The Day I Found Out

The world stopped spinning. At least that was how it seemed at the time. After the well-groomed newscaster adjusted his glasses for the last time and announced, “There is nothing left to do but pray” and the television went fuzzy, slow motion set in all around. People on the streets glanced nervously about at one another, and people we had known for a lifetime suddenly became strangers. The expected response of running and screaming seen in all the movies never materialized. In fact, gravity seemed to hold everyone in place, frozen in time and unable to act.

Suspicion grabbed hold of every house, every carload of people, every place of employment, but no one knew what to do. The awkward side glances became more normalized than a handshake in just a matter of minutes. No one moved, no one acted, but the darting eyes will remain with me always. I can’t remember exactly how long it lasted, but I do remember the way my heart raced any time another person came near. Could this be the one? The silent panic that perhaps this person would bring the end and there was nothing I could do to stop it never went away. Even in the aftermath, no one ever fully trusted another being again. Perhaps they did, but certainly not in my lifetime. 

The long walk home from school was excruciating. Darting behind bushes and slinking through alleyways was unnatural, even for us kids. Unseen, the enemy could be anywhere at any time. The man on the news told us as much. Mr. Dallas, my history teacher, had set up his laptop so we could watch the announcement live. The clink of the metallic box closing at the conclusion of the broadcast had startled us all, maybe more so than the nonsense words that had filled the air just moments before. But, when the principal canceled the rest of the school day, the words began to feel real. If only I could describe the fear that boiled up from my guts, but so many years of not sharing with another person makes it hard, even now, in the aftermath. 

I took the shortcut home, in hopes of avoiding as many people as possible on my journey back to the house I had lived in for as long as I had been alive. Yet, my family was there when I arrived, and the uncomfortable silence grew amongst us. No way to know who to trust, not even at home. I locked my bedroom door that night for the first time in my adolescence, but the flimsy metal bar did little to soothe my nerves. Never had I felt so utterly alone. The only solace I was able to find that first night was that my siblings and parents were probably feeling the same confusion and loneliness as I was. 

The entire world, everything I had always known, had changed in just a moment. At the tender age of 12, I had no way to work through the situation on my own. I still heavily relied on my parents for major problems, and this was the most major of any problem I have ever encountered, even now as an adult looking back. Silently crying into my pillow, I waited. For someone to tell me I misunderstood or that the news reporter had made the story up for ratings, but no one came to tell me a thing. In and out of sleep, I tossed fitfully in the pile of blankets my grandmother had gifted me throughout my childhood years. I wondered how she and grandpa were taking the news before I realized they could be compromised themselves. Could everything I had always known truly be a lie?

I itched to pull up the news on my computer but feared what I would find much more than the silent waiting. The next morning, I arose and stumbled downstairs for breakfast as I would on any other day, still half asleep. My older brother, Jansen, sat alone, flipping the yellowed pages of some ratty book. Darla, my little sister, was curled up and still asleep on the couch in the living room. Jansen looked at me over the book still in his hand.

“Oh hey, Jamie. Come sit down and get some cereal.” I will never forget the words as they were the first anyone had spoken since before the news had gone public the day before. I still can’t eat cereal without remembering the look on Jansen’s face, but I’ve covered this with the psychologist several times already. Jansen stared at me, his eyelids blinking unnaturally fast, holding the box of sugared cereal out to me. He was not the brother I fought with daily about one thing or another, nor the brother that used to cut holes in the toes of all my socks. This different brother was interested in making sure I ate. It alarmed me enough to force me from the room without responding. The Jansen at the table shrugged before shoveling another large spoonful of cereal into his mouth. 

I continued to move backward, leaving the table in my line of sight, until I crashed into the couch where Darla was asleep in the adjoining living room. She stirred, the innocence of sleep still fresh in her eyes.

“Jamie? I want Mama.” Her lower lip stuck out, quivering as she spoke. 

“I’m sure she will be down soon.” The words felt foreign to my mouth and I wished I had kept quiet. A flicker in her eyes was gone before I could determine the cause. The small being of six blinked her enormous lashes at me, but I had no words of comfort to share. I glanced into the kitchen from my perch on the couch to see Jansen dropping his soiled bowl in the sink before rushing out the door. The stairs creaked, and my anxiety grew as I anticipated encountering my parents.

“Jamie dear, did you get something to eat?” My mother had never called me dear in such a manner before and the name flared something primitive in my gut.

“Yes, I had cereal with Jansen.” The woman nodded, accepting my lie with ease, as she slid closer to the couch. Darla grabbed my hand, her own shaking noticeably. Perhaps Darla could be trusted, but how much help can a six-year-old child really be? She slinked past us both, her eyes focused on the television set across the room.

“Shall we see what news has sprouted this morning?” She pressed a button, and an electronic wave filled the room before the image became crisp and clear. 

“Following up with yesterday’s tragic report, we bring the latest updates. Tom, in studio, will take it from here.” The man called Tom cleared his throat and looked his viewers in the eye.

“Thank you, Ralph. Today’s report is grim. Nearly half the people in every town and city in the country are fleeing. They are migrating far from the bustle of city life and finding places to live off the grid until the situation settles. There is no way to tell a human from any other, and people are leaving their families behind just in case. We do not know what these beings want, but we know that they have been infiltrating our ranks for years, starting as early back as the 20’s. People who you have known all your life could be spying on you, gathering intelligence to share with their contacts on another planet.” Bile began to rise in my throat, and I could feel the gaze of my mother boring into my side, but I refused to look.

“Oh my, how silly the news has become! Could you imagine such a thing, Jamie?” She waited, her eyes still laser-focused upon me and I knew she would not look away until I gave up my silent protest. I turned my head just enough so she fell into my peripheral vision. Steam poured from her features and though I never saw her feet move, she was somehow inches away from me.

“Yes, silly.” My words came out parched as if I needed a glass of water but I pushed away the urge to clear my throat and draw more attention to myself. She was now sitting alongside me on the couch, Darla wrapped up on my other side, her face buried beneath my arm. 

“Think about it. If your father and I were invaders, you are still our children, and wouldn’t that make you the same?” The words broke the bubble of protection I had bundled myself in since the day before and I really looked at her.

Her eyes were swollen and red as if she had been crying all night and her usually perfectly coifed hair was matted and snaggled. Could invaders cry? My mother’s pronouncement relieved the fear, as she was right. If my parents were beings from another planet, then we must also be of the same stock. I didn’t feel evil or violent, the man on the news had said they were both these things. I looked up and saw the woman who had raised me from the pod, the same who had cared for me when my razor teeth had come in and taught me how to empty my soilage sack. The humans might have invaded, but my mother was still my mother. Darla grinned, her own razor teeth pushing away the flat baby teeth, day by day. Peace fell around me, and I felt the muscles in my body relax. 

That was how my mother broke the news to me. My father was a human.