Freedom

by Jaycee Dugard

  Over the years that Ed was in my life, I watched people have various reactions to him. For me, I feel like he has redefined my idea of what a horse should be. I used to think horses were just for riding, but I have discovered that they are much more. A horse “joining up” with you on the ground gives you such a sense of connection and victory. Two feelings that have not been abundant in my life.

  Bringing Ed home was one of the first big decisions I made when I moved into my new house. I have always doubted myself. After all, living as someone’s captive is not the best self-esteem booster. Even after six years, I still question myself. Sometimes I feel like some people think I can’t make my own choices without the input of others. I see no harm in getting other people’s opinions about things and then coming to my own choice in the matter. I was not three when I was taken! I was eleven, and even though I was still young, I still knew there was more to life than Barbie dolls and birthdays. I knew my mom made a lot of tough choices. I knew it was hard being a single parent. We were lucky to live with my grandparents until I was six. I knew my mom worked hard to get us our own apartment. I knew we didn’t have a lot of money, and most of it went to bills and something called taxes. I knew a lot by the time Phillip and Nancy kidnapped me, but I admit I didn’t know it all.

  After our rescue, it kind of felt like some people thought I would probably be stupid. I think a lot of people have underestimated me over the years and have judged my abilities harshly and inserted their own personal opinions about what I should be and who I can be. I like to think I have proven them wrong. After all, I do run my own foundation!

  I try never to judge people or make unfair assumptions, because that is not the way I want to be treated. Although I must admit I do judge Phillip and Nancy. I can’t help but judge everything they ever did. There was this one time when Phillip took us to the San Francisco wharf to set up for a “CAN You Hear Me?” demo. Which in itself was so stupid, him trying to get others to listen to his “black box” to see if they could hear him talking through it! Phillip would have someone put on headphones that were hooked up to a recording of static noise. He would then mouth the words “Can you hear me.” Then you were supposed to hear the words being spoken through the recording. Ridiculous! Right . . . Nancy was one of the ones that could hear this so-called ability. He got others to say they could hear it, too, or so he told me, but who knows what they were really hearing or just sharing in his imagined delusion. Give me a break. But that’s what his delusional mind had made up, and we were setting up a booth on the wharf for it.

  One time, there was a dad and his daughter, and she was crying about not wanting to go on the 3-D amusement ride they had on Pier 39. I could hear the dad encouraging his daughter to try it and that he would be right there with her, but she continued to cry. As they walked away, Phillip said to me that he should not make his daughter do anything that was scary. That made me so annoyed! I said, “But she needs to learn there are scary things, and it is better to do it with someone that loves you than have to deal one day with those scary things on her own”—like I did, I wanted to add but didn’t. He said I was wrong and scaring a little girl was wrong. What a hypocrite, I wanted to shout. What have you been doing all these years, you pervert? I still think I was right. I would much rather experience scary things with a loved one than by myself. You never know what another person is going through. I might be wrong, but who’s to judge. My decision to bring Ed home could have been one of those decisions, but I don’t think so.

  Dusty and Ed had been together for some twenty-odd years, I was told. Dusty was an ornery ol’ pony with the spirit of a young stud. My youngest daughter enjoyed walking around on him and trusted him completely. Ed had a very trusting soul, and even though he couldn’t see me from one side, he still trusted me to be there. I gained a lot of confidence just being around him. Some friends have told me that they didn’t realize he had one eye until I told them. Others have felt uncomfortable looking at his missing eye or wanted to know why it’s missing in the first place.

  One day a friend was walking with him in the arena. I noticed, however, that Ed was trying to face my friend on his blind side and every time he did, she would move back to his seeing eye side. After a few minutes of this, I asked why she wouldn’t walk with him on his blind side because it was clear to me what he wanted and felt comfortable doing. She said it made her uncomfortable that he couldn’t see her, but she also realized that she didn’t feel like she had the right to the trust Ed was showing her. Once she said it, though, she was able to let it go and together they resumed their walk.

