Tears of the Silenced

by Misty Griffin

I stopped abruptly when I got to the road. There was now a high wire fence around the farm. Several Amish had gathered behind and were staring at me and shaking their heads in disapproval. I grabbed the fence with both hands and shook it as I screamed, “No!, No!” over and over again. What had made me think that I could be that courageous? I thought to myself. I just stood there, shaking the fence and remembering all the things I thought I had done and those I had not had the chance to do yet. It was utterly devastating.

  Suddenly, I awoke in a cold sweat. I was on my hands and knees beside the bed in my bedroom in Seattle. From the way I was holding onto the bed, I figured I must have been shaking it. The house was quiet, so I must not have been screaming out loud.

  I got up slowly. My legs were trembling, and my flowered nightgown was soaked with sweat. I was confused. Had I fainted or fallen asleep again and now I was dreaming that I was back in Seattle, or was this the reality? I pinched myself with my fingernails and winced at the pain. This too had happened in the other dream. I went through the dark hall into the bathroom and splashed cold water over my face. I felt the cold, but in the other dream I had been able to feel the coldness of the washcloth, too.

  I went outside. The cool, late summer breeze greeted me, and I closed my eyes as it swept across my face. I walked over to the giant magnolia tree and rubbed my palms along the bark. I felt its roughness and decided this had to be real. I sat under the tree for a long while and thought how terrible it would have been if I had not decided to leave the Amish. What if I was still there? I sat there, shaking at the thought. I was stressed and tired. As much as I loved my life here, it was hard to talk to anyone about my past, so I avoided it as much as possible. Any time I opened up to someone, he or she just looked at me in stunned silence, as if unable to comprehend. I sometimes felt so alone. I could not expect people to understand, yet at times I wished for someone that had been through something similar.

  If Mamma had never met Brian, maybe my life would have been more normal. Although I tried not to wallow in self-pity, that night I felt really wounded. My mother and Brian had stolen my childhood from me. I did not even have memories of becoming an Amish teenager. My teenage years blurred into one another and had no real significance. They had all been spent on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. I began sobbing uncontrollably. I felt like I had been robbed, and there was no way to recover what had been stolen.

  After that night, I had different versions of the same nightmare three to seven times a week, and each time it took at least a minute to calm down and realize that it had only been a dream. I believe going back to the mountain and seeing the place where I had been so badly abused had been too much for me. I did not realize it then but the overload of trauma had resulted in these horrible recurring dreams. By stepping into the past I had somehow caused my brain to question if I had really left or not.

  Summer came to a close, and I was continuing to study for my GED. I had already managed to get through the study guide twice and was starting on my third round. The paperwork for my ID was taking a long time and my passport would not arrive until October; I was starting to get anxious because January was fast approaching and I couldn’t take the test without a picture ID.

  I was positive I could pass the test, but it seemed I was the only one. Aunty Laura and Denise were trying to coax me to stay in Seattle for another year and take the test the following fall. They were afraid that if I took it and failed, I might lose my motivation and not try again. I appreciated their concern, but that I was anxious to stay on track.

  One day at the beginning of September, Samantha called. We had been sending letters back and forth all summer. It was nice to talk to her, although it brought back sad memories and I had a feeling her deacon was probably listening in on the call. I was more than a little surprised when she asked me to come visit. I had not planned on it and had expected I would not be welcome, and even though I felt it was a ploy to convince me to return to the Amish, I agreed to go after I got my ID card in October. I had a few misgivings; my mind seemed to be telling me to stop returning to the past and get on with the future, but I had a plan. I wanted to bring Samantha back with me. I knew it was a longshot, but it was at least worth a try.

  Denise helped me get the bus tickets for my trip to Wisconsin. I was scheduled to go in mid-November and would be gone for a week, returning home just in time for the Thanksgiving holiday. Uncle Bill, as always, was thinking about my mental well-being and adamantly stated that he thought the trip was a bad idea. I knew he was probably right given the recent encounter with Mamma and Brian and the number of nightmares I was having; but I could not live with myself if I did not at least try to get Samantha out. I had thought it would be many years before I saw her again, since Amish church members do not socialize much with ex-members who have been placed in the Meidung, out of fear for their worldly influence.

  I finally convinced Uncle Bill that helping my sister was the right thing to do. I did not tell him I thought it was an emotional set up to get me to come back to the Church. It would be too hard for either of them to understand just how great the tug was going to be.

  It was a happy day in mid-October when I finally received my passport in the mail. I was so excited to have a form of identification and to finally be able to take my GED test. I had practiced all the examples in the book three times and I was sure I could pass. I was able to set up an appointment for the third week in October, and for two days before the test, Aunty Laura and Uncle Bill refused to let me go to work. I laughed and told them they were more anxious about this test than I was.

  I decided my weakest point was math and spent those two days practicing the same problems over and over again. I literally studied for about eighteen hours a day.

  The morning of the test, I arrived at the college an hour early, and despite all my professed confidence, my hands began sweating. I stood outside the test room door with about ten other people that looked to be around my age. There were three annoyingly loud girls. I listened as they talked about the classes they had taken to prepare the test. I felt myself starting to panic and went to bathroom to calm down.

