They Did Not Forgive Us.
Multishot, warning for being generally uncomfortable.
Moderator: SOTF Supers Staff
They did not have any more sweaters. In fact, the lawyers seemed pretty annoyed at her for losing the last one.
Cecilia sat down next to the little girl with the tail.
"(What happened? Are they going to get the hedgehog girl out? Are you going to get your sweater back?)"
Cecilia shrugged. "(We'll see.)"
The little girl's tail twitched. "(Every time you go, I worry that you won't come back.)"
"(You're worrying for nothing. I'll be here for a long time still. Those lawyers can't do anything right.)"
"(What happened? Are they going to get the hedgehog girl out? Are you going to get your sweater back?)"
Cecilia shrugged. "(We'll see.)"
The little girl's tail twitched. "(Every time you go, I worry that you won't come back.)"
"(You're worrying for nothing. I'll be here for a long time still. Those lawyers can't do anything right.)"
She was wrong about the lawyers. They had called Cecilia in four times, each time announcing that they had made only incremental progress in getting her released. But they only needed to call in the little girl with the tail twice. Her mother, it turned out, had been frantically searching for her, and once they were able to make a positive identification, the reunification process went very, very swiftly.
Cecilia didn't know any of this. She didn't figure it out until afterwards. When the guards called the little girl's name for the second time, and she looked up from where she was playing with the eight-year-old twins, Cecilia didn't bother getting up to see her off. Just gave her a half-hearted nod from across the cell. No words, just a little nod. The little girl walked out, trembling with fear. What Cecilia remembered from that moment wasn't her name or her face - she forgot both of those things, after making a conscious effort to do so - but her tail. It arched up like a question mark, swaying softly as the little girl walked out.
The gate clanged shut. And even though Cecilia stayed up all night watching it, it didn't open again.
Cecilia didn't know any of this. She didn't figure it out until afterwards. When the guards called the little girl's name for the second time, and she looked up from where she was playing with the eight-year-old twins, Cecilia didn't bother getting up to see her off. Just gave her a half-hearted nod from across the cell. No words, just a little nod. The little girl walked out, trembling with fear. What Cecilia remembered from that moment wasn't her name or her face - she forgot both of those things, after making a conscious effort to do so - but her tail. It arched up like a question mark, swaying softly as the little girl walked out.
The gate clanged shut. And even though Cecilia stayed up all night watching it, it didn't open again.
The lawyers never called for the hedgehog girl, at least not while Cecilia was there. At some point it must have dawned on her what happened, because she spent the next two weeks flying into a bitter rage at every slight, whether real or perceived. She made a point of wearing Cecilia's sweater every day, even after she burst one of the seams, and kicked her sometimes when the guards weren't looking. The other girls in the cell avoided Cecilia all together. Nobody wanted to be associated with her and risk getting peripherally targeted.
Cecilia never did get her sweater back. Her shoulders stayed bare, save for the thin lines of her tank top straps and the slightly thicker bra straps beneath. Red lines were scored across the expanse of skin, courtesy of the fence, and small bruises were dotted here and there. But whenever it hurt, she thought about the little girl with tail, who the lawyers said was back home in Mexico now, falling asleep to the sound of her mother's lullabies. It didn't take the pain away, but it blunted it. Gave it a purpose. And, on most days, that was enough.
Cecilia never did get her sweater back. Her shoulders stayed bare, save for the thin lines of her tank top straps and the slightly thicker bra straps beneath. Red lines were scored across the expanse of skin, courtesy of the fence, and small bruises were dotted here and there. But whenever it hurt, she thought about the little girl with tail, who the lawyers said was back home in Mexico now, falling asleep to the sound of her mother's lullabies. It didn't take the pain away, but it blunted it. Gave it a purpose. And, on most days, that was enough.
On the last day, the guards called her name. She almost missed it, because the little girl with the tail wasn't there to wake her up, and nobody else wanted to risk the hedgehog girl's wrath by improving Cecilia's life in any way.
She yawned herself awake, swayed as she stood up, and headed for the door. The hedgehog girl stuck out a leg to trip her. Cecilia had already fallen prey to this trick once, and this time she stopped short and then deliberately trod on the girl's foot. The hedgehog girl shouted a curse after her as the gate clanged shut.
Cecilia walked along the fence, heading to the same room where she always went to meet the lawyers. As she passed Jeffrey King's face, she dropped her hand to her thigh so the guards wouldn't see her flipping him off.
The lawyer and the translator were all smiles. Puffed up, proud of themselves.
"It's time."
She yawned herself awake, swayed as she stood up, and headed for the door. The hedgehog girl stuck out a leg to trip her. Cecilia had already fallen prey to this trick once, and this time she stopped short and then deliberately trod on the girl's foot. The hedgehog girl shouted a curse after her as the gate clanged shut.
Cecilia walked along the fence, heading to the same room where she always went to meet the lawyers. As she passed Jeffrey King's face, she dropped her hand to her thigh so the guards wouldn't see her flipping him off.
