2.The Taking

It  is  an  ordinary Monday morning  school  day.  I   have

woken  up  early  this  morning  of  June  10th,  1991.  I   am

waiting for my mom to come in my room before she goes to

work to kiss me good-bye. I  made a point the night before

o remind her to kiss me good-bye.

As  I   lay  in bed waiting,  I  hear  the  front door close. She

as  left. She has  forgotten.  I  guess  there  is always  tonight

when she gets home from work to give her a kiss and hug.

m going to remind her that she forgot this morning, though.

ay in bed for a while until my alarm tells me it’s time to get

p. I  wait another five minutes and then push myself out of

ed. I  notice that the ring that I  had bought the day before at

he craft  fair  is missing. Darn!  I  really wanted  to wear  it  to

school  today.  I   search my  bed  to  no  avail.  I f  I  waste  any

more  time,  I   will  be  late  for  the  bus and  then  Carl,  my

step dad, will be mad at me and  then  I  would have  to ask

him for a ride to school. He already thinks I  mess everything

p; I  don’t want to give him another excuse not to like me.

sometimes I  feel like he is just waiting for another reason to

end me away again.

I   abandon my  search  and  decide  to wear  the  ring my

mom  gave  me  four  years  ago  for  my  seventh  birthday,

before  she met Carl. My  eleven-year-old  finger  is  getting

too big for it now, so I  don’t wear it often. I t is made of silver,

very  tiny and delicate,  in  the shape of a butterfly  to match

the birthmark on my right forearm that’s almost level with my

elbow on  the  inside of my arm. The  ring also has a  teeny

tiny diamond in the center of the butterfly. I  try to slip it on,

but it feels tight on the finger I  used to wear it on, so I  try it

on my pinkie and it feels better. I  finish dressing. I  decide to

wear my  pink  stretch  pants  and my  favorite  kitty  shirt.  I t

looks cold outside, so I  throw on my pink windbreaker. Then

I  go across  the hall  to peek  in  to my baby  sister’s  room.

Last night my mom was folding laundry in the baby’s room

and I  was sort of helping as I  laid on the bed. I  used the time

to  try  to  convince my mom  how much  I   needed  a  dog;  I

guess  I   was  a  little  annoying.  Because  she  just  kept

repeating  the  word  “No”  over  and  over  again.  It’s  just  I

really, really want my own dog. There are puppies down the

street from us, and every chance I  get I  go down there and

pet  them  through  the  fence.  I  don’t know why  I  can’t have

one. The other day I  had to write a paper in school about “If I

had one wish.”  I  wished  for my own dog.  I  would name  it

Buddy, and he would  follow me everywhere and do  tricks

and love me the most. I  really hope my mom will let me have

a dog one day.

I   showed my  eighteen-month-old  sister  a  new  trick  last

night, too. I  showed her how to jump up and down in her crib

really  high.  I t made  her  laugh  so  hard.  I   love making  her

laugh. She is almost ready to start climbing out of her crib, I

think. I  peek in and I  see she is still sleeping, so I  creep out

quietly.

I   feel  a  little  queasy  this  morning  and  briefly  consider

telling  Carl, my  step dad,  that  I   feel  sick  and  can’t  go  to

school  today  but  change my mind  to  avoid  an  argument.

The truth is I  really don’t want to stay home all day with him

anyway.  I   look  forward  to  going  to  school  most  days

because  it  gives me  time  away  from  all  of  his  criticism.

Maybe  eating  some  breakfast  will  make  my  tummy  feel

better. I  go to the kitchen to make my lunch and breakfast. I

decide on instant oatmeal, peaches and cream flavor. The

microwave clock reads 6:30. I  know I  must start up the hill

soon in order to catch the bus. I  eat my oatmeal quickly. I ’m

glad Carl isn’t in here watching me scarf down my oatmeal.

He  already  thinks  my  table  manners  are  atrocious  and

takes every opportunity to let me know what he thinks.

