The First Time

I hear the lock rattle and know he is coming to feed me. I am very hungry today. I can't remember the last time I ate. I'm not sure how long I have been in this room. I tell myself I should start counting days because when I am rescued I will need to be able to know how long I have been in this room. I have no way of keeping track of the days. The handcuffs are making my wrists raw and make it hard to use my hands. I have nothing to write on or with. He always brings me a soda, so I think maybe if I can save the paper on the straw, then I can count the days by how many straw papers I have, but he always takes the trash from me and puts on the cuffs and there is no time for paper straw saving. I try to keep track of the days by how many times the sun sets, but I fall asleep so easily and sometimes when I wake it is dark already. I can see a little light coming through the window but not much. It is either very early or the sun is setting. When the sun is up and the wind blows, the shadow on the towel that is hanging over the window looks like a person hanging from it. I have nicknamed this tree "hangman's tree." One time curiosity got the better of me and I struggled to get up with the handcuffs and finally got to my feet. I wanted to see what was hanging outside the window. I grabbed a corner of towel with my teeth and wiggled and maneuvered until I could see out of the window as best I could. There was nothing but a medium-sized tree outside the window, nothing hanging from it but its large gangly branches and thick, full-size leaves. I am relieved to see just the tree; I don't know if I can stand any more strangeness.

It's a very strange feeling to not go to school every day. I sometimes miss the routine I used to have, and sometimes it's nice to not have to get up and go to school, too. But I am so bored. There is nothing to do in this place. I make up stories in my head a lot. I have made up one about a boy that has come from the stars. He flies around the world and when he hears a child crying he always come to investigate. I imagine that one day this Star Boy hears me crying because I cry every single day. He thinks my cries are especially heart wrenching, and so he combs the earth in search of me. When he finds me he is able to open the window of my prison and I take his hand and he flies me all around the world. But in the end he always returns me to my prison. I wonder why this is so.

I can hear my captor's hollow footsteps coming from the room beyond. He enters the door and has a milkshake in his hand. At first I smile at him and want him to think I am doing well. For some reason I think it is important for me to be happy around him. He comes in and crouches down and he says today will be a little different. He says I can have the milkshake and something to eat after we are done. Done with what? All of a sudden I am not hungry anymore. I have this terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. I want him to go away. I want to go away. I tell him I am not hungry. I just want to go home. He puts the milkshake on a shelf and bends down. He says to take off my towel and lay back on the pallet. He takes off the cuffs and relocks them in front of me instead of behind my back. He then sits down next to me and explains what he is going to do. He stands back up and takes off all his clothes. I do not want him to do that. I start to cry. He takes my handcuffed hands and holds them over my head. I feel so helpless and vulnerable. I feel so alone. He lies on top of me. He is so heavy. I can't stop crying. He said he'd be quick and it would be better if I didn't struggle because then he wouldn't have to get aggressive. I don't understand any of this. He forces my legs open and inserts the hard thing between his legs in me. It feels like I am being stretched apart. I feel like it's going to come out of my belly. I am so small and he is so big. Why is he doing this? Is this normal? I try to scoot away. I try to close my legs. He just takes hold of my legs and shoves them further apart. He is too heavy and strong for me. He keeps my hands above my head. I try to think of anything but what is happening to me. Look anywhere except his face. I can feel the tears on my cheeks. He is making strange noises and grunting and sweating all over me. I can't breathe he is so heavy. All of a sudden he makes a giant grunt and puts even more of his weight on me as he collapses. I cannot do anything. I cannot move. He finally moves and asks if I'm okay. He says it would be easier on me if I didn't resist or struggle so much next time. He says it wouldn't hurt as much. I think to myself, If you didn't do it in the first place then it wouldn't hurt at all. But I am too frightened by his act to say a thing in objection to him. In my mind I am screaming NO I AM NOT OKAY ... GET OFF OF ME! Why are you doing this? What does it mean? He said it was all over now and he gets up and says he's going to go get something to clean me up. I am bleeding "down there." I am so scared. Am I dying? Why am I bleeding? He says it's okay-he just "popped my cherry." I don't know what he meant. He leaves and comes back with a bucket of warm water and a washcloth. He takes the cuffs off and says he will go into the next room and give me some privacy to bathe. I wash up and wrap myself in the clean towel and then sit back down on the pallet on the floor. Milkshake all but forgotten.

