While I worked for Laura and grew accustomed to my new life, I also busied myself with locating my birth certificate. I had remembered to look in Datt’s desk where he kept a large yellow envelope containing everyone’s birth cards with little footprints on them, but I did not have my actual birth certificate. I had snuck out my card several months before I had left. I was lucky I got the card because it was my only proof of identity, and I needed it to get my birth certificate from the Ohio hospital where I was born.
Many people assume Amish women do not give birth in a hospital. It really depends on the situation and the mother’s condition when the time comes. Some of my siblings were born at home and others were delivered at a hospital.
After I received my birth certificate, the next challenge was to apply for a Social Security number. I was scared to get a number because the Amish did not believe women should have them, but I realized it was important to have an account and a card with my number on it. I remembered hearing Datt talk about numbers the government issued to people in order to track them down. I wondered if this was what he was talking about. I struggled a bit to get the Social Security number because I did not have enough documents to show who I really was. The birth certificate was not enough. The Social Security office told me I needed to get information from my parents and records from where I went to school. Both of those options were not available. Living so close to the Mexico border did not help either. However, after a long six months of patience and determination, I finally received the card in the mail.
Being told I did not have enough identification hit me pretty hard. I started to comprehend how difficult it really was to stop being Amish. It was not just leaving the community; it was actually shedding my Amish identity and finding a new and different one. It took me a while to find my new self. The hardest part was trying to get rid of the mental images and the feeling I still had of wearing Amish clothes.
The Amish are easily targeted because of their simple clothes, which are mandatory for them to wear in an effort to be “plain” and unworldly. It embarrassed me many times to be out in public where “English” people could see me because I felt them staring and heard them making fun of my bonnet and long dress. Young people were the worst. I wanted to walk up to them and tell them I did not want to be dressed like this, that I did not have a choice. I probably would have said it in German, but at least they would have gotten the picture from my frustration. I did not realize the loathed Amish clothes I was required to wear had actually contributed to shaping my self-image. For several years after I left home I felt like everyone could still see me as an Amish girl clothed in a long dark dress and white bonnet. I had a hard time being in public even though I was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. The stares I saw and the laughs I heard when still Amish were riveted into my memory.
I soon learned that, without my Amish clothes, I was more vulnerable than ever. I had no idea my dress and bonnet had been something of a shield, but I began to realize what Virgil meant when he told me there were many people in the world ready to take advantage of someone like me. I did not know what the phrase “taking advantage” actually meant—I learned what it meant the hard way when a Mexican man raped me twice within the first seven months I lived in Texas. He was in his forties with a wife and several children. I knew him because he worked at the same subdivision where I cleaned houses. At the time of the rape, I had moved out of the apartment and into the country with the Wiley’s.
The Wiley’s had taken a trip to Missouri and Minnesota and left me by myself in their big two-story house. One morning I left the house to water the flowers, and afterwards I took a shower upstairs. It never dawned on me to lock the door when I finished outside. The man let himself in and came upstairs to the bathroom. He scared the living daylights out of me. He grabbed me and carried me to the guest bedroom, and although I kicked and screamed, it made no difference. I do not remember much after he threw me on the bed except that whatever he did to me hurt like hell.
After he left, I crawled back to the bathroom and realized I was bleeding. When I looked in mirror I did not recognize myself because of the shock. My face was red, and my green eyes, now a dark grayish, looked back at me with a dead stare. A long scratch crossed the front of my left shoulder towards my chest. My hair was so messed up I looked homeless. I put on some clothes and went back to my own bed. I stayed in bed all day, not sleeping, not crying, and not moving a muscle. I just remember lying there with my brain flailing in all different directions. I went into a mode of confusion, and I forgot to eat for several days. Somehow, the nighttimes came and went without me noticing.
After several days of hibernating, I got enough strength to go to a math class for my General Education Diploma (GED), at a special school for those trying to better themselves. However, I was so fer huddled (confused) I could not sit through the whole class, so I left early. The bad part was, I did not know what had happened to me or if I should tell anyone. I finally began to vent emotions, but only during the night when the painful memories kept me awake. During the day it did not bother me too much as I kept myself busy studying for the GED exam. At the same time I went to the literary center in town three days a week to learn English, and in my free time I worked on a ranch for a lady who raised riding horses. I had quit working for Laura Jo because there was not enough work anymore, which I was glad about because I did not want to encounter a run-in with the same man who hurt me.
Even though I kept myself busy, I still felt so disgustingly dirty that I could not take enough baths a day to make me feel clean again. I did not tell anyone about it, and I made the decision just keep it to myself because, after all, that is what I had been taught at home. I was so used to not being allowed to talk about things which did not make sense that I believed what this guy did to me was something girls had to give into.
