As I sit on this ledge, all I can think about is how I got here. Every small detail of my life spun around in September of 2010. Would I ever have imagined myself at 18 living this life? Probably not. But, I guess fate always has its way. Who was I four years ago? I don’t know, but what I am sure of is that I wasn’t the brave girl with a voice that I am now. Four years ago, I wouldn’t have dared to cut my hair short. Four years ago, I wouldn’t have imagined that I was capable of Olympic gold. I always imagined what it would feel like to have total freedom and a dream career that’s worked out. Now, that is my life. Now, I can confidently say that I, Casey Emily Burke am capable of doing anything. This is my story.
We moved to Texas long ago. I was no older than twelve years when we came into this country that I now call home. Texas has given me so many opportunities that England never would’ve. I went to a proper school only after I came to Texas. My parents wanted me to carry their legacy forward. They wanted me to be an engineer. So, Mother homeschooled me in accordance with what would get me into a good university. Initially, school was a terrifying ordeal. My fancy dresses and long French braid made me a freak show on the first day. Every person I came across looked at me with amusement and wonder. Teachers, students, everyone. I only remember our first class clearly, the rest is all lost in a maze of memories. They called it homeroom. A lady with a broad smile entered. She wore a long black dress, had her hair in a hairnet, and wore too much makeup. As soon as she entered, the entire class stood up and wished her in a sing-song, rather boring manner. After she’d introduced herself, she passed out thick pink pieces of card paper. “Co-curriculars,” she said. I remembered reading about those in a book, but till then, I only thought of them as a fantasy, or at most, something which the richer people could afford to indulge in. As I stared blankly at the sheet of paper, a million thoughts raced in my mind. “What would mother think?” “Would father like this?” “But, none of this seems too appealing”.
I stared on until one struck me- horse riding. I’d seen, on television, people wearing crisp ironed coats jumping over obstacles and dancing to music that didn’t seem to exist. I immediately circled it, and the wide grin and sheer happiness on my face concerned my teacher so much that she came to see what was wrong. “Nothing,” I said and went back to filling it in. The next two choices were solely for my parents’ sake.
That day, when I went home, I told my parents about my first day of school, choosing co-curriculars, everything. My father looked up at me with hope- “So, may I know which co-curricular you chose?” he asked
“I chose study hall, art and drawing, and horse riding,” I replied, shaking with fear on the last one.
“Horse riding?” my father shrieked with surprise, “Have you lost your mind, Casey?”
“The Royal Family does it, father.” I protested.
“The Royal Family, Miss Burke. We will never even be half as rich as them.” he scoffed.
Meanwhile, my mother came in from upstairs.
“What’s all the noise?” she questioned.
“This daughter of yours has chosen horse riding as a co-curricular” my father replied curtly.
Mother dropped the pile of laundry in her hand rather dramatically and sat against the wall crying as though the world had ended.
Ignoring her, my father went on to say, “Do not let that affect your grades, else, the consequences shall be harsh.”
Not knowing what to say, and not having the courage to fight back, I ran back to my room. For Mother, the world had ended, but for me, it seemed as though the universe had come to a sudden halt.
That night, I cried. I cried like a defeated warrior. Nobody came to comfort me, and I didn’t want to go to anyone for comfort. Comfort wasn’t something I needed. I needed a better weapon. So what if I’d lost the battle? There was still a war bound to happen. I didn’t know then how violent the war would be.
My lessons happened every day, and as time went by, my love for the sport kept growing. I started to zone out in class; I would do everything mechanically, not understanding one bit of what the teacher would say. As my level in riding grew, my level in academics fell. I would come home from my lessons after school everyday, worn-out, just waiting to fall asleep. As a result, I would delay everything- homework, dinner, sleep. I hardly ever finished my homework, and my father would whip me every day if I didn’t do it. The fact that I failed four of seven subjects in the first semester just made the situation worse.
A few months after my lessons, which happened every day, a letter came home. The declaration of war, I must call it. I knew that their response would be uninviting, if not threatening. As I walked the cobblestone path, I looked up at every tree, wishing it would fall down and end my misery. How thankful I am now that wishes don’t always come true. Upon reading the letter, my mother beat me up with a rolling pin and my father with his belt. The usual. It happened every day because my lessons were every day. Why my parents didn’t approve of it is still a mystery.
After what seemed like an eternity, the day of the competition came. I packed some Pop-Tarts in my bag and walked the same cobblestone path, this time not wishing for trees to fall down.
I’d never been more excited about anything than I was for the competition that day. But as the bus came to a halt near my house, I realized that this was the last time I’d see anything with “Horseshoe Lands” written on it. I carried the thought with me. This would be my last day with my beautiful appaloosa mare. The last day with the rest of the team- they weren’t in the same school, in fact, most of them didn’t even live in San Antonio. Though I didn’t believe in God then, I prayed to some higher entity to give me more days there.
