Rhonda Mulberry Tarver

I spent about 18 years in captivity before I found my brain and escaped. I didn't do anything commendable until after I left, at about age 40. Two years later, my daugher (from scratch) and I earned our black belts in kickboxing. Then I started a small publishing company and wrote a couple of books. About a year ago I walked away from everything and came to Dallas, whereupon I became a private investigator. I do criminal defense work in Collin and Dallas Counties, and I love it. (Somebody has to defend all my ex-boyfriends and family members.) I live with Clare Davidson (yes, THE Clare Davidson), and we're having the time of our lives. She, too, escaped from captivity, and we're both thanking God for our freedom every single day! She just turned 48, and I asked her (as I do every year), "How does it feel to be so damned old?" [We're still 18 in the head!]

Unfortunately, I lost a lot of brain cells during that era, and for some years afterward. I remember hanging out with my dear friends Brad Neimeyer, Cleve, Ronnie, Mark, David, Diane, Jan, Chris (a couple of them) and a few other notable hoods. I remember driving Herr Brown over the deep end when we passed a pipe down the row during English class. Or was that history class? I remember listening to Led Zeppelin and the Stones during Rutledge's 1st-period art class. One day, Cleve and I were listening to the Beatles, "Day Tripper," and we both smiled and nodded in agreement. The next day we did, in fact, trip...during art class. I also remember when Mr. Rutledge asked Diane if we were drinking bourbon. She kept saying, "No," and I just knew we'd be busted. He eventually took a drink and said, "It's Bacardi." Diane said, "I told you we weren't drinking bourbon." Those were the days.