Free Fall without a Parachute

Though faint, the light across the railroad tracks blinds my eyes even more than the blackness of the night. Gentle wind muffles my steps as I briskly walk by memory on this road I have traveled since childhood. I cannot see anything around me. If there is anyone else here I will run right into them. The chill of an Indian summer night in early September sends shivers through my body that is already shaking with a mixture of fear, exhaustion, and excitement. I feel like I am about to jump out of a plane without a parachute praying for God to catch me.

Hiding in the shadows I approach the lighted intersection. Look left…look right... no one around... I dash through the light into the safety of darkness. Veering off my regular course I choose a path where I am least likely to meet my father. On Saturdays he is always somewhere in a pub. Today I wish I knew which one. If I meet him my plan will fail. He is stronger than I am.

As I run past my high school classmate's home I mouth a silent goodbye. I don't know if I will ever see any of them again. My feet carefully trace the uneven surface of the cobbled road. I allow myself a rest before I set out on the most dangerous part of my journey, a street that leads to the train station. My heart is beating as I am in full light making my way to the ticket counter. One way ticket to Prague. That will be twelve crowns. I hand over the money, grab my ticket, and walk outside as far away from everyone as I can. It seems like time has stood still. In what feels like eternity the train lights finally appear in the distance. As I mount the narrow stairs of the train car I feel a soft pressure of a pouch on my chest. In it a plane ticket and a passport with a freshly stamped visa for entry to the United States. My ticket to freedom.

This is the most dangerous train of the week. Last train to Prague on Saturday night. As every bar and dance club closes all the drunks pile into this train to take them home. Fights are common and people get hurt. Things have gotten so bad that a police patrol had to be placed on this train. As the door opens I sigh in relief. Happily resting right next to his handler, a Czech Shepherd's tongue hangs out of his mouth as he rubs his head on his master's leg. This time a canine patrol watches over the train. I immediately claim the compartment right next to them. I feel like God has placed them right there for my protection. The whistle blows and the train jerks back and forth as the locomotive begins to pull the mass of steel. I pretend to look out the window into the pitch black night so that no one can see the tears  running down my cheeks.

"You cannot do this to us!" My mother is having a nervous breakdown in a patch of cucumbers. I made the mistake of telling my family I was leaving for the US. I was the type of a kid who always had her homework and was on an honor roll. I worked hard and played by the rules. Now I am breaking every single one of them. I tried to be independent. I finished school and taught at a high school in Prague. I had nowhere to live so the principal let me stay in the teachers' room. Every morning I had to pack everything up and make it look like nothing ever happened. In a way I had everything going for me. I knew enough English to have almost any job I wanted. I was promised an apartment from the town right in the center of Prague. I let it all go for this trip I am making.

"You will vote for whomever I tell you to or you are not my daughter anymore!" I am twenty four years old.

"I will vote for whomever I want to!" My whole body is shaking. Fights like this never end well.

"You have two hours to move out! Consider yourself disowned!"

My meager belongings piled in a wheelbarrow I unload everything at my grandmother's doorstep. I am moved out in two hours, my books, my clothes, and my bicycle. I spend the following year painting, cleaning, and upgrading my grandmother's home.

"Did you see how your father spoke to you? He didn't have any respect for you and did not even look at you." I am sitting in a psychiatrist's office, speechless. Upon learning about my trip my father scheduled an emergency appointment in Bohnice, the largest inpatient mental health hospital in Prague. Now the psychiatrist is on my side? Is this for real?

"Your daughter is twenty five years old. She is highly functional and makes rational decisions. She has finished her schooling and has been supporting herself. She has the right to go wherever she wants and do whatever she wants. If she wants to leave for the United States, there is nothing you can do about that." Am I dreaming?

(Ten years later I am sitting at my computer in America reading the Czech paper as I do every day. An article catches my eye. The name sounds familiar. My psychiatrist, my strength and support in the most unlikely place! I learn that during communism he was an underground pastor in the mental hospital. God, you are with me!)

The following four days are spent with my family trying to break me and persuade me to stay. Eventually I am burning up with fever from the pressure. On Friday I lie and say that I am going to Prague to return my ticket. Instead, I pack a suitcase and drop it off at my friend's house. She promises to help me get to the airport on Saturday night. Saturday goes by fairly peacefully even thought I am shaking inside all day. I know what is to come next.

Now I am sitting on the train crying with exhaustion. I want to be free. I want to be loved, respected, and cared for. So I am running. I am running to my freedom.

The cold fake leather of the back seat in a taxi does not help my exhaustion. When I arrive at my friend's house I am in serious need of some TLC. She helps me repack my suitcase. Without any order my things are completely squished as I hurriedly tossed them in. She makes me tea and gives me some soup. How desperately I need the warmth of a homemade meal! The time passes and another taxi takes me to the airport.

"We wanted to say goodbye to you. Why did you not wait for us?" Yea right! First Sunday morning flight out of Prague carries me to Amsterdam and then to Boston. My family is trying to catch me and prevent me from leaving. They arrive just in time for the second flight and in vain alarm the entire airport.

"God I don't care if I live in a dumpster. I am not going back." I talk to God a lot. He is the only one I have right now. The people who were supposed to pick me up are not there. I am sitting on my suitcase at Logan International Airport alone, trying to figure out how I am going to survive on the thousand dollars I have. The year is 1996.

"God I don't care if I live in a dumpster. I am going to finish my treatment." I talk to God a lot. I have Him, my church family, some extended family, my friends, and my Lyme community. I am sitting at a lobby of a hotel in Florida with a group of fellow patients, all of us trying to figure out how we are going to live from now on. The year is 2014.

I jumped out of the imaginary plane without a parachute again. For some reason I am not shaking this time.

God will catch me.

How,when, and where, I don't know.

I just know He will.

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Although I have been advised by some counselors to completely interrupt contact with my family I never felt it was right and have stayed in touch with them over the years. Our relationship is not ideal but at this time it is the best it has ever been. I am very thankful to my father for giving me a substantial amount of money to help me with my out-of-control medical bills.