To Be Free - A Short Story

by Linda Jo Martin

...

Far beyond the fences, beyond the fields of northern California, within a cathedral of gigantic, mesmerizing redwoods, not far from the wind, sand and surf of the Pacific Ocean, he took her on what was characterized as a mission of mercy, a gentle retreat. Intended to generate love, to energize the soul and spiritualize the world, this journey would be a new day of hope for both of them.

“I'm talking pure love, Mary.” Anton's face shone with bliss, glistened with joy. “Not romantic love. There's a difference, you know.”

“Oh sure,” she said. “You have no intention of --”

“None whatsoever! That's part of what's so beautiful about it. We're here to bring something forth – and that can't be done by interfering with each other's energy fields in any way. We're going to be infusing ourselves with the vital forces of nature, and then you'll see the peace that seeps into our souls and feeds our spirits. This will be ours to share with every other human being in the days to come.”

“You talk good talk; let's see your walk.” Mary's lips curled down at the corners. He could see she'd been through a lot during her stay in Santa Rita. Four years – and he knew it had to have been miserable. He knew that for certain, since he'd done five years at Santa Fe, down south. But he was determined to see this through – to give Mary a taste of the light he'd found – for what good was a life without sharing deep blessings with others?

Anton eased his old green Ford pickup truck off the highway onto an unpaved side road leading deep into the forest. “Ever been to this part of the state before?”

“No. I'm from Bakersfield.”

“Ah, a valley girl!”

“That's me!”

“Why don't you tell me about it?”

She looked out the window toward the trees lining the right side of the road, but he knew she wasn't really seeing them. “Tell you about what?”

As if she didn't know.

“Tell me why you don't want to tell me what you were in for. Four years! I mean, that isn't that long. It couldn't have been that awfully bad.”

She shook her head as if trying to hold something in, unwilling to let it go. Then she looked at him. “You don't want to know my sad history.”

“Sure I do, Mary. I care. Don't sell me short in any way.”

She waited a moment as if deciding whether she could break her silence. “I'm a kidnapper.” She let out a long, barely audible sigh. “Okay – now I've said it. The ugly word.”

“Okay, and I'm a thief. We made mistakes.”

“Oh no. No. No. No. I did not. Yes, if you're on the parole board, I'll lie to you and tell you I did the absolutely worst, most dishonorable thing. But if you're asking for the truth, I don't regret it, not at all. I only regret getting caught.”

“I see.”

“I doubt you do. So do you have any interest in knowing who I kidnapped?”

“Sure, Mary. Tell me everything.”

“I kidnapped my own kids. My own son and daughter, from a terrible, unholy government agency.” She started to break down. “So you see.” Tears started to spill at this point. “I'll never be free, no matter what because of what those lying pigs did to me. It wasn't fair.”

Anton put the brakes on bringing his truck to a stop, and turned to Mary, pulling her into his arms. “Cry here,” he said, gently stroking her hair. He thought about saying “It's over now,” but the words didn't ring true and his conscience warned him to think differently.

“Where are your little ones now?”

“I have no idea.” She sniffed and pulled away, straightening herself up on the other side of the truck's long seat, drying her eyes on the ribbed collar of her pink t-shirt. Again she looked out the window, away from him. “They terminated my parental rights when I was in prison. In prison – for loving them!”

“Why did they take them from you in the beginning?”

“Maralee fell down at the playground and hit her head on the way down and broke her arm. She had bruises, front and back. Nobody else was there to see what happened, and the caseworker said her injuries couldn't be anything other than abuse.”

Anton sighed, sat back, and let that information run around in his brain. How could an innocent accident lead to such dire consequences? But he reasoned – there was that kidnapping charge.

“I want to fess something up to you,” he said.

“What?”

“I was guilty on all charges. Terribly guilty. I did what they accused me of. I stole an engagement ring.”

“I'll bet it was pretty.”

“Not as pretty as the woman I stole it for. And not as pretty as you.”

She looked up at him with a hint of demure shyness – something unusual to see in a woman who usually made a practice of being colder than ice. He wondered if her self-protective defenses might be coming down, a notch at a time.

“The point I'm trying to make is that I made a big mistake. A stupid one – you have no idea – and I regret it. I don't regret getting caught. I needed to change my life, and that was the way. My attention got arrested – not just my body. You see?”

“So you think I made a mistake?” Her eyes hardened, the pupils narrowing visibly.

“Let me finish! I spent five years in prison – not thinking about my crime – but about how to free my mind from the constraints I'd put upon it.”

“Like what?”

“Like my crazy need for a woman with a son. I wanted to marry one, desperately. But that's a material-world desire, and it isn't what I needed. Not really.”

“I don't know why you're telling me this.”

He started the truck's engine and eased it into low gear. “I know a place where we can hike into the woods.”

A few moments later they parked in a wide place in the road, got out, stretched, and started walking.

“I love these trees,” he said.

“I can see why.”

He led her off the road, down into a gully, beside a clear, bubbling creek. Nearby boulders provided a welcome resting place. They settled in and he waited until she was comfortable.

“Now, Mary, give your troubles to this stream.”

“How?”

“Imagine it. That's the stream of life. It transmutes grief into joy.”

He expected her to look at him and roll her eyes, but instead she closed them and said, “I'm imagining.”

“Now you know, that creek carries your sorrow downstream, changing everything along the way, but upstream there were other sorrows, and someone else put them there, and they've been transmuted already so all that joy is here for you now. Drink it in, mentally.”

Mary smiled, a big, broad, toothy smile, her eyes still closed. A ray of sunlight fell on her face.

There's hope, he told himself.

“Keep drinking for a while,” he said, and lapsed into silent meditation.

When he opened his eyes again, a shining light illuminated Mary's face.

“It was a mistake,” she said.

“What?”

“The kidnapping. I should have been more patient. I should have waited. They might have given them back to me.”

“But you weren't patient. You didn't know how. You were blinded to patience by your love for them.”

“Yes.”

“Forgive yourself.”

“I haven't. I can't.”

“Yes, you will. Forgive yourself now, Mary, and send your love out to them. You may never see them again, but they can feel every vibration you send them. So let them be good feelings like love and peace. Happy vibes. That's the way you can help them now. Can you see?”

She got up and walked to the stream, kneeling beside it. She cupped the chilly water and brought it up to splash her face. Then she looked up at heaven, filtered by misty trees, and finally looked back at Anton. “I can see,” she said. “Finally, I can truly, honestly see.”