing toward me. Two goons block his path, and he starts knocking them out of the way.

“Yes. I know!” the woman snaps. “But,” “she is compromised. The research calls for its subjects to be unknowing about their situation. She,” she points to me, “knows. I don’t need to remind you how much was invested into this for it to go wrong now.”

Mama crosses the room and faces her, her chin jutting out. “You don’t have to do this,” She demands. “We had one more year with her; you promised we had until she was eighteen. You can’t take Esme away from us, not now-“

The woman slams her hands on the table, cutting her off. Then, she jabs her finger into Mama’s face.

“You signed up for this, Lucy, you and Jeremy both! We told you repeatedly know what would happen at the beginning and end! You know what would happen if she became compromised! You knew the rules! If you were so concerned with this outcome, y’all should’ve kept those papers in a safer location!” The woman sighs and rubs her temples. “Now, you have your other children to think about, and I suggest if you want it to stay that way, y’all should stop being so dadgum difficult.”

Mama’s hands, which were balled into fists, flop to her side. Daddy stops fighting the men and collapses in his seat, his head in his hands.

“Mama? Daddy?” But they don’t look at me.

Ms. Greenstone snaps her fingers. The goons tie my hands together with silk, which I know from class is incredibly hard to break.

“Take her to the van. Let’s get out of here before-”

“Wait!” I shout. She stops and stares at me. “Wait. What if we pretend I didn’t find the-the papers? I-I won’t say anything to anyone about this, I won’t say a word, just let me stay here with my family-“

Ms. Greenstone holds up one hand. “You, young lady,” She says softly. “Are in no sane position to be negotiating.”

I glare at her, straining against my captors. “My siblings will know. They’ll know I am missing. And so will my grandparents, and the rest of my family, and my friends and teachers-“

She laughs and shakes her head. “Oh, bless your heart, you poor naïve girl. They’ve all been taken care of, trust me. Your little sedated sibling and everyone else will go about their happy little lives, thinkin’ you’re safe and sound in whatever story your parents make up.”

“No.” I tremble. “You’re lying!”

She exhales, clearly exasperated. “Now, why would I lie?”

I open my mouth as a million answers fill my brain. Not one comes out.

“That’s what I thought. Miles, Charleston, take her.”

The woman’s eyes burn holes into my parents. “I am coming back in three years for the second girl. Now y’all best prepare yourselves for that itty bitty fact. And if you don’t wanna repeat of today, I suggest you take better care of your effects.”

I start struggling again, screaming my parents’ names. Mama doesn’t move, her head tilted back, tears dripping from her eyes, Daddy’s face covered by his hands.

They never look up.

“Ma’am,” says one goon. “I don’t think she’s going to cooperate.”

Ms. Greenstone sighs heavily. “Well, then, I guess you better sedate her.”

A thick white cloth is pressed to my mouth. The chemicals mix with my tears.

The last thing I see is my parents.

The last thing I smell is chloroform.

The last thing I taste is metal.

The last thing I hear is my own sobs.