  I have learned so many valuable lessons from the horses in my life. I’ve learned not to take myself too seriously and to live in the moment. I used to have a problem with “checking out.” I’ve often asked myself, what does that mean? Well, I think for me, “checking out” was too much self-reflection and not enough practical experience dealing with people. Where I would sometimes look like I’m staring off into space would really be me just thinking about something really hard and not really noticing if there were people around. After so many years by myself I wasn’t really used to talking or having conversations. Horses make you be totally present, and communication and conversations with them are a must. They insist, really. Which has helped me to improve in so many ways.

  Ed making faces.

  Ed running.

  Say It Good (Sid).

  Confessions of an Imperfect Person (or Where the Heck Are the Minis?!)

  * * *

  It looked like it was going to rain. Not good for a day we had plans to take our miniature horses, Mister and Aurora, to a school a few miles away. As part of the JAYC Foundation’s “Just Ask Yourself to Care!” School Groups, a team of us goes into schools and teaches a group of ten to twelve kids all about the importance of caring for one another in school and their communities, respect for themselves and others, how to keep themselves safe, and above all, to be aware of their surroundings!

  So as we loaded up the minis for a trip out to see the kids, we didn’t know what the day had in store for us. Some days teach you more lessons than you ever thought you needed, and this was one of those days. It sprinkled throughout the day, but nothing major. The kids were excited to see the miniature horses, and each had a turn doing the exercise with them. The minis were helping us learn boundaries and how much space sometimes we need to feel safe.

  The day went pretty well, and we loaded the minis for the trip back to the barn. The minis didn’t want to get in the trailer and were hard to convince to step up into it. It took a lot of coaxing and horse cookies, but we finally got them in. By then, it was getting really late and the sun was starting to set.

  I followed the truck and trailer in my car, and all of a sudden I saw smoke coming from the front of the truck. Oh no! The truck was overheating! We all pulled over in a residential neighborhood and assessed the damage. Looked like we could not drive the truck home. How were we going to get the horses home? We didn’t have another truck to pull the trailer. We could hear the minis getting really restless in the back, and so we took them out. We tried calling some mechanics, but it was late and no one was answering. We were desperate, so I thought, Hey, let’s try to put them in the back of my SUV.

  Mister, one of the minis, had grown up riding in the back of a station wagon and was more than willing to jump in. As he jumped in, he slipped on the hard plastic, and Aurora would not even attempt it. We decided it was too dangerous and gave up on the idea.

  As we sat around trying to think of ideas, we looked around the neighborhood and got another idea. I saw a man working in his front yard. He had a pretty big-looking truck in his driveway and so we thought, Hey, it’s worth a try. We went over and asked if he could pull our horse trailer home. He replied in broken English that he would, but would it be quick? Quick, we ask? Yes, he said, he wanted to watch the World Series, which would be starting soon. We told him where we lived and begged him for his help. He agreed but still seem
ed a little reluctant. But at least he said yes. We were so relieved.

  As he hitched the trailer, we realized he really didn’t understand much English but seemed like a really nice guy, and his kids were there, too. He started to pull away and shouted out the window, “Where are they going again?” We gave him the address.

  As he pulls away, Rebecca and I look at each other and realize we had just let a complete stranger take our minis, and we didn’t get a name or phone number or anything! Panic started to set in. We had to stay and wait for the tow truck to tow our truck, and as soon as he arrived, we took off in my car. We were really getting worried wondering if we had made a mistake trusting this stranger.

  On the way back we called our friend, the chief of police, of course! Because when a person that has already been the victim of kidnap and a psychologist that has worked with said victim become scared, we get kind of silly. I’m sure he thought we were complete idiots for calling him and telling him what we had just done. I wanted to know if we could issue an Amber Alert and was only half joking. He stayed calm, which helped us to stay calm. He also was the voice of reason and said, Why don’t we see if he does bring them home before we report them missing? Why don’t we look around the neighborhood and call him back if we didn’t find them? Hmm, I guess we could do that.