  I took a few deep breaths and stared in the mirror. The girl looking back at me was the same girl that had lain in the back of a pickup truck when she was five years old, writhing in pain, the same girl that had once been a nobody living on top of a mountain, the same exact girl that had been threatened by the bishop of her church, and the same girl that had trembled as she walked into that small police station in rural Minnesota. I blinked as I found courage in what I had already endured in life. This test would be a piece of cake compared to all I had endured.

  Finally, we were ushered into a room and told to leave our things outside. I sat at the table; in front of me there was a pencil, some paper and a long piece of blue paper with letters all over it. I looked at the piece of paper curiously, and out of the corner of my eye I saw others start writing on it. I frowned. I had seen a piece of paper like this in the book I had been practicing with but had not bothered to read what it was for. Carefully, I read the top of the test. What did it mean to “bubble in” my social security number? I thought. I started to panic; I was really afraid that I was already failing the test, and struggling to hold back tears. The only thing I could think to do was raise my hand. I sat there for about a minute with my hand raised before someone came into the room and told everyone to put their pencils down.

  “What’s wrong?” the woman asked me impatiently.

  “Uh…” I said in embarrassment as I saw everyone staring at me. “What does it mean to bubble in your answer? Where am I supposed to write my answers?”

  The woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties, stared at me for a moment. “What?” she asked me as if I were mentally handicapped.

  “Where am I supposed to write my answers?”

  “Okay, this is weird.” She snatched the pencil from my hand and looked a
t me suspiciously. “Look, you just pick A, B, C or whatever, and then fill it in like this. Got it?”

  I nodded in relief, and she rolled her eyes at me, saying she couldn’t believe that I could not remember how to use a Scantron. I heard giggling from a couple of the girls in the corner. I blinked away a few tears as I began bubbling in my answers. It’s okay if they laugh. They had no way of knowing why I wouldn’t know what a Scantron was.

  I concentrated on choosing the best answers, and I found myself wishing I had taken Aunty Laura’s advice and slept more than an hour the night before. I became sleepy halfway through the test. I thought the questions seemed easy, but I was afraid I was just choosing all the wrong answers. When I got to the math section, I found the algebra problems to be a little more difficult and I hoped I would get at least a few of them right. At the very end of test, I reached the essay portion. I was still confused on this subject. I did not really understand what a thesis was and had not known how to study for this part of the test.

  I read the question I was supposed to write about. The question was something about what I thought should be done to help prevent DUIs. The test said to write at least three paragraphs on the subject. I sat stumped for a moment. I didn’t know too much about DUIs, but thankfully I did know the letters stood for. Finally, I started formulating a plan and wrote as if it were a legal document. I did not know if that was what I was supposed to do, but I hoped it would at least be passable.

  I had to wait three business days before I got the results back from my test. I became a little annoyed when everyone kept telling me not to worry—if I did not pass I could always take it again. I knew they were only trying to help, but I still didn’t understand why they were so convinced that I wouldn’t pass. When I said as much to Denise, she laughed. It was crazy to expect a girl that had never been to school to study on her own for four and a half months and then pass a high school equivalency test. I frowned hoping against hope that I had.

  Going Back for My Sister

  If you don’t stand for something, you will fall for anything.

  —Gordon A. Eadie

  That September was when Hurricane Katrina hit Louisiana, and our local Red Cross was giving classes on disaster relief. I was still waiting for my test results, so I signed up for the classes thinking I might go to New Orleans and volunteer for a week if I passed my test. I enjoyed the three-day training program, but afterward, I decided not to go to New Orleans. Uncle Bill had begged me to take it easy since I was already going to Wisconsin to see Samantha. Although I didn’t go, I still felt proud to look at the Red Cross training certificates I had earned. For me, they were a major accomplishment, so I tucked them into my photo album with all the other keepsakes I was beginning to collect.

  At the beginning of the following week, I hurried to the college to get the test results. I waited anxiously until noon which is when the woman at the desk said they would be ready.

  At noon, I smiled nervously as the lady handed me my results. Hurriedly, I scanned the page, holding my breath. Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead, and I could feel my heart pounding. In order to pass the test, I needed a cumulative score of 50% correct. The test was worth one thousand points. Please, God, let my score be 500 points, I whispered as my eyes darted to the bottom of the page. My eyes widened in surprise when I saw the number 730 at the bottom of the column. I looked more closely to make sure I was looking at the right number; it definitely said 730. I confirmed it with the woman at the desk who assured me that my score was above the passing grade. She congratulated me with a big smile and a nod.

  I was so happy I could not help but jump a few inches in the air and squeal with pleasure. The three girls from testing day, who seemed incapable of smiling, looked over at me with their glowering faces.

  “Did you pass?” one of them asked me.

  I smiled happily and nodded.

  I smiled at them one more time and skipped away. I hoped they, too, would be able to pass someday, but what I knew at that moment was that I had worked very hard for this and it had paid off. I was overjoyed as I walked back to the furniture store.