At the time of the rape, I did not even know what it was called. I did not know anything about sex, which made the horrific experience even more difficult to explain to anyone, even if I had wanted to. I blame the Amish for not educating me about sex. My parents never said a word about it, and I was secluded enough that I did not even think of asking. I always thought it was weird when girls were not allowed to be near the barn at certain times, and later I figured out it was because animals were breeding and our parents kept us from learning about it. I think if I had known about sex and was taught how men were to properly treat a lady, I could have prevented the rape, especially when it happened the second time.
A little over a week later, the same man came back. This time it was in the late afternoon and, of course, I was oblivious to the fact he would return. I just assumed he knew how much he had hurt me the first time, so why would he do it a second time? I was outside in the yard playing with the Wiley’s horses. Before I knew it, he appeared right in front of me. I did not hear a vehicle or see anyone coming until it was too late. My body froze the moment I saw him. Paralyzed from fright, I could not run away and I could not scream or breathe. I knew the minute he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the house that fighting him was not worth it. He was a two-hundred-pound bully with big muscles, and I was a hundred-pound little naïve Amish girl who did not know how to fight or stand up for myself.
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I recovered faster the second time, mainly because I was determined not to let the dreams I had for the future fail. I did not want to go back home to Amish land, but I knew if I did not keep myself together that is exactly what would happen. I had to stay strong and keep moving ahead, but the painful experiences weighed heavily on my mind. Every day I struggled to put on a smile around other people, but I did it anyway.
A few weeks later, as I searched for some kind of explanation for what had happened, I saw a television news story about a guy who was sentenced to jail for raping and sexually assaulting a girl. My gut told me I had gone through the same thing. By that time I had learned how to use Google on the internet, so I did a search about rape. Suddenly everything fell into place.
I learned about rape, incest, committing suicide, and murders. My brain could not comprehend all the foreign stuff I was learning. I had a dictionary with me to look up any words I did not understand, and even then I only understood the gist of it. I did enough digging on the internet until I accidently stumbled across some disturbing information about a few different Amish people, including my grandfather. I was never close to either of my grandfathers, and after I saw what one of them did, my stomach really turned. Another Ex-Amish person, whom I did not know, had put the information on the internet.
The Amish church takes punishment into their own hands, subjecting the offender to a six-week shunning process. After that, the offender has the option to ask for forgiveness, then everything goes back to normal. They get away with criminal acts for which they would serve ten to twenty years in prison in the English world.
The Amish would rather suffer abuse and insult than be involved in any kind of justice system. The Amish consider the criminal justice system too “worldly,” and a person can be shunned if they used it for their own good.
I knew who the guy was that raped me, and I was scared of him doing it again if I did not stop it. However, it was hard. I could have told Laura Jo or the Wiley’s after they came home from their three-week-long trip, but I could not bring myself to do it. I was not sure how to bring up the conversation, and I was scared that I would be sent back home. I worried that I was becoming a huge pain in the Wiley’s lives.
Several months passed and I became so distraught and dysfunctional I could not eat or sleep. People around me noticed something was wrong and they began pressuring me to open up. Finally I could not hold it in any longer and I began to talk about it early one morning after another long sleepless night. I was so tired of bottling things up and I knew I had to do something before I lost any more weight.
Action was taken immediately and the police arrested the guy. The Wiley’s drove me to the police station where I pressed charges against him. I had no clue what I was doing, but I had plenty of people helping me get through it. The court later sentenced him to three years in jail. After he served his time he was deported back to Mexico.
After the rape, I remembered my brother Jacob’s words: “Don’t let Elmer do anything to you.” More than a year later my questions about what he meant that night were finally answered. I realized Jacob had wanted to protect me, but if he really thought something bad could happen, why did he not educate me? I will never know. I had done some unforgivable things in the Amish eyes while at home, and never once did it occur to me that anything bad could actually happen. I had been lucky.
Immediately after the arrest, I felt I could move on. However, law enforcement and other people urged me to go to counseling even though I thought I was doing okay. I took their advice and went once. I stared blankly at the lady who asked me questions about the rape. I got up and walked out of her office before time was up without answering any questions. I could not open up to a complete stranger. I realized every challenge that came my way presented an opportunity for me to grow stronger, and I did not need counseling. I felt much safer and I did not see a point in crying about it any longer. Besides, I was busy taking classes for my GED. I was also more concerned about making amends with my family and trying to heal the rift my rejection of the Amish lifestyle had rent in our relationship, so more than ever I wanted to forget about the rape.
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In the fall of 2006, after I put the rape behind me for good, I got a job at Dollar General and continued to study for the GED exam. I felt I was now experiencing the real world at its best; I had become one of those women who had a job and was doing something important with my life without having to answer to anyone.
Eight months later, I passed the GED exam on the very first try, within the first year after leaving home. I immediately applied to go to college. Passing the GED was a major accomplishment because the schooling I had received from the Amish was nothing compared to that of the English world.
