the bride of the leader

Feb. 18th, 1999

People always ask me, if I still speak to my family. I tell them I was excommunicated from FLDS for drinking caffeinated beverages, like Ice Coffee from Starbucks. This is really only partially true. If you want me to justify my reasoning for lying, sure I can do that for you.

I was protecting myself, my pride, the way people would look at me if I would have told them the truth. I am not looking for sympathy, disgusted looks, judgement or ridicule. It was hard enough to live through it, so I needed to stay strong, believe in love, faith and mostly, in myself. 

I'm an open book. 

Read on. ;)

*******************************************

I'm speeding down the highway at 1:30 in the morning, heading straight for the Mexico border. A 45 minute drive from our house I could make it before my dad woke up for work. I'm driving my mother suburban, crimson and green, pretty noticeable vehicle, probably the only car ever seen painted with these ugly colors. 

I had my driver's permit, not a driver's license yet I had just turned 15 3 days prior to my escape. Driving in silence. I was afraid if I turned on the radio I'd wake up my father and he's for sure would kill me. 

Breathe. I get to the border, a huge dirt parking lot on US soil and a gate for people to walk into Mexico Nogales, freely. I couldn't read the signs in the parking lot. I started taking intermediate Spanish and these words, I didn't understand. I parked the suburban and took off on foot. 

I had memorized the directions to the clinic. I should be there in one hour. As I started walking the entire trip was uncomfortable and frightening at the same time. Police trucks would followed me into the darkness of a street, thought about all the horrible stories I'd hear of girls getting gang raped, beat and killed in Mexico... a few times, I though for sure they were going to kidnap me, maybe throw me into jail. After a while, I found comfort in that idea, because now at this point it was better than going back home. 

The clinic was littered with trash pamphlets, thrown about the lobby BUT I had made it. Two minutes late for my appointment. I was exhausted and drenched in sweat. It was always hot down south, nearly 102 degrees in the desert that day.

I stood at the reception desk for what seemed like an eternity. Finally the window opens, a sweet middle-aged woman greeted me in Spanish. I understood her, I struggled responding to her.  

She slides a clipboard with a form on it, places a pen on counter and asks me, "Entiendes?"

"Si, lo hago, Gracias." I respond with a half smile. Proud moment, for myself. Maybe, I could just run away to Mexico. 

I return to the window with the completed paperwork, other than the guardian signature. She stares at the form, noticing the blank signature line. 

"Fecha de concepcion?"

I pause, "ummm, no se."

She writes on the form, pauses, "y....quien es el padre? El nombre?"

Again, I pause, my hands are shaking "um.... no se"

She answers, "no sabe?" 

Don't lie, just say it. Just tell her. I'm squinting my eyes, looking down at my feet, "mi padre, Michael <last name>". 

"No, quien es el padre del bebe? No es tu padre."

I repeat myself again, this time in English. "Yes, I know what you asked me, the babies father is my father." 

The most uncomfortable question and I continue to have to repeat myself. She scribbles on her form. She looks up at me nods slowly and smiles, genuinely. Slides the window closed.

************** This will be continued! I am late for a very important date! ********************