Hope: A Memoir of Survival in Cleveland (21 page)

She said Castro liked her homemade popsicles and bought them when she set up a stand on her front porch on hot summer days. One day Tejeda saw a woman behind Castro’s house. She had long hair and big, dark sunglasses, and Tejeda assumed that Castro finally had a girlfriend after all these years.

March 23, 2008: Easter

Amanda

“What have you got there, Pretty?” he asks Jocelyn from behind the video camera. “Is that candy? Tell Daddy what you have.”

He is sitting on the floor of our room recording her. I had begged him to take photos of her so that someday she would have pictures of herself growing up, but he said he couldn’t risk developing them in a store. What if someone asked who she was?

“Get a Polaroid, and you don’t have to worry about that,” I told him.

He soon found a Polaroid camera at a yard sale but then had trouble finding film for it, so he settled for an old video camera and started recording his little girl taking her first steps and, today, enjoying her first Easter basket.

He let me look through the piles of things scattered all over this house, and I found a purple plastic Easter basket that one of his kids must have had. I made a butterfly out of purple felt and black pipe cleaners and attached it to the handle. Butterflies still remind me of my mom, and I want her to be part of this holiday.

Joce looks so adorable in the pink dress, white shoes, and white lace socks he bought her. I gathered the wisps of her hair on top of her head into a scrunchie, so she looked like Pebbles Flintstone. She yanks it out while he’s filming, and he and I both laugh.

“Where are your eyes?” he asks her, and she covers them with her little hands.

She sits down to examine her basket and the colorful plastic eggs and candy in it, and takes out a big Hershey’s bar and tries to eat it with the wrapper on. I help her open it, and he starts singing,
“La la, la-la-la-la-la.”

“Pretty, sing!” he says.
“La la, la-la-la-la-la!”

She smiles. It’s a peaceful, happy moment for us all.

April 22, 2008: Milestones

Amanda

I know they call them the terrible twos, but it’s more like the exhausting twos. Joce has so much energy that it’s overwhelming and hard to keep her occupied every minute in such a confined space. We play games, color, draw, read books, and when I need a break, watch cartoons. He took a piece of an old crib and made a gate and rigged up a plastic kiddie swing in the doorway between our room and Gina and Michelle’s. She loves the swing, and Gina pushes her on it, too.

I’m always thinking of ways to keep her busy, to pass the hours and days in this room, and usually when she takes a nap, I crash, too, physically and mentally exhausted. I dream of going outside, pushing her in a stroller around a park or a mall and watching her play with other toddlers. Joce has never even been outdoors yet.

I’m trying to get her on a schedule, but it’s tough. We have no natural light in the room, so there’s little difference between morning and night. That makes it harder to get up and go to sleep at the same time every day.

She has started saying a few words—“Mama” and “Dada” and “nose.” She loves to touch her nose.

I mark down her milestones in my diary:

Dec. 13: She Took Her First Step Holding onto the Bed!

Feb. 2: She started walking by herself!

Feb. 15: She had her first high fever. This was the first time she was really sick, but she took some medicine, and the fever broke the next day.

He’s been better to me. He still comes for me when she’s asleep. It’s not exactly like it used to be, since I have learned to accept it. I still consider it rape, because what else do you call sex with a prisoner on a chain? But it’s not like it was before, not so rough and angry and hateful. He tries to make it easier for me.

I know it’s wrong, but I feel closer to him. I appreciate that he treats Jocelyn well and buys her clothes and toys—she loves Daisy, the big doll he just brought her. He’s even giving us better food and put a microwave on my dresser so I can warm up her mashed potatoes, beans, and rice. We all sit and watch kid movies together, and it almost feels normal, or at least a lot better than it used to.

I desperately want Jocelyn to have a normal life. And on the days that he helps me do that, I actually feel some affection for him. He tells me that we have a special relationship because of her. He says he only wants to be with me, not the other girls, but I don’t believe that. Just when I start thinking there is good in him, he reminds me of how cruel he can be. Yesterday he called me a “nigger-loving bitch” because I wouldn’t call black people the
n
-word like he does. He actually took my radio away as punishment for catching me listening to rap, which he calls “that black music.” I hate it when he treats me like a child and calls me names. I’m so confused. How can he be so good one minute and so mean the next?