I had attended a one-room Amish schoolhouse in Missouri where teachers with an education no higher than the students themselves taught first through eighth grade. We studied basic math, spelling, reading, and writing. Spelling and reading were taught in both English and German. For writing, we only had to write sentences using an English word the teacher assigned us to use in each sentence. We did not write any essays. Even though the Amish teachers taught English, we never used it outside of the school setting, except when communicating with English-speaking Americans. We all spoke German in our daily conversations.
When I was still in school, I did not give much thought about my education until I had completed eighth grade and had started working at home full time; then I began to feel a void in my life. For the Amish, education had no meaning after eighth grade. No one talked about or planned a career path. My life’s path had already been pre-planned long before my birth: tradition expected me to stay home and work for my parents until I turned twenty-one, then I could start making my own money and do what I wanted. The Amish lifestyle, however, did not offer many options other than being a nanny or schoolteacher, and neither required an education past eighth grade. Everything I knew and did was based on what I learned at home growing up. The fact we were even required to go to school for eight years of our lives still amazes me.
During my Amish experience, I felt something was missing, and even while still living in Missouri I began to realize there was so much more to learn. My pre-planned adulthood did not stand a chance with me. Of course, I could not tell my parents how I felt about wanting to learn more because they would see me as a disgrace to the Amish society. The day I escaped, I did not have a set plan on what kind of education I wanted to pursue, but one thing remained clear in my mind: I wanted to go to college. There were so many things I needed to learn before I could make a decision on a particular career.
If the Amish would consider education farther beyond fourteen years old maybe the people who decide to leave would have more of a grasp of where to begin in a college or career setting. Part of the reason for not offering more schooling was so no one would realize there was more choices in life with an education. As for me, I was clueless what path I would take, but also ready to blaze a path where none existed.
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When I started working at the Dollar General, I began to grasp what it was really like to live in the outside world. Of course, I was still as naïve as ever, but as the days passed I could feel an inner strength flowing from me. My manager patiently taught me how to use the cash register. I was amazed at how easy it was to use, but I was even more amazed at how easy it was to make a huge mistake and then have to get the manager to untangle it.
Some customers were rude, some were hostile, some were friendly, and then a few were gentle and loving. These kind people would give me tips in five-dollar bills and tell me to buy something nice with it. I did not think I needed anything nice, so I would stick those bills in a donation jar for the Literacy Center. I wanted to help others more than I wanted to help myself, even though I did not have anything to call my own. I even gave a co-worker money every time she complained of not having diapers for her child, or gas in the car to get to work. I handed out cash freely; there was no way I could say no to anyone.
I enjoyed working in this simple little store, but the wrong people must have noticed my naivety, soft heart, and gentleness because someone stole the old 1988 Chevrolet truck I was driving at the time right out of the store’s parking lot. I had the keys in my possession, but I must not have locked the doors. My purse with all my money, my Social Security card, my driver’s license, and my favorite lip-gloss was in the truck, and was now history. Why would anyone on this planet earth steal? I thought. I could not fathom the reality. I cried bitter tears while giving a report to the police. No one had told me not to carry the Social Security card with me. No one had told me to always lock the doors, and no one had warned me that old vehicles could start without the key in the ignition. Even a
fter the rape, I still did not seem to understand how cruel the world could be.
The police never found the truck. They said it had most likely been taken across the border to Mexico and nothing could be done about it. I re-applied for my Social Security card and my driver’s license, and then I bought my own vehicle—a maroon Dodge pick-up truck—and continued on with my life. Slowly but very surely I learned how to stand on my own two feet. I let my heart get a little harder, I quit giving money to just anyone who asked, and I fumed over a supervisor who depended on me to do his work.
The supervisor, Keith, was just about as lazy as anyone could get, but it did not bother me until my boss asked me why I was not able to keep up the store. Keith would sit outside the back door with his cell phone stuck to his ear and a cigarette dangling from his mouth for hours at a time. I realized he was just there for the money, and to me he looked like a hoodlum. I nicknamed him Grizzly Bear. He stunk like stale cigarette smoke and old sweat, his hair needed cutting, and his facial hair needed to be trimmed. I often told him he was starting to look Amish, but he did not find my comment amusing. Every time the store got hectic, I had to go on a hunt for the Grizzly Bear. Customers would look at me with a hint of impatience in their eyes if I was too busy to help them right away. This humiliated me.
Not only did Keith not help much with customers, he expected me to do his part of merchandise stocking as well as keep the store clean. After six month of his nonsense, I decided I did not have to be treated this way anymore, so, full-force, I spilled the news to the boss. I blubbered like a baby. I spewed out all my frustrations about the Grizzly Bear in my thick German accent, and afterwards I just knew he was going to fire me for having an emotional outburst. Luckily I did not get fired, but a few months later, Keith did.
Runaway Amish Girl Page 11