Page 29 of Cloud Storm

Fortunately, the driver does what I ask and without further questions he looks for Park Boulevard, which takes us close to the baseball stadium.

The trip still seems too short, so I instruct the driver to leave me at a renowned hotel, just in front of Petco Park.

Why have I chosen to come to this place?

Because it was here, in the street where the parking lot comes out, that I lived when I was homeless, carrying my few belongings in an old backpack and a small shopping cart.

I pay the taxi driver and I stay there, standing by the pedestrian bridge, unable to get on it to cross.

I collapse on the first step, thinking about today, yesterday, and my whole life.

I’m not going to die, I’m sure of that, but I can see it like you would watch a movie: crystal clear.

The time has come to face the past and see if I can somehow manage to overcome it.

My mother always said no one should look beyond the fences of its pen. Being the youngest of five siblings, I always rebelled at that idea, even if they repeated it to me until I was sick and tired of hearing it.

I never thought that would apply to my life. At the age of fourteen I felt invincible.

I was as invisible as a ghost wandering around our little villa.

I was born and raised in a culture that opposed all the conveniences and trappings of modern life, its philosophy being that we should lead a simple life, without technological advances. The whole world of this culture revolved around ‘The Church’, but understand the latter not as the actual building itself, no, for them the church meant those who followed their doctrine, which was nothing more than burying your head and faithfully doing what the ringleader ordered.

They dictated what clothes and what colors you were allowed to sport, the length of the skirts women should wear, abiding by rules that—according to them—had been dictated by God himself. They controlled everything, every aspect of life, even the education of the children, refusing to enroll in any form of social security, and of course, they never used a car or any other modern form of transport.

I’m not sure that could be called an Amish community, since from what I’ve since read in the public library, they are actually more permissive, their children can go to school and they are granted a permit between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one to explore the world. We didn’t have the same chance.

I did not have that same opportunity.

I was educated at home, if learning to write and do a few basic mathematical calculations can be called an education.

They told me that the outside world—that’s what they called it—was plagued with vices, evil, and sin. To some extent that is true, but also in it I have found beauty, goodness, and love.

And above all things, I have found something I never had before. Freedom.

Here I can laugh without being slapped for doing so. I can express my opinion and I can say whether or not I agree or disagree with the opinions of others.

The transition has been hard, more than any of you can imagine, but that trip has also made me the person I am now and I will always be grateful for that.

I climb the steps and leaning on the metal railing, I watch people on the other side of the avenue. Some of them are preparing to sleep, others are just beginning to build their camps and many others walk around aimlessly.

I was one of them.

You’ll wonder how I could escape from that life? Well, I’ll tell you, maybe you’ll understand why I feel this way now.

I’ve always believed that I’m like a bird, feathers and everything, which explains my exotic taste. In the community that I was raised, I didn’t have opportunities to experiment, however, I managed to dye my apron a shade of bright red.

I will never be able to forget the day I presented myself with my gray skirt, worn out by constant use, in full Sunday service, wearing my red-stained apron on top of it.

“The Whore of Babylon has arrived,” some exclaimed.

“The daughter of damnation,” others shouted.

And the boldest simply called me Eve, for being the one who tempted that first man to sin.

Well, there I was, standing in the middle of an old wooden church full with one hundred and seventy people, chin up, with the pride of a fourteen-year-old girl who believed she was the queen of the world.

My four older brothers tried to force me out of the place, to protect me from the wrath of the leaders, but it was my parents who, taking me by the hair, which I had covered with an old white cotton bonnet, did the job.

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