The Power of Testimony

VIRGINIA PRODAN
my eyes. As I slowed, I imagined the swing was my mother,
rocking me, telling me everything would be okay.
I looked out beyond my front gate and thought, I could
run away and be miles from here before they returned. It wasn’t
the first time I’d fantasized about leaving. Many nights lying
in bed, I’d plan my escape, but I would usually fall asleep
before I formed a solid plan. I stared back up into the sky.
But then again, I mused, where would I go?
I was trapped.
The breeze blew a leaf across my novel, reminding me
that I wasn’t alone. My friends were in my books, and with
them I could travel to wonderful places on my own vacations.
I traveled to Spain with Ernest Hemingway in the pages of
For Whom the Bell Tolls and witnessed the tale of a young
American who fought and died there. I was transported to
the American Civil War with Harriet Beecher Stowe, the little
lady who—according to President Lincoln—started that big
war. Her book, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, showed me the merciless
reality of slavery. It also showed me how love can heal. Shogun
introduced me to the Japanese culture and educated me on
the Japanese art of flower arranging called ikebana.
As each fictional character became my new friend,
I took courage. I recognized that “the future belongs to
those who believe in the beauty of their dreams,” as Eleanor
Roosevelt said.
I rose from the swing and picked up Jane Eyre. I’d read
it twice already. I understood Jane. Her adopted parents
detested her quiet but passionate character. They also hated
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