Breaking Free (15 page)

“When I’m free, I will start my own organization, with my own logo: an eagle. The eagle is very powerful. Very smart. Very, very strong. It never backs up from a problem, regardless how bad it is. An eagle can fly through any storm.”

~ Maria Suarez

Wings to Fly

May 24, 2004, was a Monday, and Maria was feeling particularly low that day. Her closest friend had just been deported. Maria was sitting in the dining hall, waiting to go outside for her hour of recreation.

Another detainee was trying to tell Maria some juicy bit of gossip, but Maria was completely distracted. Her eyes kept wandering toward the window where she could just make out a sliver of ocean and sky. She dreamed of floating away to an island or mountaintop. Anywhere that was away from here.

She was lost in thought when a bird flew directly to the window and started tapping on the glass. It was tapping loudly, too, as if to say,
Look up! Over here!

“Good news!” Maria said out loud. “That bird is bringing me good news!”

The other detainee completely ignored Maria and kept yammering on and on. Maria didn’t care. All she could hear was that bird. She knew the bird was trying to tell her something. It fluttered its wings and started tapping again.

“I told you!” Maria squealed. “I’m gonna get good news today. He’s bringing me good news!”

The guard let everyone out into the yard for recreation. Maria couldn’t find the bird anywhere, but she wasn’t panicked. She tried to keep herself busy doing calisthenics and stretches. The fresh air felt alive and hopeful to her.

When she came back in for lunch, she washed her hands and face, filled her tray with salad, and found a little space of bench to sit down. Then she heard the tapping again, only this time it was coming from a different direction. The guard was tapping on the little bubble window from her office.

When Maria looked up, the guard motioned with a single finger,
Come here
.

Maria went into the office. The guard said, “You need to call your attorneys.”

“You mean my
attorney
?” Maria asked. “Which one? I have a few.”

The guard repeated herself slowly. “Your attorneys.”

Maria connected everything right away. She thought of her friend leaving, the bird coming, the word “attorneys.” Her body started heating up and trembling.

“Can I please use the phone in the dorm?” Maria whispered. She didn’t want to speak too loudly and shatter this incredible moment.

The guard said yes.

Maria called Charles first. She could tell he was trembling, too. He kept on stumbling and stuttering nervously. “Uh, well, uh yeah, I need to tell you something, but Jessica needs to tell you, too.”

His fingers fumbled as he tried to connect the three of them in a conference call. Maria was so anxious she felt like she was losing air.

What’s going on?
Another deportation? Good news? Please somebody say!

Jessica picked up the line.

“Hello!” Maria gasped. And Jessica just started sobbing.

“What is it?” Maria asked.

Jessica said, in between gulps, “You’re … coming … home!”

May 25, 2004. It was a Tuesday, with intensely open skies. After almost twenty-three years in captivity, and almost six before that locked away with her trafficker, Maria Suarez was finally free.

“It’s painful. The pain is never going to go away. But if by me going through the pain, I can help somebody … It’s my mission, and I need to do it.”

~ Maria Suarez

Live, Love, Laugh

Maria wanted to hug everybody. First her family and friends, then complete strangers she saw on the street. The streets, the fresh air, the palm trees all felt so miraculous to her, she didn’t know how it could all be here, open and waiting for her.

At the same time, there was something very heavy inside Maria. As she walked into her first day of freedom, she kept feeling like there were weights on her legs, pulling her back, holding her down. She knew her family and her dream team had worked so hard to get her out. She wished she could jump into the celebrations with them. But even as they clinked glasses and turned up her favorite music, Maria was inching toward the door. She had to get someplace quiet to think.

She sat in a lot of cafés and walked miles through parks. The world was so different from what she remembered. She saw a bus stop with slick new benches and posters with movie stars she’d never seen. Young men were wearing baggy jeans and girls had their hair cut up to their ears. Maria cried for all the years she’d lost and all the things she didn’t know. She didn’t know how to drive. She didn’t know how to buy a metro card for the bus. She didn’t even know how to use a cell phone.

Her family and friends wanted to help, of course. Her sister insisted that Maria stay with her until she could get her own place. Maria had never been an adult outside of prison. She had all these new skills in computer science and social work, but no idea how or where to apply for a job.

Again, Maria’s mom said just a few words that made all the difference.

This time, though, it wasn’t about faith. Even though she still sang all the psalms and prayed regularly, Maria’s mom couldn’t get to church much anymore. She couldn’t really take care of herself anymore, either. She was tiny and seemed to be getting smaller each day. After losing her husband, she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and was staying at Maria’s sister’s place, too. Her words came out jumbled and she often stood with her mouth half open, as if she were caught in the middle of a thought.