Today is my twenty-second birthday. I’ve been here five years, and I’m spending the day trying not to let Jocelyn see my tears.

June 12, 2008: Pulled Over

A little after eight thirty p.m. Cleveland police officer Jim Simone was sitting in traffic on Pearl Road, about a mile from Seymour Avenue, when a motorcycle whizzed by on his right, cut across traffic, and pulled into a gas station.

Simone noticed that the motorcycle’s license plate wasn’t attached correctly and was hanging sideways, which is illegal. He followed the rider into the Shell station and pulled up behind him, with his dashboard camera running.

The rider, wearing a white tank top and baggy shorts, stepped off his bike at the pumps and noticed the police car behind him.

“Let me see your driver’s license,” Simone said.

“Excuse me?” Ariel Castro asked.

“Let me see your driver’s license, please.”

“What’s wrong?”

“First off, your plate’s improperly displayed. It has to be displayed left to right, not upside down or sideways.”

Castro produced his driver’s license, and Simone saw that he wasn’t licensed to operate a motorcycle. He recognized Castro’s name; he’d been a Cleveland cop since 1973 and remembered having written up Castro’s brothers for traffic violations over the years. He had also driven down Seymour Avenue thousands of times.

Simone noticed that Castro’s license plate was registered to a Harley-Davidson, not the Yamaha he was riding. Castro wasn’t wearing eye protection, which was also illegal.

Simone told him that all his violations could add up to serious trouble, warning him, “You subject yourself to being arrested. Is that what you want?”

“No, sir,” Castro replied. “I don’t want that.”

“These plates don’t belong to this bike, do they? What year Yamaha is this?”

“This is 2000.”

“Where’s the Harley?”

“Oh, the Harley. I sold it and I traded it in for this one.”

“Well, Ariel,” Simone said, “you keep getting deeper and deeper and deeper.”

“I know,” Castro replied, “but I just got off work. I’m a school bus driver.” The school year had, in fact, ended the week before.

Simone was known as one of the toughest cops in Cleveland because he had shot and killed five people, and been shot twice himself, over the course of his long career. He could have arrested Castro, but Castro was being polite and compliant, and Simone knew that an arrest could cost him his job as a bus driver. So he decided to cut him a break and wrote him two tickets, one for the improperly attached plate and one for driving without a motorcycle license. He told Castro to push the motorcycle the mile home to Seymour Avenue and wondered if Castro would wait until he was out of sight to hop back on the bike. But about twenty minutes later, Simone spotted him well up Pearl Road, still pushing.

June 2008: New Names

Amanda

“You have to pick different names,” he says. “Jocelyn can’t know your real names.”

All three of us are in the kitchen, washing dishes. Jocelyn is watching cartoons in the living room. He says now that Jocelyn can talk, he doesn’t want her to repeat our names. He says he might want to take her outside at some point, and he’s afraid that she might mention “Amanda” or “Gina” and make someone suspicious.

“What do you want to be called?” he asks.

When none of us has any ideas he suggests to Gina, “How about Hazel?”

“No,” she says, making a face. “I’m not going to be Hazel. I’ll be Chelsea.”

We’ve been watching
Days of Our Lives
a lot, and there’s a character on that show named Chelsea. Michelle picks “Juju.”

He’s been referring to me as “Nandy” for years, ever since he listened to the voice messages on my cell phone just after he kidnapped me and heard Mariyah calling me that. So he decides that I’m now officially Nandy.

It’s going to be hard to get in the habit of calling Gina and Michelle by their new names, and I don’t want Jocelyn or me to get in trouble, so I start practicing “Chelsea” and “Juju” over and over in my head.

September 2008: Night Terrors

Amanda

I jolt awake. Jocelyn is howling again. She jumps out of bed and starts running around the room, screaming like she’s on fire.

She’s been doing this a lot lately in the middle of the night. I don’t know what’s going on. I try to catch her, but sometimes I can’t reach her because of my chain.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Come here, Joce,” I keep saying. “It’s all right.”

