12 years ago, all the adults disappeared.

I dreamt about it again last night. It’s been years since I even thought about what happened, let alone relived it in my nightmares. You’d think I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about that day, but when survival becomes your primary objective, memories take a back seat.

It was the day before my 13th birthday. Mom always went over the top for our birthdays, like she was trying to make up for the fact that we all knew Dad wouldn’t show. He’d left when I was 6 and never looked back. So Mom always cleaned the house till it sparkled and then threw a huge party. We were deep into the cleaning when it happened.

Mom loved to make cleaning fun. She said that since she hated cleaning, she knew we would too. So she made it fun to get us to actually help. It drove me nuts how she would find a way to get me to do the most tedious tasks and somehow be happy to do them. Looking back now, I’m grateful to her for that. She would turn on her favorite 90’s hits as loud as the neighbors in our apartment building could stand, and we’d sing and dance through the chores. There was usually a lot of laughing, too. Man, I miss laughing.

In my nightmare last night, the one part of the truth that bled through was what she looked like in the second before Mom disappeared. Her smile was huge, her eyes sparkling like sapphires. She was singing something by Brittney Spears while using the mop as her microphone stand. Her hair was stringy from sweat and sticking out everywhere, evidence of how hard she’d been working to get the house ready for my party. I don’t think she ever looked more beautiful.

And then she was gone.

She was there, dancing and singing, and then she just… wasn’t. The mop clattered to the ground as the space that once held the most amazing woman on the planet just sparkled with the residual energy of whatever they used to steal away the adults.

No one had believed in aliens before that day. At least, not really. People hoped we’d one day encounter some other sentient species, but no one actually believed it would happen in our lifetimes.

Boy, were we wrong.

As soon as Mom vanished, a voice started speaking from nowhere and everywhere all at once. It wasn’t particularly loud, but every kid left on Earth heard it. No one can really remember what the voice said, but it spoke in whatever language you would understand. From the scraps I can remember and the bits and pieces I’ve gathered from others, the message basically told us that they had taken everyone aged 13 and older. They gave a reason, but no one can remember what it was. It doesn’t really matter, anyway, because no reason would have made it ok. And honestly, why would the kids left on Earth care why you took their families and caregivers away?

I have no memory of what I did on my birthday that year. And I haven’t celebrated my birthday since. How do you celebrate the day after the anniversary of the disappearance of every human on Earth over the age of 13? And how could they have left me behind when I was less than 24 hours away from being 13 myself? Not that I would have wanted to go with them, but what kind of technology could they possess to know precisely when a human has reached 13 years? It still makes no sense, 12 years later.

What I do remember from those early few days is how my little brother looked after me for once. I was 4 when he was born, so he was only 8 when The Event happened. Calling it The Event feels safer than The Disappearance or The Abduction. And since there were only kids left, we liked anything that felt safe. So that’s what we started calling it.

Sorry, caught myself rambling. Back to my brother.

Having my usually irresponsible, annoying, whiny little brother take care of me should have been almost as disorienting as watching Mom blip out of existence. I was in so much shock, though, I barely noticed. I wouldn’t have made it without him to tether me to life. I miss Derrick so much.

I think that’s why I had the dream again last night. Today is his 20th birthday. Since Mom always worked so hard to make our birthdays special, I tried to keep that going. To honor her. This year, though, I can’t. I’m falling apart again, and he’s not here to pick up the pieces and put me back together.