Chapter One-Ayanna

The doorbell screamed for the fifth time. Outside, I heard a gravelly male voice, normally kind, but threatening to my siblings and I.

“Come out now, children. We know that you’re home, and we have your mother in custody. We can help you find a home.”

Arabella, Harmony, and Daylin huddled next to me on the floor under the table: the only spot blind from the door. I held little Emiko in my arms, only five months old.

I had learned long ago that child services were bad: they only served to split us up, sometimes across the country. So now we waited, knowing that eventually they would leave. They had to; it was impossible to sleep out in the hall at night, and by law they couldn’t force us to come out. Daylin had fallen asleep, curled up against Harmony, who sagged, also asleep. Arabella had just woke up, and was now asking me when we could get up, her legs hurt.

“Just a little bit now, beautiful. Just a little bit and the people will leave.”

She sighed, frustrated. Weren’t we all? I was thankful that the children were so young, at the same time wishing they were older. With their youth, they could fit in small places, and took what I said for truth. They listened without thinking, knowing that I was the only one that could keep them safe. If they were older though, I wouldn’t have to be brave for them. I could cry into their arms whenever Jonathan came buy to get what our mother owed him. When she wasn’t here, or couldn’t give him any money, he took it from us.

The voices mumbled outside the door, and a woman started to call out to us. “Come on out, kids. We can give you a nice big meal and then we can talk about what to do with you.”

There she goes, talking about us as if we were a precious oil painting, not knowing whether to hang it up in the hallway or to hide it away from the family, out of harms way but never to be admired.

“We can talk over lunch now. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

That did sound nice, but I’d never admit it. The last thing we’d eaten was old, leftover macaroni and cheese from last weekend. Arabella picked up at the suggestion of food. However she merely clasped her hands around her legs and closed her eyes, licking her lips. She had more self-control than most adults; more than she should have to have.

“Arabella, I’m proud of you,” I told her, completely honest. She looked up at me with her innocent eyes, ignoring the violent growls that came from both of our stomachs. We remained how we were until seven o’ clock that night. We drifted in and out of sleep, waking at last to the absence of the case-workers. Unfolding ourselves, we resumed the shells of lives we had. I lay Emiko in her crib and tucked the twins into bed. Arabella crawled into bed next to me and we slept; a restless, unsatisfying sleep that barely quenched our overwhelming exhaustion.