As we pulled into the parking lot, I saw Moonlight across, in the paddock, grazing. My eyes met hers, and this time, I fought back tears. As I got off, I concluded that nobody cares for a British expatriate living in America. After all, I was quite different from the rest of them. But after that day, I never jumped to conclusions again.
We got off the bus, and saw our instructor standing, waiting for us.
“Okay champs!” she began, launching into her usual lectures and instructions. In spite of having learnt the entire thing word for word, I usually paid attention. But on that day, my mind was in a different dimension. As she rambled on for two minutes, my thoughts were lost in a deep labyrinth, one that wouldn’t really have ended. I thought about my parents, at the dinner table, thinking how they had managed to over-indulge their child to such a great extent. I thought of Moonlight, enjoying her breakfast, not knowing what lay in store for us both. I thought of the team-Juanita, Andrea, Mika, everyone.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my back. I jumped. “M-m-miss Cynthia” I managed to stumble, before breaking into a sob. If there was one woman on this entire planet who understood me, it was Cynthia. “I know how you feel, dear,” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. Crying in the arms was new, and felt quite foreign. However, it was then that I realized that the weapon I needed was actually comfort. “Get going. It’s gonna be a long day,” she said, wiping my eyes with her sleeve.
I entered Moonlight’s stable, and for the last time, groomed her, fed her, and tacked her up. “I am going to miss you, beautiful,” I said as I brushed the curry comb over her. She seemed to feel the sadness and pulled me into a tight hug. I cried as I tacked her up, then left to get myself ready. I wore the same crisply ironed coats I’d seen Ben Maher wear on the television. It felt rather odd to be riding in these clothes- I hadn’t even touched my white breeches or my tall leather boots. That day, I wore them with a sort of pride.
Almost twelve hours later, the results were announced- our team won by a point. We won two other awards- the one for the winning rider (which I won) and one for the most graceful rider (which Andrea won). Everyone congratulated us- even our rival teams. I thought I’d finally proved myself to my parents. I searched for them in the crowd but found them hiding behind other people with shame. They followed the other parents to the dorm and found me celebrating with Cynthia and the team. I’ll never forget the look on their face. Even fury is an understatement to the look on their face. They looked murderous, almost. I wanted to free myself from their prison, I wanted to ignite another fire. I wanted to shout to them, “I can do it and I will.”
But I lacked the courage. The thing about confidence is that you think you are the most dauntless person in the world until it’s time to prove it.
I walked hesitantly towards them, preparing myself for what was coming. I wouldn’t ever have expected a “Congratulations” or an “I’m proud of you” from them. And sure enough, I was greeted by “Is this what you’ve learned from the world’s finest engineers?”
I held my head down. Not with shame, but to hide the fire that had lit inside me. Memories flashed in my head. Memories of the good times with the team and with Moonlight. Memories of battle scars- theirs and mine, for sometimes, your own sword can injure you. Losing wasn’t a choice for me, but winning wasn’t an option either. I didn’t surrender to the enemy or plant my flag in their territory, yet, I felt then that the war was long over. It wasn’t, until that day. The one fateful day my parents couldn’t seem to pull the reins on their own anger.
After what seemed like years of lecturing and arguing, my father decided that enough was enough. He took off his belt, and I knew what was coming.
“Crack!” down came the whips, one after the other, never stopping. Everyone squealed. For the first time, I saw fear in Cynthia’s eyes. Tired with the day’s events already, I collapsed to the ground after the first few whips. That was when everyone freaked out. Everyone ran out, but Cynthia stayed.
“Excuse me, sir, that is wrong. And illegal.” she scolded my father, her eyes full of anger and apathy.
For some inexplicable reason, my father was terrified of every woman except his wife. An angry woman yelling at him with rage was just too much for him, and he was silenced.
But my mother wouldn’t ever have been silenced by a woman scolding her, who earned nothing in comparison to what my mother earned. She continued the fight, “Who, in God’s name, do you think you are? The Queen?”
Cynthia didn’t lose her cool at all. I was surprised by the composure this 26-year-old high school dropout had. I would never have imagined Mother to be so calm and composed in such a situation- her outburst on Cynthia proved exactly that. “Ma’am, if I’m not wrong, this is the 21st century. There ain’t no Queen no more. I don’t know ‘bout the government back in Britain, but I think America’s progressed. We got what they call democracy. Check your facts, lady.” she shrieked.
My mother was a huge patriot. Anyone abusing the Union Jack was enough to not just keep her quiet, but even to make her scared of that person. Which is exactly what happened. Being called a “lady” only insulted her more.