Reflection

I had to stay in the same place I'd just been raped in. I didn't know at the time that is what it was called; the word "rape" was not in my vocabulary. Today that makes me feel terrible for that little nave girl. She is still a part of me and at times she comes out and makes me feel small and helpless once again. At times I feel like I'm still eleven years old. But something inside that frightened little girl made her a survivor and she has made me the person I am today. That rape turned out to be the first of many frequent encounters. I don't remember if he came in every day to have s.e.x with me; all I know is it happened more times than I can count. Each time it happened I learned to "go away" in my mind until he was finished. I would make up stories in my head to pa.s.s the time. It was easy for me in those early days to escape into my dreamworld because I had always been a dreamer and had my head in the clouds a lot. I used to lose all track of time and it helped to keep me from going crazy.

Knowing my kidnapper's name was not something I wanted to know. I remember thinking that I did not want know his name because I had heard that once you know their name, they can never let you go. During the first week or so I did learn that my kidnapper's first name was Phillip. I don't remember how I knew; it wasn't like he introduced himself. He revealed it subtly without me realizing it.

I can't believe how much I came to rely on him for everything. I remember the heat was getting really bad and I was so thankful to him when he finally installed an air-conditioning unit. It seemed he had an answer for everything. Phillip seemed like a nice guy when he wasn't using me for s.e.x. I even started enjoying his company. I was nave and desperately lonely. I was locked in a room all by myself for days on end, and he was my only contact with the outside world. All I could do was survive and endure ...

Hours later as I lay staring at the ceiling, I notice the forgotten milkshake has enticed the ants to come. I regret not drinking it because now I am so hungry my stomach is growling at me. There is a long trail of ants that leads from the window to the milkshake. Some have ventured further and now I think they are starting to explore me. Maybe I smell so bad it is attracting them. I don't know how long it's been since I had a shower. I haven't had one since that first day when he had me get in the shower with him. Since then, the only cleanup I've had is with a bucket of water. The ants make my skin itch even worse than my unclean body already does and sometimes they get in my mouth and leave a spicy flavor behind. The cuffs make it near impossible to scratch and flick them away. I wish I could get in a nice hot bath and just soak all the grime away.

First Kitty

He says he is going to get me a kitty. I have been telling him how lonely I am and how much I love cats and all about the ones I used to have. I am so excited I can't wait to have a kitty to talk to. All I do is lie here in this room all day long. I am so bored. He doesn't leave the cuffs on me anymore. One day after he was done having s.e.x with me, he said if I promised to be good he would leave the cuffs off. He was going to trust me because he didn't want to put them back on me; he wanted me to be more comfortable. I thought of many things I could say, but none of them were polite, so I just nodded. After he left and I got cleaned up in the bucket of water he left, I thought about venturing into the other room that is attached to the room that I am in. I made sure that I could hear the lock on the outer door click closed before I even dared to move, then I sat up and listened to all the sounds I could hear. Sometimes I can hear him coming even before I hear the lock. I can hear a lot of things that I never noticed before. I listen to the outside a lot. I hear the train-the whistle and how it rolls on the tracks. I can hear someone mowing the gra.s.s. I can hear birds. And I can hear airplanes overhead. I miss being outside. I am so bored just sitting in here. I even miss brushing my teeth. Oh, what I would give for a toothbrush! I will never forget the time my stepfather Carl grounded me for not brushing my teeth. He believed in brushing after every meal. I admit I sometimes didn't brush after every meal. One day my friend Shawnee must have called and he picked up the phone without telling me. She asked him if she and her dad could take me with them to the movies. I guess he said yes, and a little while later she was knocking on the front door. I answered the door and was surprised to see her because I didn't know she was coming; Carl didn't tell me. She asked if I was ready to go to the movies; she a.s.sumed Carl had told me about the movie and that I should get ready. Carl announced I couldn't go because I didn't brush my teeth after breakfast. He said he had checked and the brush was dry. I pleaded with him. I said I would go brush them right now, I said I brushed them when I woke up, I added I really wanted to go and if I had known I would have brushed my teeth. But he refused to relent, and I stayed behind with tears running down my face as Shawnee and her dad went off to the movies together. For some reason that day sticks in my head. I'm thinking about it because I don't have a toothbrush and I know Carl would be really mad at me given that I haven't brushed my teeth in weeks. It would be funny to see the look on his face if I ever told him that. I do try to keep my teeth clean by using my finger to sc.r.a.pe off the plaque. It's amazing how much plaque actually builds up on teeth, especially the back ones. My tongue works for polishing, too. I wonder if I will ever be given a toothbrush again.