One day, Maria found her mom looking through the living room window, studying a neighbor who was mowing his lawn.

“Mommy, what are you looking at?” Maria asked.

Her mom scrunched up her eyebrows and put her tiny hands on her hips.

“That man has a big booty!” she exclaimed.

Maria laughed so hard. It was the first time she remembered laughing like that in forever. She picked up her mom, kissed her, and spun her around. It wasn’t poetic or wise, but it was exactly what Maria needed to hear. She needed to be able to look outside and laugh again.

“I can get up any time I want to. Eat whatever I want. Move things around. And Just. Be. Me. That’s what I like. The freedom to do as I please.”

~ Maria Suarez

Unlocking the Doors

When her mom died, Maria felt like she lost her best friend and lifelong cheerleader. She’d worked and prayed so hard for her freedom, and now that she had it, she lost the one person who meant the most to her. She truly felt her heart aching. She stopped listening to music, or caring about how she looked.

Charles Song, (the lawyer from CAST who’d fought so hard for Maria’s release), kept asking her to please come by the CAST offices. When she did, he saw how her face looked shadowed with sadness. He told her he would be her cheerleader now. He also introduced Maria to a network of other survivors and former inmates who were restarting their lives.

Maria was mesmerized by the survivors at CAST who spoke about what they’d been through with such strength and renewed faith in life. She thought she would never want to revisit those days in the old man’s house in Azusa. But as she spent more time at the CAST offices, she realized that sharing her past could be liberating not only for her, but also for countless people trying to heal.

The first time Maria tried to describe that house, she didn’t know enough words—in English or in Spanish—to express how terrified she was there. She was embarrassed to talk about the bottles on the altar and the voodoo dolls. She waited for people to say
Why didn’t you just run?
or
There’s no such thing as witches
. But the people at CAST were patient and respectful. They could tell there was much more than a bolted door keeping her in that house. She had been psychologically abused, too. Every day, hearing over and over again how he would kill her family and everyone she loved, beat her into submission.

After Maria started speaking at CAST meetings, she got a call from another anti-trafficking organization called Free the Slaves. They wanted her to be part of their documentary series on former slaves breaking free. As Maria sat, waiting for the camera crew to adjust the lighting and place her microphone, she wondered
Is this really happening to me?

It was just as real as the moment she lay unconscious in the old man’s backyard or when she heard the judge’s conviction. It was just as real as when the bird tapped on the window in the prison cafeteria, or when she spun her mom in her arms. It was her new life as an orphaned but strong free woman, unlocking all those closed doors from her past. The more she spoke about what she’d been through, the less power those memories had on her.

She got a job in Los Angeles, counseling victims of domestic violence. She felt so attached to her clients and she admired the way they searched for independence. After each of her group therapy sessions, there was a clump of people waiting to talk to her, wanting one last bit of advice or just one of her warm whispers of
You can do it.

The invitations kept coming in. Maria’s story was featured at anti-trafficking events all over the world. Everyone who met Maria knew immediately that she had an incredible spirit. Her smile took up her whole face, and she smelled like lilac perfume. Her favorite outfit became a black tank top, black pants, and a silver sequined belt and matching pocketbook. And every now and then, she even heard herself hum, or laugh.

“I think we are all equal. We should treat everybody the same—with love and respect. And value them as who they are. I love white, black, yellow, blue, green, purple, orange… I love people. That’s the whole thing—loving people. We don’t need to be so cruel.”

~ Maria Suarez

Peanut Butter Boba

John was waiting for Maria outside the counseling offices again.

“You sure?” he asked as he helped her put on her jacket.

“I’m sure,” said Maria. “But, thanks.”

“We can just go to city hall and celebrate with peanut butter bobas,” John said. This time he held the elevator door for her so she could get in first. He was a gentleman. That much she knew.

“John, I love you, but you know the deal.”

“I know, I know,” he said. “How about just the bobas then?”

“You’re on,” Maria said.

Peanut butter bobas were Maria’s favorite treat. Bobas are like milkshakes with tapioca balls on the bottom. There was a boba shop just around the corner from the domestic violence counseling center where Maria and John worked together. Maria thought John was hilarious and smart, even a little handsome. And John adored every minute he got to spend with Maria. He asked her to marry him every few days. And even though it stung a little, he understood and respected why she always said no.

Maria was clear that she could never be intimate with a man again after what she’d been through with her abuser. She had no sexual urges or desires anymore. That part of her had entirely shut down. She didn’t feel sorry for herself or even lonely. She had a lot of friends, both men and women. She found intimacy in quiet walks or shared meals.