It’s hard to calm her down, and he comes charging up the stairs and unlocks our door.

“Keep her quiet!”

“I’m trying!”

I know he’s afraid that the neighbors are going to hear her, and he picks her up, saying softly, “It’s okay, my love.”

When she keeps screaming and squirms away he unlocks my chain so I can help, and we take Jocelyn into Gina and Michelle’s room. They are wide-awake and used to this by now. Their room is the farthest away from any neighbors, and he has already nailed up more plastic and blankets over their window to muffle Jocelyn’s night screams.

He turns the radio up even louder, which is not going to soothe her, but it might mask her shouting. We’re both trying to calm Joce, stroking her hair and telling her everything is okay. It takes half an hour, but she finally quiets down, and we dry her tears. I lie back down on the bed with her in my arms.

I don’t know what’s giving Jocelyn these night terrors. He’s alone with her sometimes, but I don’t believe he would harm her in any way. He loves her so much. I know she’s afraid of the closet, which has no door, because she thinks it’s dark and spooky. Even though I try to shield her from what’s going on in this house, I’m worried that she can sense the misery here.

November 4, 2008: President

Amanda

We have a new president: Barack Obama. I never thought a black man would be elected. It’s so exciting! It’s history! I wish I could have voted.

He sat with me to watch the election returns in the living room tonight, and we waited for Obama to come out and give his acceptance speech in Chicago. I’m afraid to say out loud that I’m happy that Obama won. He has been grumbling about so many black people moving into this neighborhood.

“I voted for Obama,” he says.

“Really?” I ask, trying to not show my surprise.

“Yeah, I voted for him because the other guy is worse.”

I never know what he’s going to do. He forbids me and Gina and Michelle from watching TV shows with black actors, but then votes for a black president. I don’t get him.

January 9, 2009: Encounter

Amanda

“I talked to Beth today,” he says.

“You did?” I ask him, shocked. “Where?”

“We were at Marc’s. She was in line in front of me, buying sprinkles to put on a cake. I asked her if she wanted a water, since I was putting one back, and she said, ‘No, thank you, honey.’”

Honey?
Beth called him “honey”? That makes me sick. I know he spoke to her just for the thrill, just so he could tell me that he did it.

“She had a little pin with your picture stuck to her purse,” he says, taunting me.

He loves feeling like he’s getting away with this, that nobody has any clue.

February 16, 2009: Shove

Amanda

He’s standing at the door.

“I need Chelsea to come downstairs and clean,” he says to us.

I know what he is going to do with her down there. Does he think I’m stupid? I’m so tired of him lying to me and sneaking around like a snake. Gina has told me what happens when he asks her to “clean,” and she has asked me if I could try to stop him. She says he listens to me.

As he takes her by the arm to lead her downstairs, I stand up with Joce in my arms and block the door to the hallway.

“I know what you really want with her,” I say. “If you want to clean, I’ll come downstairs and help, too.”

“Shut up,” he says. “She’s coming with me.”

“No! If she’s going, I’m going, too.”

I’m standing right in front of him, looking up into his eyes. I’m mad, and he’s getting furious.

“Get out of my face!” he shouts.

“No!” I shout back. “I’m coming downstairs!”

He shoves me hard, and I fly backward onto the bed with Joce still in my arms. She is startled and starts crying. I’m stunned—he’s never done anything like that before in front of Jocelyn.

“Shut up and stay here!” he yells, slamming the door.

June 2009: Bracelet

Amanda

It’s Sunday night, close to midnight. Jocelyn is still up watching TV. He just left our room and didn’t chain me. I guess he’s coming back, or could he have just forgotten? When he’s home on Saturday and Sunday he’s started leaving us off the chains, a welcome bit of freedom. It’s less hassle for him because he wants us to go downstairs to clean and wash clothes, and he doesn’t have to keep locking and unlocking us.

But when he leaves the house or goes to bed, he never forgets to chain us.

Maybe since Jocelyn was still up he didn’t want her to see him put the chains around my ankle. It’s harder and harder to hide them from her. She’s two and a half now and starting to ask questions, like the other day when the pink blanket I had covering my chains slipped off.