The lawyer and the translator were all smiles. Puffed up, proud of themselves.
"It's time."
She hadn't really known what to expect from the outside world. Something bleak, maybe? Some horrible oppressive place, where only the mean and heartless stood a chance of surviving. Even if she'd never concretely envisioned it that way, she had always believed, deep down, that there must have been something horrible going on in America. Some kind of dystopian, apocalyptic breakdown of society that had allowed such barbarism to take place. That was the only context for something like this, the only way it fit.
When the doors opened and she felt real, raw sunlight hit her eyes - the first light she'd seen in six weeks that hadn't come from a fluorescent tube - she had been terrified of what was was out there. Her imagination conjured up a crowd of people, with red hats pulled low over cruel eyes, screeching and baying like wild dogs as they called for even more suffering, jeering at her and throwing things to punish her for coming to despoil their homeland with her presence.
But those vivid imaginings did nothing to prepare her for what she saw when she stepped across the threshold and into the sunlight. Nothing in her wildest dreams could ever have predicted it.
Just beyond the perimeter, there was a neat little line of perfect, picturesque family homes. There were shiny cars and immaculate lawns. People were walking on sidewalks, mowing their lawns, going about their lives. Like the facility, and everything that happened inside it, was just another part of the neighborhood. "There's the post office," these people might say. "And there's the grocery store, and the facility where the Mexican kids are being imprisoned, and the hairdresser's." As far as they were concerned, everything was okay. Everything was normal. Children were dying, sobbing for their parents, and these people knew and they were barbecuing.
There was a black SUV waiting for them. The lawyer opened the door and held it for her. Rafael was already inside. He gave her a thin, tired smile, and then went back to leaning his head on the window. There was a small band-aid on his forehead, inexpertly applied. She would later learn that a guard had tripped him and he'd split open his head on the corner of a bunk - and, horribly, her first reaction would be to be jealous that Rafael had access to a bunk. Neither of them said anything to one another, neither of them wanting to break the silence and let all of that bottled-up grief come spilling out.
The lawyer closed the door behind Cecilia, and started the car. They pulled out to edge of the parking lot and waited, signal light blinking. The road was full of cars. People were driving to work, running errands, going places. A school bus full of children went past, heading out on a field trip. Ordinary people on their way to do ordinary things. Not stopping. Not craning their heads to look at the facility. It was just another thing to be seen in passing, no more worthy of attention than a mailbox or a tree.
The SUV merged into traffic. And they were swallowed up, becoming just another drop in the flow. And life went on for everyone.
Just another day in America.
When the doors opened and she felt real, raw sunlight hit her eyes - the first light she'd seen in six weeks that hadn't come from a fluorescent tube - she had been terrified of what was was out there. Her imagination conjured up a crowd of people, with red hats pulled low over cruel eyes, screeching and baying like wild dogs as they called for even more suffering, jeering at her and throwing things to punish her for coming to despoil their homeland with her presence.
But those vivid imaginings did nothing to prepare her for what she saw when she stepped across the threshold and into the sunlight. Nothing in her wildest dreams could ever have predicted it.
Just beyond the perimeter, there was a neat little line of perfect, picturesque family homes. There were shiny cars and immaculate lawns. People were walking on sidewalks, mowing their lawns, going about their lives. Like the facility, and everything that happened inside it, was just another part of the neighborhood. "There's the post office," these people might say. "And there's the grocery store, and the facility where the Mexican kids are being imprisoned, and the hairdresser's." As far as they were concerned, everything was okay. Everything was normal. Children were dying, sobbing for their parents, and these people knew and they were barbecuing.
There was a black SUV waiting for them. The lawyer opened the door and held it for her. Rafael was already inside. He gave her a thin, tired smile, and then went back to leaning his head on the window. There was a small band-aid on his forehead, inexpertly applied. She would later learn that a guard had tripped him and he'd split open his head on the corner of a bunk - and, horribly, her first reaction would be to be jealous that Rafael had access to a bunk. Neither of them said anything to one another, neither of them wanting to break the silence and let all of that bottled-up grief come spilling out.
The lawyer closed the door behind Cecilia, and started the car. They pulled out to edge of the parking lot and waited, signal light blinking. The road was full of cars. People were driving to work, running errands, going places. A school bus full of children went past, heading out on a field trip. Ordinary people on their way to do ordinary things. Not stopping. Not craning their heads to look at the facility. It was just another thing to be seen in passing, no more worthy of attention than a mailbox or a tree.
The SUV merged into traffic. And they were swallowed up, becoming just another drop in the flow. And life went on for everyone.
Just another day in America.
An estimated 5,500 immigrant children were taken away from their parents at the U.S. border between 2017 and 2019. At least five children died while in detention. As of October 2021, around 500 children still had not been freed.
As of 2022, there has been no significant prosecution or punishment for those who devised, implemented, enforced, or encouraged the practice of family separation.
As of 2022, there has been no significant prosecution or punishment for those who devised, implemented, enforced, or encouraged the practice of family separation.