  I believed that I had been able to learn fast because I was a fast reader, and I sincerely believed that I had also become good at it due to the vast numbers of books I had read. Many of these books come from the collection the school teacher had dropped off at the end of the driveway or the ones Mamma had sometimes brought home from the library. The wide selection of classics such as Uncle Tom’s Cabin, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and Anne of Green Gables forced me to learn difficult words, different styles of writing, and a lot about our American history.

  Uncle Bill and Aunty Laura were in shock when I shouted the good news to them. Uncle Bill smiled as he read my test results.

  “We have ourselves one smart cookie here,” he said proudly.

  It felt really good to know that everyone was so proud of me, and I basked in it for several days.

  I was scheduled to leave on a Greyhound Bus to visit Samantha in mid-November. I had decided to take the bus instead of a plane because I thought it would be nice to see the country.

  I was turning twenty-three that month, but I was so busy thinking about seeing Samantha that I could not think of much else. I was totally surprised when Aunty Laura held a surprise birthday party for me one chilly Tuesday in November at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

  It was the best birthday I had ever had. After a delicious dinner and chocolate birthday cake, everyone piled presents in front of me. Everyone knew I was leaving for missionary school in a couple of months and it seemed they had based their gift selections on what I might need in the middle of Africa. I squealed happily as I opened gift after gift. Everyone laughed when I opened the present from Denise’s husband—a first aid kit.

  “That is a fantastic present… something every girl wants,” Uncle Bill said sarcastically, shaking his head.

  “Well,” Denise came to her husband’s defense, “he thought that if she got scratched by a lion or something, it would come in handy.”

  Everyone laughed as I nodded in agreement and hugged the first aid kit to show how much I liked the present. Denise got me a fold-up, battery-operated book lamp. From Uncle Bill, there was a Bert’s Bees lotion and lip balm set, and from Aunty Laura I got a pair of low, black heels that she said would be nice for church. Blake’s present was a motto shaped into the words “Believe.”

  “I saw it and thought of you,” Blake said as he sat back down.

  I smiled at him and stared at the motto for a minute. It was true, I had believed in God, was very thankful that He had delivered me from evil.

  Aunty Laura was going around the room taking pictures, and I hooked the motto onto the cross necklace I was wearing. To whoever might see that picture in the future, I wanted them to believe in believing. Believe — I love that word so much.

  Thursday morning finally came around, and Uncle Bill drove me to the bus station. He was not comfortable about this trip back to the Amish and was adamant that Samantha should have come to see me instead. I smiled at him and tried to soothe his concerns by pretending I was not at all worried myself. I was not really anxious about my physical safety, but I was about my mental state. I knew they were going to try every psychological trick they could think of to entice me back in. Just to be safe, I told Aunty Laura that I would call her every evening, and if she did not hear from me by midnight each day, to send the police to the address I had given her.

  Aunty Laura nodded and reassured me. She said if she did not hear from me, she would call the police, the Marines and the Coast Guard. I laughed, knowing she was trying to make light of the situation, but I also felt reassured, knowing that she would do whatever it took to find me if something happened.

  As I sat waiting for the bus, the minutes ticked by and my anxiety grew. There was still time to call everything off, I thought. No one would blame me. What
kind of person knowingly walked back into something that had caused them so much pain?

  Just the thought of seeing and being surrounded by Amish again made me shiver. I sighed as I battled in my head. What kind of person who professed to want to help others would leave her sister behind without doing whatever she could to get her out? In the end, I got on the bus and decided to enjoy my cross-country trip. It would take thirty-six hours to reach Wisconsin, so I had a lot of time to collect my thoughts. I had a pillow and a blanket with me, so I snuggled into the blanket and watched the countryside as it began rolling by.

  Denise had purchased the cheapest tickets she could find, and as a result I had many layovers in major cities. I was having fun, though, as we stopped every few hours for short breaks. In Montana, I walked around a gift shop, enjoying my freedom. When we reached the Dakotas, the freezing November winds cut through me like a knife. It was so much colder than Seattle. I had almost forgotten how frigid those winters could be. I had a six-hour layover in Minneapolis and almost got lost when I wandered away from the bus station, trying to see as much as I could of the giant city. I got back to the station barely half an hour before my bus was scheduled to depart.

  As the bus pulled out of the Minneapolis station, I took a small mirror out of my purse and looked at myself. For some reason, I began listing in my mind all of the things that Samantha and the others would be whispering about when they thought I was not listening. “Did you see she has bangs… she was wearing earrings when she got here… I heard she was wearing lipstick… Oh, my goodness, she is so far gone…” And with all of… this, no one would care about the real reason I had left. I struggled to blink back tears and turned my face towards the window so the other travelers would not see me crying.

  I rested my head on my hand and tried to drown out all the scenarios that were playing through my head. I could see the ministers all gathered in the barn, their black hats pulled down intimidatingly and their solemn faces staring at me as if I had committed a horrible crime. In my mind, I knew I had done nothing wrong, and I could not figure out why my thoughts were racing so. Suddenly, I felt sweat begin pouring down my face. I started shaking and I felt nauseous… as if I were going to throw up. I swallowed hard, trying to quell the urge to vomit. I clenched my fists as I felt my heart start to palpitate. I was soaked in sweat, and then suddenly everything went black.