One time he didn’t like the way I  was eating my dinner, so

he made me go sit in the bathroom in front of the mirror and

watch myself eat. I  don’t think I ’d ever make my kid do that if

it was me. I  just don’t understand why he doesn’t like me. I

make a PB&J for my lunch, throw in an apple and juice box,

and check one more  time  to see  if Shayna  is awake yet,

but she is not, so I  must leave without telling her good-bye. I

haven’t  seen Carl  all morning.  I   think  he must  be  outside

because he  is not  inside  like he usually  is, watching TV.  I

see my  cat,  Monkey,  outside  on  the  deck.  My  grandma

Ninny gave him to me before we left for Tahoe. Monkey is a

black Manx, which means he has no tail. When we got him I

wanted  to name him Sapphire because he had  the bluest

eyes, but Carl thought it was a stupid name and just started

to  call him Monkey. At  first  it  really made me mad, and  I

called him Sapphire every chance I  got, but as Monkey has

grown, the name Sapphire really doesn’t suit him, and now I

call  him Monkey,  too.  It’s  funny  how  you  can  get  used  to

things. Monkey mostly stays outside, but I  let him in at night

and he sleeps with me. I  don’t like to leave him outside at

night because my mom’s cat Bridget was eaten by a wild

animal after we moved up here to Tahoe. I t was awful; we

had been  looking  for her  for days and  I   finally  found what

was left of her, which was nothing more than a pile of fur. I t

was really sad. Monkey must have been separated from his

mom at a young age because he loves to nurse on my fuzzy

blanket. I  think he thinks I ’m his mom.

I   go  outside  on  the  deck  and  give  him  a  pet  hello,  he

meows  for  food, so  I  give him a  little handful of cat  food.  I

have  also  brought  out  a  carrot  for  Bugsy,  the  black-and-

white dwarf rabbit that’s not so little. Carl had Bugsy when I

met  him  a  few  years  ago.  I   think  the  cutest  thing  about

Bugsy is his love of grape-flavored popsicles. I t is my job to

clean  his  cage,  which  is  not my  favorite  thing  to  do.  He

really poops a lot. I  read in a book once that rabbits eat one

poop a night.  I t’s  funny how sometimes animals do  things

that don’t make sense to people, but I  think they must have

a good  reason  for doing  it;  I   just can’t  figure out what  that

may be.

I  make my way out the front door, down the long walkway

to  the  stairs.  Our  house  in  Tahoe  reminds  me  of  a  ski

cabin.  I t  is  located  at  the  bottom  of  a  hill. We  have  lived

here  since  September of  last  year.  We  used  to  live  in

Orange County. We  had  a  break-in  at  the  apartment we

were  living  in  and my mom  and Carl  thought  it would  be

safer if we moved to Tahoe. We live in a much smaller town

now.

I  grew up in Anaheim, California. I’ve always thought that

when we moved in with Carl, he convinced my mom that it

was time that I  started walking to school by myself because

I  had never done  it before.  I  don’t  think my mom  liked  the

idea very much, but she couldn’t be there to drive me in the

morning because she had  to go  to work early, so  that  left

Carl  to  take me and sometimes he would and sometimes

he wouldn’t be there, so I  had to walk. They gave me a key

to  the apartment we  lived  in at  the  time, and  that was  the

first year I  walked home from school by myself.

One  time  as  I   was  walking  home  from  Lampson

Elementary where I  went to fourth grade, a car with a group

of guys in it started shouting at me and gesturing for me to

come over. I  started running and hid in a bush until the car

passed,  then  I  ran home as  fast as  I  could and  locked  the

door behind me. I  was scared to walk home after that and

did it as fast as I  could. Sometimes my mom or Carl would

pick me  up  from  school.  I   liked  those  days.  Tahoe  feels

nothing  like Anaheim.  I   can  ride my  bike  anywhere  and  I

don’t feel afraid here.

There  is a neighborhood dog named Ninja  that  comes

over and walks up the hill with me some mornings. I  want a

dog of my own so badly, one that would walk up that hill with

me  every morning  and  then  be  there  to  greet me when  I

come home  from school. Ninja  the dog  really prefers Carl

over me, though, and usually only waits for him and goes on

walks with him on the weekends.

