representative on
earth,â demonstrated on a daily basis?â
Am I actually talking to God, and
not only that, but talking out loud?
Glad thereâs no one close by to hear me.
Pretty sure everyone at Walk Straight
has given up any notion of him, if they
had one to begin with. Little
evidence of God in the backseat
of a johnâs car, or some seedy
motel room, and even less in
the eyes of your pimp when heâs
beating you while ranting about
your failures as a good little
prostitute. Almost every girl here
tells a similar story of being scooped
up by some predatory man when
it was obvious they had nowhere
else to go. Runaways, most of them.
I suppose if Iâd been on the street
for very much longer, some smooth-
talking guy would have latched
onto me, convinced me Iâd be safer
in his care than on my own. A few
more days, struggling to eat and
clean the ugliness from my body,
I probably would have been grateful
for the intervention. Instead, I found
a helpful priest. So maybe God was
watching out for me after all. I whisper,
âFather, forgive me. And if itâs your
will, please bless Andrew and me.â
My Counseling Session
Is after lunch, which I canât eat
because of the nerves tap dancing
in my stomach. I practically crawl
to Sarahâs office, coaxing myself
the whole way to go ahead and tell
my entire tale of woe. I knock on
the door, hoping something has called
her away, but no such luck. Instead,
she invites me in with that chirpy
voice, and I have no choice but to
comply. A whooshing fills my ears
as I sit across the desk from Sarah.
She takes one look at the way Iâm
shaking and gushes, Whatâs wrong,
Ruthie? Did you see a vampire?
That makes me giggle. âA vampire?
Donât you mean a ghost?â I must look
as pallid-faced as I feel. âAnyway, no.
I didnât see either. Itâs just . . .â Go on.
Reach deep for the courage you need.
âI think itâs time for me to tell you
some stuff. First of all, my name
isnât Ruthie. Itâs Eden. Eden Ruth Streit,
and my parents arenât dead (at least,
I donât think so), and Iâm from Boise. . . .â
Ice Broken
It all comes gushing out,
as if a dam breaks inside
me. I rush the telling,
sure if I slow down Iâll grind
to a complete halt. I notice
Sarah nodding, but she stays
silent, like she intuits my fear
of stopping before the climax.
I know this canât surprise her,
that sheâs heard plenty of awful
things before, but when I get
to the part about Tears of Zion
and Jerome, her eyes grow
wider and wider, and when
she finally gets the chance to
speak, she says, Iâve just been
reading up on teen boot camp
horror stories. Your Tears of Zion
wasnât mentioned, but there are
several similar places that
invoke conservative religious
values to abuse their clients.
Most parents, however, donât have
any idea about their practices,
which include isolation, denial
of food, water, and the ability
to use the bathroom. Sometimes
they get shut down, but usually
they just move and set up shop
somewhere else. Itâs very hard
to regulate them because often
they operate as âprivate schools,â
which have a whole different
regulatory process than, say,
rehab facilities or public entities.
Thank you, God! She believes
me! A huge knot of tension
tumbles from my shoulders,
and a warm wave of relief
washes over me. Still, tears
spill onto my cheeks. âI thought
everyone would think I was
lying. The only thing is, Mama
knew what was going on, and
she left me there anyway.â
Are you sure, RuâI mean, Eden?
From everything I read, parents
rarely have a clue about what
goes on in these places. Why
would your mother leave you if . . .
She Trails Off
Noticing the way my face
turns to marble. âI guess
youâll have to ask