  We called home and asked if the minis had arrived. No minis. Maybe he was just slow in getting there. He looked trustworthy. He had his two kids with him. Surely, he is a good person and will bring our minis home, right? We felt like complete idiots. As we approached the local market, we spotted them! Yay! we shouted in unison. He and the kids were out petting the minis in the parking lot. He had not remembered the address and hoped we would find him. And we did! He seemed a little irritated about missing the game, but otherwise was so very nice.

  He followed us back to the house, where he unhitched and left for home with just our “thank yous” for payment. He wouldn’t accept anything else. For a program that teaches kids awareness of their surroundings, we sure failed that day. But at least we got our sweet minis back! And I learned that there are really good strangers out there and not all of them are bad like Phillip told me.

  Mister and Aurora.

  Addiction

  * * *

  Yes, I will admit it. I have fallen into the trap. I am an addict. I never thought I would succumb, but here I am confessing my sin. I am hopelessly and endlessly addicted to . . . Starbucks. There, I said it. I’ve admitted it. They say that’s the first step. It started out innocently enough. Peppermint Mocha Frappuccinos; maybe once in a blue moon a passion fruit iced tea.

  My mom goes for the vanilla lattes, but I’m not a coffee drinker. Actually, I kind of hated the smell of coffee for a while. I never understood my mom’s obsession with coffee. Coffee always smelled to me like burnt socks, which I do not find appealing in any way. But after discovering the amazing creations you can achieve with coffee, I am a convert. Not a total convert. I don’t like it black or with just cream. No, I like the incredibly sweet kind. I love the rich, sweet flavor of my favorite coffee beverage, caramel macchiato, with extra caramel drizzle! My oldest daughter turned me on to these when I started a low-carb diet. Now even though I don’t totally stick to low-carb, although I try, it is my go-to drink. Also on my list is the seasonal pumpkin spiced latte, which I am considering how it will taste iced, and salted caramel mochas, too. Which I am quite sure are not good for me, but every once in a while I will splurge because I can if I want to!

  Sometimes I can’t even believe I’m thinking this way. Six years ago, caramel macchiato was not in my vocabulary at all. I was just surviving on a day-to-day basis with no trips to Starbucks in my future. I had never even been to one before. Have you ever been in a situation that seems totally hopeless and you can never imagine your life any other way? That was me. Life was like one giant roulette wheel. Although you knew the wheel would always be round, have numbers, and be red and black, you didn’t know where that little ball bouncing on the wheel would end up. That’s how it felt to be Phillip and Nancy’s captives. Perhaps the day would be okay and you could wake up without Phillip yelling at imaginary voices in his head, or perhaps you woke to the annoying Nancy complaining what a mess the room was and insisting the girls clean it up. Most days landed on the same number and color and would drag on and on with no relief in sight of ever ending. That wheel was not kind to me or my daughters. I hated it, and life was so scary, dull, and unpredictable all at the same time. Some days I still feel like I’m living a dream and I will wake up and the nightmare that was my prison will be my reality and all this will be gone. Life now is very different. Days feel like an endless big sky full of fluffy white clouds and possibilities. The clouds change shape and sometimes bring rain, but every day is a day that can be filled with the things I like to do.

  “Oh So Pretty”

  * * *

  I met my best friend, Jessie, at the age of four. We immediately discovered our mutual love of all things “pretty.” Or to clarify, what our young minds thought was pretty. Pretty hats from the thrift store—mine a cute little side number complete with feather and veil and hers a sophisticated floppy wide brim with pretty pink ribbon.

  We would spend hours dressing up in our moms’ high heels and grown-up dresses. Makeup was applied when our moms were not looking, and when we deemed it time to make our debut, hand in hand we would come out and pose for the camera, displaying our cheesiest smiles. To us, we were beautiful. At six and five, this was our way of connecting and playing. Where this sense of beauty came from, I don’t know. Maybe from our moms, whom we both looked up to, maybe from TV, maybe from everything we had taken in during our lives so far.