I sleep a lot to pa.s.s the time. If I ever get to go home again, the first thing I want to do is hug my mom and never let go. The second thing I can't wait for is to run free. My legs are so cramped here. I miss being able to run outside with my friends. If I ever get to go home, I would love to have my own dog. If I ever get the chance, I will run along the beach with my faithful dog by my side. I will take my dog everywhere with me and never be alone again. We will take long hikes together and he will run by my side as I ride my bike.

I finally rally my courage and decide to check out the other room. I am very curious to see what's in there. As I creep in, it is very dark. There are no windows that I can see. There is a drum set and microphone stands and big huge speakers throughout the room. Phillip told me that he used to play music in here before I came. Sometimes Phillip brings his guitar in and plays music and sings to me. Sometimes I feel like I've heard his songs before. Once I asked and he said he wrote all the songs himself. He thinks he's going to have a big music career one day. I wonder. He says he is very good. And someday he will be famous. I know I'm not supposed to, but I try to push on the big door that leads to the outside. It is solidly locked. There is no hope of escaping. I don't know what I would have done if it had actually opened. I have no idea where I am, and Phillip says that the Dobermans are still patrolling the yard. I fear he will find out that I tried to open the door somehow. He seems to know everything. I don't want to get in trouble. I just want to go home.

I tiptoe very quietly back to my room and look around. I check out the strange equipment now that I can get a close-up view of them. I asked Phillip what they were and he said they were mixers for mixing his music. He said they cost thousands of dollars, but his mother, Pat, bought them for him for his music career. He said he can mix his own music and he didn't need someone else to do it for him. That way it could be just the way he wanted it to sound. I had never heard of a mixer before.

Before he left today he brought me a very small black-and-white TV. It doesn't get many channels, but at least I can hear people talking. At night it gets much better reception and I watch the late shows. During the day it only gets infomercials and QVC. Very boring, but I seem to like it more and more. Sometimes like today I fall asleep to the sound of some lady trying to sell me an opal necklace.

I wake up the next morning ... at least I think it is still morning. I think I am getting more used to sensing what time it is. Phillip usually comes to see me in the morning and then again during the evening when it gets dark. I'm hoping he will bring me my new kitty today.

I feel like I haven't eaten for a while. I can finally go to the bathroom anytime I need to. He has left a bucket for me in the corner covered with a piece of wood. I feel better knowing I don't have to hold it in until he comes. I sometimes look out the window. I have seen the dogs he talks about. Other than that, all I see are fences and weeds. I wonder if there are any people nearby. I wonder where I am.

I can hear him unlocking the door. He is coming. Now I can hear his footsteps. I hope he hasn't come for s.e.x. He walks in and tells me to close my eyes. He says he has a surprise for me. I close my eyes and when I open them I see my new kitty. It looks like it is a couple months old and looks half-grown already. I feel disappointed. I was hoping for a little kitten, but I do not want him to see that I am disappointed. I smile and act happy. I am happy I will have company. The kitty meows and he hands it to me. I ask if it's a boy or girl, and he says it's a girl. She looks kind of like a dark tiger. With stripes running down her back. I pet her, and he says he is going to go find a box for the litter. I try to think of a name for her and I decide on Tigger-bouncing Tigger from Winnie the Pooh. Tigger is always happy and never sad. My new Tigger starts to explore her surroundings, and I sit back and watch her. Phillip comes back with a litter box and food and water. Then he says that he has to go and take Nancy to work. I have asked him about the other person that was with him when he got me, and he says that it was Nancy, his wife. At first he wouldn't tell me and would just say it was just some person that wasn't around anymore, but sometimes I can hear him talking to someone outside, and I kept wondering who that was and he finally told me. I wonder if I will get to meet his wife, Nancy. I hope so. I would really like to meet her. I am so lonely. Maybe one day she will come in and talk to me.