As Cynthia thought of what to do next, a young gentleman walked in. He had his hair colored a shade of blue, and wore shorts and a t-shirt; an attire my parents would detest.
“Chris! Perfect.” Cynthia squealed.
“The hell’s going on?” he demanded.
“That’s Casey and that’s her parents. We won the competition ’cause of her, but her parents don’t take much of a liking to it. Don’t ask why. So, her dad right here beat her up, and I stopped him after she collapsed. That set off an argument.” Cynthia said, her head and arms moving from person to person.
“Oh, good Lord.” Chris cried, looking around at the mess that had been created.
He began his proceedings by picking me up, “You fine, kiddo?”
I nodded my head and took a bottle of water from the ice box. I almost choked on the water, as he introduced himself. “My name’s Christopher Adner. I work for the San Antonio Police Department. Kid, come with me.” he said, nodding towards me.
I looked up, nearly choking on the water, eyes wide.
“Yep.”
A thousand thoughts came to my mind. Had I put myself in more trouble? I didn’t know the law in Texas, and I thought I did something wrong. I prayed for the millionth time that day, not knowing what to do, and followed him all the way to a room inside. What if he wasn’t a police officer, and wanted to do something wrong?
“Where are we going?”
“Interrogation time,” he said as if he was a police officer in a cartoon series for children.
He sat down, patting on the space in front of him. I sat down cross-legged. I’d never imagined interrogations to go this way. I always imagined that interrogations were held in a top-secret room, with a table, and a mirror which allows people to see what’s going on inside the room while keeping what’s outside hidden. Here, he just turned on a microphone attached to a computer and began with the questions.
“So, Casey, right?” he began
“Okay. You need to be a hundred per cent honest here. I didn’t do all the exams and training for the heck of it, so I know when people are lying. Nobody except the police and court are going to find out unless you allow them to. So, feel at home. Okay?” he said, trying to be reassuring, but only scares me more.
“How often are you hit? ’Cause this could count as both corporal punishment and child abuse.”
“I’m hit every day or every other day, but this isn’t all they do,” I responded. For some unknown reason, I felt at home with him and shared every single detail.
“What else?”
“They call me all sorts of things- you have no idea. Mother hits me with ladles, at times, and they usually don’t associate themselves with me.”
He asked me more and more questions and finally asked for proof.
“You mean take my shirt off? Not a chance.”
“Do you wanna live like this?”
“Not really, I don’t.”
“Then you know what to do.”
I reluctantly took off my shirt. Red and brown scars lay over my back like warriors dead in a battle. Some wounds were theirs and some my own. Sometimes, your own sword ends up hurting you. He called out a malediction, and went on, “This is too much Casey. You really should’ve approached someone much before this. I hope you don’t mind a few trips to the court.”
“What?” I cried out. The last thing I’d expected him to say was court. I was only fourteen, knew close to nothing about American laws, and the last thing I wanted to do was get in legal trouble. I started trembling.
“Nothing to worry about. Cynthia’s sister is a good lawyer.”
“I don’t want this,” I said.
Now, I am glad he didn’t take me seriously.
“What do you mean?” I inquired further.
“You know, I’ve always wanted to do something for society. My job’s arresting people who’ve seriously screwed up. Murder, kidnapping, rape. I deal with that every single day. This is new. It’s different. I want to do this. The stuff I deal with is something that happens to the victims once, maybe twice. I would love to help someone who’s been dealing with this all her life. And that someone just happens to be you. Besides, you don’t really have a choice in this. The law and government decides, and has decided that this case will be taken to court..” he said, suddenly turning serious.
Scared to death, I followed him out of the room, with him holding my shoulder tightly, walking behind me.
I didn’t see his face then, but I can say confidently that he must’ve looked alarming, for my parents turned into sheets.
“I’ve seen and recorded everything,” he said.
Cynthia smiled, her eyes wild. I had no idea then that what she’d do would liberate me for life.
“There are two things that we’re going to take you to court for- corporal punishment and child abuse.” Christopher continued.
My parents agreed reluctantly, only because they were insisted to do so by law. The court proceedings took place one after the other. Evidence after evidence collected, and a thousand interrogations made. One day, the court, upon gathering enough strong evidence, declared my parents guilty of child abuse, and they were arrested, and later, I found out, deported. Meanwhile, I lived in this horrid place where other children like myself were kept, along with orphans. Later, after my parents were arrested, Chris and Cynthia adopted me. After even more legal procedures, I was finally free. Free from not just the juvenile, but from the chains that long-held me back. Free from the war prison that my parents turned the house into. Most importantly, free to do what I wanted and could do. Free to be me.
As I think about all this, I find this ledge is far more appealing than that old mahogany chair on which I’ve sat with bruises and tears. This is my life. This is how I want to live. And my story has just begun.
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