The Taking of Dignity

The Taking of Dignity

My nightmares caused me to scream. At least that was what my mother said when she shook me awake, and corralled me into the kitchen. She warmed some milk for me like always.  She told me everything was going to be fine, and my father was going to come home soon. She warmed with a gentle hug. I was safe, but not for long.

While she was still stroking my long hair, the room exploded and searing light pierced my eyes and stole my vision from me. For four heart beats, my sight was gone. My mom embraced me more tightly, but when she stumbled, she almost took both of us to the floor.

            While my vision was stolen, I heard the sharp, discordant sound of breaking wood and the ominous pitter patter of footsteps. Were robbers invading my home?  I tightened my grip on my mother. She squeezed me back so hard that for a second I thought she was a boa constrictor.

            My mother whispered to me as the sound of the footsteps closed in on us. “ If  I say run, race out of here, and go to the Robertson’s. Tell them what happened.” Before I could respond, shouts as sharp and violent as a bloodied blade pierced the still air.

            “SWAT. Get on the ground, face on the ground. No moving. Be still. No talking”, faceless men shouted. Their faces were shrouded by visors, and their eyes obscured by weird goggles. They all wore these bulky pitch black outfits.  The only color on their grim bearing were these big, block white letters. SWAT, the letter spelled. Who were they? Why were they in our house? We both dived to the grounds. We both knew to always obey people who have guns.

            Both Mom and I laid down on the hard, maple floor. The wood dug harshly into my skin, and I felt as trapped and powerless as a lab rat. I peered into my mother’s face discreetly, trying carefully not to arouse the guard’s wrath.

            Her face was perplexed. She did not know what was going on. These faceless men continued to point guns at us, while others started destroying our house. They marched on our refrigerator as if it was a threat. They paused for a single heartbeat. What do they think was in the refrigerator?  They pawed at the food in the refrigerator like rabid animals. They took out the cake Mom made for me. It was covered in pure white and azure blue frosting and encrusted with red sugar camellias; it was still only half eaten. I closed my eyes and took a second to breathe in the scent of sugar that wisped in the air. For a moment, I imagine I was eating cake with my parents, gunmen forgotten. My stomach growled despite the circumstances, and I believe even the gunmen noticed.  Cake.  Glorious cake. People should just eat cake, instead of making war.

 But while my eyes were closed, I heard a thud, and soon a squishing sound. I opened my eyes. The cake had fallen to the floor in their frantic search. Then without pause they stepped it, their combat boots leaving a huge hole in the cake. They destroyed it without care. The thing I looked forward towards all year, gone before its time.  

They left the kitchen after tearing it apart. Uneaten food littered the floor. They were turning our clean, organized home into a frat house. They were destroying the work my mother spent hours on each week. The work that gave our house dignity and made it respectable. The work that made it home and a place both of us could retreat to.

Both my mom and I stared while they continued to rip apart our house. I started to open my mouth to protest.  I saw them destroying the gift Mom gave to me for my birthday, a teddy bear she had made. She worked on it for hours after working all day. I loved it this gift even more than the cake she made for me, and now these men were ripping its legs out. They were torturing the teddy bear. What were they looking for?  Drugs? My parents and I were not involved in that.  My parents wanted better things for our family.

            “STOP IT. THAT IS MINE. YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO DESTROY OTHER’s PEOPLE THINGS! DID YOUR MOM NEVER TEACH YOU THAT? ” I yelled. All my thoughts kept on returning to a single line; they are destroying what is precious to me. My outrage overcame my fear.

            The faceless men’s demeanor did not change. The ones pointing guns at us, matched my voice. “Be quiet.  This is all legal”.

            My mother looked at me than at the faceless men. She whispered to my ear. “It’s true. Behave and they will leave”. They did, eventually.

            They pointed guns at us continuously. Did they believe we were a threat? Did they think that I was a super ninja and could disarm them?

            “The house is clear, no drugs or guns are in the house,” I overheard one faceless drone say to the other.

            “That’s just life”, the other one replied. “Our informant was just a noisy neighbor. If we raid enough houses, we will find a guilty party eventually especially in this neighborhood. And no harm, no foul”.

            They left as suddenly as they came just like a hurricane. No words of apology or remorse. After a few moments of shock, we picked ourselves up and examined the damage in the other rooms. The whole house stanched of rancid milk and spilled vinegar. Broken glass and trampled heirlooms filled our house. I picked up a family photo, the last one I had of my grandmother, and I could not see her in the picture due to a black boot print.

            “Who were they?” I finally asked.

“Sara,” my mother whispered to me. “Those were the police”.