I have plans to teach my new kitty to come when I call her. I can't wait to get started. He leaves and says he will be back later. Again, I hope it's not for s.e.x. Sometimes if I think really hard on something that I don't want to happen, it doesn't happen. It's the stuff that I don't think about that happens. So I try to think of everything that he could possibly do so it doesn't happen. This is my theory, but it doesn't always work because he always comes back for the s.e.x. He says I am helping him with his s.e.x problem. He says that instead of him hurting other people with his "problem," he took me and brought me here so I could help him and he wouldn't have to hurt anyone else ever again. I think that sounds really weird, but I also don't want him to do what he is doing to me to someone else. So what choice do I have? I'm hoping if he sees that I am good and does what he says that he will let me go home soon. When he is not hurting me, he likes to make me laugh. He says he likes it when I smile. Right now it is hard to find a reason to smile, but I think it best to keep him happy.

I think I have missed the field trip to the water park by now. I wonder if it was fun. I wonder what Shawnee is doing right now. I miss playing with her. And I was going to send my best friend Jessie a letter soon. I miss her so much. Ever since I moved to Tahoe I never get to see her anymore and I miss playing with her. I wonder if I will ever see her again. I wonder if anyone is looking for me. I can't remember a day since "the day" that I haven't cried. Will I ever again have a day without crying? I wonder what my mom is doing right now.

He is coming to take my Tigger away. I am so sad. He says he can't stand the smell when he comes in and the cat is peeing everywhere in here. I want to deny everything he says, but I can't. I don't think this is a good environment for Tigger. She wants to get out and run and play. She is tired of being in this room. I think that's why she is acting out and peeing everywhere. I have begun to feel guilty for asking for her in the first place. I should have thought about the place we were going to put her. This is no place for a kitty. He says his aunt is an animal lover and will take her. I am happy she will go to a happier place. But I am still sad. I will be alone again. The time has come and he takes her away. He says that maybe one day I can see her again and I shouldn't cry about it.

Reflection

It hurts to write about this part. This has turned out to be a very hard book to write. Part of me does not want to continue. To reenter the state of mind I was at that age is difficult and twists my insides. The more I write, the harder it becomes. On the one hand, I want to go on. I feel that if I don't, then I continue to protect my kidnapper and rapist and I don't have the need to do that any longer. On the other hand, this is something I have worked hard to put behind me and to write about it in such detail years later is difficult. To get inside my head and relive all this stuff that happened back then is terribly hard for me ... I want to go on and I will finish it ...

Father's Day, 2010

Yesterday was Father's Day and the man that I have been told is my father issued a statement in essence telling me to call him. He's saying he's dying of cancer. I did not call. I feel torn. I do not know this man that is my father. I do not want to feel sorry for this man that has chosen not to be a part of my life.

When I was nine, I became curious as to who my dad was. I would wonder if maybe he was a prince. That would explain why he couldn't live with us because of his many duties to his country, or maybe he was a navy ship captain that died on a secret mission. I wondered if he loved me. I guess around the time my sister was born, I started to notice other kids around me with dads and then there was my little sister with a dad that doted on her, and I wanted one, too. I noticed my stepfather, Carl, treated my sister so differently than he had been treating me. It made me feel unloved and unwanted.

I remember asking my mom what my real dad's name was and she replied, "His name is Ken." And I remember smiling and said, "Like Barbie's Ken?" I asked if she had a picture, but she didn't. I asked if he had ever seen me, and she said that he had chosen not to. I didn't understand why at the time. But it made me feel sad. After that I didn't bring up the subject again. I had my mom, who I knew wanted me and loved me, and I wanted that to be enough.

The next time I remember thinking about the man that fathered me was when I was kidnapped. For a brief second I thought maybe this was my father who took me. I know now this was the farthest thing from the truth. I even asked Phillip if he was my father in the beginning and he immediately said no.

Now as I sit and write about these moments of my life, I feel confused. What should I feel? What should I think? I must answer these questions on my own now. For so long decisions were made for me. This confusing topic was not something I had to think about in that backyard.