- Did You Only Notice the Bandages When You Took Them Off? by Julia
- People Like Us by Aila
- Welcome to Brackenhurst by Zayd
Did You Only Notice the Bandages When You Took Them Off?
By Julia
But, I love you.
I love you, so it must be okay.
It must be okay that you compress me,
Yank me around,
Stretch me,
Bend me,
Mold me,
Shape me with chains.
I need you.
You need me, I think.
I trust you enough to need me.
I trust you.
So I should want this.
Should I want this?
It’s my duty to want this.
Who am I if I can’t give you what you need?
I agreed to love you.
Or to be your partner, if there’s any difference.
I’m only worth anything if I can make you happy.
So, I’ll be your doll.
Dress me up,
Undress me,
Pull my strings,
Bash my plastic head in, if you want.
You know me better than anyone.
If I consent, will you be happy?
If I consent, it’s healthy.
If I consent, I’ll enjoy it, eventually.
If I consent, our love will be stronger.
If I consent, everything will be easier.
If I consent, you will know me, in every way, better than anyone.
That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?
…
Does it matter if I’m happy?
Yes.
You are not a toy.
Spread your wings, child.
Break the shackles that bind you,
Return your cracked, scarred body
To your own arms, open wide,
Your arms poised to gently unwrap your bandaged body.
People Like Us
By Aila
I’d heard stories, of course. I’d seen it with my own eyes. Watched as people in my community got dragged away with nothing but the clothes on their backs. I had screamed into my palm and been held back as I watched my friend, Isa, get dragged away by men with masks pulled to cover their faces, guns slung on their hips and rough hands that didn’t know gentleness. I knew it could happen to any of us. That it could happen to my family. But I didn’t let the possibility scare me. Mom always said that if we didn’t believe something was going to happen, it wouldn’t happen, and I trusted her.
The walk home from school wasn’t very long, but the snow under my worn-out boots and the cold slipping under my coat seemed to make the walk take a million years. It was so cold I could see my breath in front of me. I shivered, turning when I heard the sound of wheels crunching on gravel. There was a black car driving just behind me, but I didn’t pay it much attention, even though something in my gut told me to run. It was just a car. It didn’t have anything to do with me. I was sure of it.
As I walked further and rounded the street corner, I took a left and then a right turn. The car rounded the same corners, made the same right and then left that I did. It must have been a… what was the word we learned in class today? A coincidence. It must have been a coincidence.
I didn’t believe that for very long. Soon, tears burned my eyes as I clutched the straps of my backpack tighter. I knew what had happened now. I had heard about it at school and from eavesdropping on mom and dad’s conversations. It must be the people who targeted people like me, with darker skin and names that didn’t fit into their definition of normal.
I walked the rest of the way home, not sure what to do as the car trailed behind me. I was scared. Terrified. Terrified, they were going to take me from my family like they took Isa from hers. What would I do if I never saw Mom or Dad again?
I walked up the front steps of our little house, praying to the god I didn’t believe in that the car would drive past, and it had just been me being scared for no reason. I opened the door, greeted by the sound of Spanish music I could never quite get the words right to and the scent of delicious spices. It was still cold in the house. Mom said we couldn’t afford heating, but it was still much warmer inside than it was outside in the snow.
“I’m home!” I called, dropping my bag by the front door and making my way to the kitchen.
“Camila!” Dad beamed when he saw me, wrapping me in a big hug. “How was school?”
Before I could reply, there was a loud banging on the door. So loud it made the plates on the counter rattle and caused Dad to flinch.
“Who in the world…” Dad muttered as he made his way to the front door with me trailing behind him like a lost puppy. He wasn’t fast enough. The door flew open in a cloud of dust, hitting the wall as it was pushed roughly by the men behind it. Two of them, wearing normal clothes, but with masks and sunglasses, used to cover their faces.
“Dad,” I whimpered, terror freezing me in place.
“Who the hell are you?” Dad shouted, pushing me behind him gently.
“Immigration and Customs Enforcement,” The tallest of the men said, but it was muffled by the fabric covering his mouth. “Hands where I can see them.”
“You can’t enter without a warrant!” Dad’s voice shook as he raised his hands. The men didn’t respond. “Camila, go to your room.”
“The kid stays with us,” The second man grunted, harshly grabbing my arm. I wanted to scream. To kick and yell and call for help, but my body wouldn’t let me. I was stuck standing there uselessly as I watched my father get shoved up against the wall and bombarded with questions. I couldn’t make them all out, nor did I understand most of them.
“Name?”
“How long have you been living in the United States?”
“Occupation?”
“Did you enter the country legally?”
“Where is the rest of your family?”
“Can you provide the documentation of yourself and the child?”
“What is going on?” Mom came rushing down the stairs.
“ICE,” My dad said, barely loud enough to hear. ICE? I had heard of them. How they would separate families and hurt people who didn’t deserve it. They were who took Isa. Oh god, were they going to take me too?
“Let go of my husband!” Mom shouted, fearless as always. “And my daughter! Get your hands off her!”
“Stella, calm down.” Dad, ever the peacemaker, tried to reason with her.
“Step to the side, ma’am.” The taller man said, no kindness in his voice. “We have reason to believe there are illegal aliens in this house.”
Illegal aliens? What did that even mean?
“Let me get to my dau-” Mom tried to say, reaching for me, but she was shoved aggressively, losing balance and falling to the floor. I screamed, trying to run to her, but I was held back. I started to cry, part fear and part anger, causing tears to fall.
And they continued to fall as the three of us were forced into the black car that had followed me home. My hands shook in my lap, even when both my parents tried to soothe me.
“What’s happening?” I whispered, talking for the first time.
“It’s okay, mija,” Dad squeezed my hand and gave me a watery smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’ll all be okay.”
“It’s my fault,” My voice shook. “They followed me home from school. I led them right to us.”
“They followed you?” Mom asked sharply, and I nodded.
“Why would they follow me?”
“Because of the color of your skin, mija,” Dad said wryly. “Because they don’t want people like us to live alongside them. It was never about who’s here with papers or not.”
“But I’m just like all the other kids.”
“Not to the government. To them, you aren’t a young girl who was born here, you’re a threat to the white paradise they believe they’ve built.”
Welcome To Brackenhurst
By Zayd
Elements Magazine 