This morning I  was so hoping that Ninja would come and

walk with me,  but  as  I   head  out,  there  is  no  sign  of  her

anywhere. As I  leave the house for school, I  yell to Carl that I

am  on  my  way  up  the  hill.  I   don’t  see  him  or  hear  him

answer, but see that he has his van out of the garage, so he

must be working on it. I  start out on the right side of the hill

and then when it starts to curve, I  switch to the other side. I

have one more week of school  left,  then summer vacation

starts.  I   have  made  plans  with  my  friend  Shawnee  from

school  to  work  at  a  dude  ranch.  She  loves  horses  and

sometimes  she  draws  them  for  me.  I   love  the  way  she

draws horses. She has taken me on a trail ride before and I

loved  it.  She  is  a  great  rider.  She  used  to  live  with  her

mother on a ranch, but now she lives a mile away from me

in an apartment with her grandma Millie.  I  am  so excited

about our plans. I  want to be as good a rider as she is one

day.  I  still have  to work up  to asking Carl and my mom  if  I

can do it. But I ’m hoping it’s something they will let me try.

Carl is always saying I  need to have more chores and that I

need  to  learn more  responsibility,  so what  better way  for

me to learn than to get a summer job? Well, at least that’s

how  I ’m going  to present  it  to him and see what he says.

Carl’s sister, my new aunt M, has two horses. One is a girl

and the other one is her baby foal. I  love to go visit her. She

is so nice  to me compared  to Carl and his mother W. M

acts like she really likes me. She lets me sit with her on her

horse and we walk around the arena.  it’s so much fun. She

also  has  a  really  cute  cocker  spaniel,  which  loves  to

wrestle. I  like visiting her; she seems to really like me.

When  I   lived  in Orange County  I  was  in  a  jazz  class.  I

really didn’t enjoy going  that much.  I   really wanted  to  take

ballet, but when my mom went to sign me up, the class for

ballet was  full and so we went  for  jazz.  I ’m  really shy, and

performing  in  front of people  is not a strong suit with me.

We moved  to  Tahoe  right  before my  final  recital.  Thank

goodness.  I   think  I   would  have  messed  up  if  I   had  to

perform in front of an audience. And wearing a leotard was

not my cup of tea either.

When we moved to Tahoe after school started I  joined a

Girl  Scout  troop. Again,  not  my  idea.  It’s  hard  to  make

friends, but some of  the girls are also  in my class, so  that

makes  it  easier.  I   just wish  I  wasn’t  so  shy  sometimes.  I

usually hang out with Shawnee, although she  is not  in my

troop. But  the girls are  all  nice  and  I   like when we make

things and sell cookies together. I  am not good at going up

to  strangers’  doors  and  asking  them  if  they  want  to  buy

some Girl Scout cookies, but I  am very good at eating Girl

Scout  cookies. My  favorites are Samoas and Thin Mints.

When it’s my turn to go up to the door and sell, I  knock on

the door and  let my partner do  the  talking. Will  I  ever get

over my shyness? We have a class field trip to a water park

coming up  the  last week of school.  I  want  to go and have

fun, but my body is changing and I ’m self-conscious. I  tried

the other night to talk to my mom about shaving my armpits

and my legs. I  am embarrassed to be seen with all that hair.

But  I   didn’t  know  how  to  start  that  conversation. Need  to

think of something soon; the trip is only a few days away.

As I  am walking up the hill to the school bus this chilly day

in June, I  am thinking how sometimes it feels like my life is

dictated  by  something  or  someone  else.  For  instance,

when  I  play with my Barbies,  I  can plan out  their  lives and

make  them  do  all  the  things  I   want  them  to  do.  I   feel

sometimes that this is being done to me. I  feel like my life is

planned out  for me,  in what way I  do not know, but on  this

day I  feel like a puppet on a string, and I  have no idea who’s

on the other end.

I  am coming  to  the part of  the hill at which  I  have been

taught to cross to the other side. Carl and my mom taught

me this when we moved up here and it was decided that I

would walk up  to  the bus stop  to catch  the bus  for school.