  Years and many, many shall I say “events” later, “pretty” feels different to me. I have had too many life experiences for it ever to be as simple as it was for me at six. Has my sense of beauty been tainted? Well, in a nutshell, yes, it has. When a psycho grown-up man that has kidnapped you and taken you away from everything you have known and loved and forces you to “dress up” and put on makeup for his personal fantasies of having sex with a child—a very scared and afraid child, I might add—your viewpoint can change. I know mine has.

  This is a tangent, but something is very contradictory to me here. Why would someone who has kidnapped a child of eleven then force her to dress up for him and put on lots of makeup and high heels? What’s the point of kidnapping a child and then trying to make her look older? I know the answer to that is control. It is easier to control a child than it is an adult. Still the whole thing is disgusting, but from the news, I know it happens more than any of us would like to think about.

  In all his sick and perverted ways, Phillip did make me realize that we had two very different versions of beauty. I remember one night when he dressed me up and I was crying, not loudly, but I could feel the hot tears streaming down my face. I was smearing the makeup job he had done on me, but I just could not hold the tears back. I could tell he was agitated, and I knew I had to stop crying. I was scared of what would happen if I didn’t. Phillip looked at me and asked, “What are you crying for?” and I told him I felt ugly. I remember he looked at me and said, “You look beautiful. Here, I will show you. Look into the mirror.” Well, I looked.

  Plato wrote, “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.” That must be true because what I saw as beauty and what Phillip saw as beauty were completely different things. I don’t doubt he thought I was pretty that night. His creation. The girl he took from a bus stop. A girl he controlled and could be anything he wanted. He was proud of the way I looked, and he couldn’t see why I didn’t see what he saw. All I saw was a very frightened girl who I didn’t even recognize with mascara running down her cheeks and the saddest face I had ever glimpsed staring back at me. I had to avert my eyes quickly and nod my head in agreement; I did not want to provoke the sleeping dragon.

  To this day when I think about society’s views of beauty, I think back on that day and I thi
nk something changed for me. Looking at myself for those split seconds, I realized that beauty would never be a simple thing to me and that I would never agree with Phillip about anything . . . ever.

  I think we all see beauty in our own way, and it really is “in the eyes of the beholder.” I’ve learned not to define beauty simply as what someone looks like or wears but by what that person does and aspires to. Not to say I don’t love wearing beautiful clothes and buying the coolest new shoes and dressing up nicely now and then. Makeup is fun to experiment with, and I do enjoy wearing it on occasion.

  It’s no longer a question of “I have to” for me now but a question of “Do I want to?” For me, it has taken time to distinguish the two, because even with the freedom I have now, the pressures of our society and what we define as pretty and acceptable and the “norm” in our culture is very judgmental. Women wear makeup, they wear high heels (although I’m not sure why because they are so uncomfortable!), and we all want to have and wear the latest fashions and be socially accepted. These things take a toll on our sense of beauty as a whole, and many of us get lost in it. I do, too. But life is a teacher, and although remembering those horrible nights Phillip put me through is hard, it is still a reminder. It’s a reminder that beauty can be seen or felt in many different ways. You can be seen with too much or too little, and most judge beauty by what they see. I’m guilty of this.

  I once judged a horse by its color only. It wasn’t until I got to know him that I saw what a great horse he could be. I got him in 2013. His name is Say It Good, or Sid for short, and he’s a chestnut quarter horse.

  At first, I saw only a plain, drab brown horse, but when I was helped to look deeper and discovered his beauty, I saw a horse with a big heart and tons of potential. When I look at him today, it’s funny; I no longer see just a brown horse. I see the multitude of colors he has in his coat, I see gentle eyes and a horse that feels the beauty around him.