Carl said I  should cross here so that oncoming traffic could

see me  and  I   could  see what’s  coming  at me,  too. As  I

cross  the  road at  the bend,  I   lose my  train of  thought and

start  to daydream about  the summer.  I  walk  in  the gravelly

part of the shoulder of the road. I  haven’t seen any cars go

by at all this morning. There are bushes to my left. As I  am

walking, I  hear a car behind me. I  look back expecting the

car to pass on the other side of the road going up, but to my

surprise the car pulls up beside me. I  was so lost in thought

that  the unusual behavior of  the driver didn’t  register with

me. I  stop walking as the driver rolls down his window. He

leans  slightly  out  of  his  car  and  starts  to  ask  me  for

directions.  His  hand  shoots  out  of  the  window  so  fast  I

barely  register  that he has something black  in his hand.  I

hear  a  crackling  sound  and  I   feel  paralyzed.  I   take

staggering steps back; fear erasing everything but the need

to get away. As the car door opens, I  fall to the ground and

start to push back on my hands and butt toward the safety

of the bushes. Scooting as fast as I  can is my only goal—to

make it to the bushes away from the man that is coming to

grab  me.  My  hand  connects  with  something  hard  and

sticky. What  is  it?  I t  doesn’t matter—I  must  hold  on  to  it.

Someone  is  dragging me  and  now  I   am  being  lifted. My

limbs feel like they weigh a ton. I  try to resist and try to push

farther  into  the  bushes.  The  paralyzing  feeling  returns

accompanied  by  a  strange electrical  current  zapping

sound.  I   am  helpless  to  resist  for  some  reason.  I   don’t

understand  why my  body  is  not  working.  I   realize  I   have

peed my pants. Strangely  I  do not  feel embarrassed.  “No,

no,  no,”  I   cry.  My  voice  sounds  harsh  to  my  ears.  The

strange man hauls me up and shoves me into the backseat

and  down  onto  the  floorboards  of  his  car. My  brain  feels

fuzzy.  I   don’t  understand  what’s  happening.  I   want  to  go

home. I  want to crawl back into my bed. I  want to play with

my sister.  I  want my mommy.  I  want  time  to  reverse  itself

and give me a do-over. A blanket  is  thrown on  top of me

and  I   feel  a  lot  of weight  on my  back.  I   feel  as  if  I   can’t

breathe.  I   hear  voices,  but  they  are  muffled.  The  car  is

moving.  I  want  to  get  out  of  the  car.  I   twist  and  turn,  but

something is pinning me down. I  start to feel embarrassed

about losing control of my bladder and want to get up and

go  home.  I   feel  like  I   can’t  think  right.  I   know  what  is

happening to me is not right, but I  don’t know what to do. I

feel scared and helpless. The car is moving and I  feel sick. I

need to throw up, but I ’m afraid if I  do I  will choke to death,

so I  resist the feeling. Something tells me they wouldn’t help

me  if  I   did.  I   am  so  hot.  I   feel  as  if my  skin  is  burning.

Please, please  remove  this hot blanket—I  can’t breathe!  I

feel  like yelling, but my voice  feels dry and nothing comes

out.  I   lose consciousness. When  I  wake up,  I  hear voices.

The  car  has  stopped. Where  are we?  I   hear  two  voices.

One is male and the other is muffled and low, but it doesn’t

sound like a man’s voice. The blanket is still covering me,

but  the weight has been  taken off.  I  hear a car door open

and slam shut very quickly. The blanket is finally pulled from

my face and I  can see the person that was in the backseat

is now in the front, but I  can’t see a face; it’s not someone

big,  so  it  could  be  a woman.  I   am  offered  a  drink  by the

male that pulled me into the car. I  am so hot and my mouth

is so dry. He says he got an extra straw for me, so I  don’t

need  to worry  about  his  germs.  I   am  so  grateful  for  that

drink—my mouth feels so dry like I’ve been screaming for a

long  time, but  I   can’t  remember  screaming at all. All of a

sudden I  hear him laugh. He is saying something about how

he can’t believe he got away with it. I  want to tell him I  want

to go home. But  I  am so scared  I  am afraid  to make  the

man angry. What should I  do? I  just don’t know what to do. I

wish I  did. I ’m so scared. I  want to go to sleep and pretend

this  is  not  happening. Why  is  this  happening? Who  are

these people and what do they want with me?

Reflection

Since  my  return  back  into  the  world,  I   find  myself

collecting  pinecones.  I   ask  the  people  I   know  now  when

hey  go  on  trips  to  bring  me  back  a  pinecone.  I   have

pinecones  from  Lake  Placid,  Maine,  and  Oregon.  My

therapist and I  finally solved my obsession. A pinecone was

he last thing I  touched before I  was taken away by Phillip. A

hard  and  sticky  pinecone  was  my  last  grip  on  freedom

before eighteen years in captivity.