already up here.
Has to be.
Elaine
I didn’t want to come to church, but the woman I’ve been staying with is something of a church fanatic. In fact, one of the reasons I chose to move in with her as opposed to getting my own place was because I believed she’d be a great cover.
I’ve been sort of in hiding for the past four years, just laying low until people quit looking for me. The only reason I came with her today is because Arletha is upset with the church where she has been a member for about a half a century (boring!), and she didn’t want to visit this new church by herself.
“I hear it’s rather a large church,” she said with what I’m learning to be her signature whine as she stood in my rented room in her house. “They say white people go there, so you wouldn’t feel out of place.” I didn’t bother to tell her once again that although I look white, I’m not white. “I just don’t know,” she said. “You have to be careful with some of these so-called churches.”
If I could have put her off, I certainly wouldn’t be here. But I can’t afford to get on her wrong side and get kicked out of her home. Not yet anyway.
Just last month, someone came knocking on the door where I was staying in St. Louis. The person who answered the door managed to turn him away, but still. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why, at seventy years old, I’m still such a high priority for anyone to want to find so badly after all these years. Every time I think they’ve left me alone, there’s another knock on the door or ringing of the telephone. “Yes, I’m looking for Memory Elaine Patterson Robertson,” they always say, before using the name I may be using in that place at the time.
Of course, I don’t always use my real name when I move to a place. But somehow, this private detective or whatever he is, has a way of figuring out just where I am. I barely had time to get out of St. Louis a month ago. I decided to come down deeper south this go ’round. Who will think to look for me here in Alabama, especially with Ms. Super-religious Arletha Brown answering the door? For sure, if anybody’s going to get into heaven, it has to be this straight-and-narrow woman. She can be as mean and ornery as a rattlesnake, yet she forever brags about what all she’s doing for the Lord.
I figured out early, this woman doesn’t have a clue. And quite honestly, I think she needs to buy another vowel. Her “I this…” and “I that…” has gotten on my last nerve, and I’ve only been with her for this short time. Somebody please give her a u or an o; anything else! But like I said, she is a great cover and her home is the perfect place for me to hide until I decide on my next move. Few people seem to want to be around her; that’s a plus for me. I don’t even think Jesus has come to her house in years, if he’s ever been here at all. There’s no room for Him, especially since she seems to believe she’s saving herself, all by herself, with all of her goodie-good works.
I am getting tired of running though. This moving around…being in constant hiding in more ways than I can say, takes a toll on you. I know Lena and Theresa are still upset with me about that Alexandrite necklace. No matter what I try to tell them, they’re not going to believe me. That’s the problem when you lie and deceive people (although I wouldn’t totally say I did either): people won’t believe anything you say after that.
To begin with, that necklace was mine. I don’t care how anybody might try to spin, dice, or explain it away. In my heart that necklace has always belonged to me. I asked Lena if she knew where the contents of that wooden box were a long time ago, and she said she didn’t, which, as it turns out, she obviously did. What else was there left for me to do other than what I was forced to?
Clearly, I couldn’t just walk up to Theresa’s door, ring the doorbell, and say, “Hi, my name is Memory Patterson. Theresa, I’m your grandmother, and Lena is my daughter. I’m not really here trying to get to know either one of you better. In fact, I really only came to get a necklace I am convinced Lena has in her possession. If one of you could go and get it and give it back to me, you could save all of us a lot of trouble and heartache, and I can be on my merry little way and out of your hair for good.”
Had Theresa protested, I could have told her what a horrible, self-centered person I was, and how much they all would be better off having me out of their lives sooner rather than later. Nope, that would never have worked.
But I did make one, ultimate miscalculation. I didn’t count on them treating me like family. Nor did I know being with my own flesh and blood like that would cause me to start changing. I admit: I got a little soft.
Whoever is looking for me, though, I hope it’s worth their while. I would have given up after all these years myself. So either Lena or Theresa called the police on me and filed a report that has caused the police to try and find me (which I seriously doubt the police would be looking this hard for somebody like me), or someone else I’ve wronged somewhere through the years has hired someone to stay hot on my trail.
Nobody, which includes Lena and Theresa, can prove I took anything. And even if they could prove anything, they have no evidence. I figure little Miss-High-and-Mighty Theresa is the likely culprit behind this man who has been following me from town to town. She’s probably more upset about me having left her back in 2001 the way I did when she was in labor than anything. And there was the 9/11 World Trade Center and all those other tragedies happening that day, alongside the joy of her baby being born….
The baby. I hear it was a little girl just like I told them it would be. The 9/11 thing had me a little worried for a while as I did wonder about what may have happened to Lena. But then I’d already done what I did, and it was too late to turn back. Gosh, who had a way of knowing? I did eventually learn Lena was okay. I also heard something about Beatrice dying; I’m sure that had to have sent Theresa completely over the edge.
Theresa seems to be vindictive enough; she would pay money for someone to hunt me down just for the principle of the thing. And I’ll give it to whomever it is searching; they are attempting to be quite clever about sniffing me out. Like when they had that detective tell folks I’m possibly heir to some huge fortune in, of all places, Asheville, North Carolina, and that it’s imperative my family locate me. Like I would really fall for that one. As soon as I took that bait, they would be reeling me into the nearest jailhouse and threatening to throw away the key or who knows what else.
Lately, I have considered making things right with my family. Just go on and allow that man to catch me and face the consequences. Frankly, I’m just tired of running. I’m too old to continue living this kind of lifestyle. Moving constantly, looking over my shoulders, hustling for my next “pay” day by any means necessary.
This minister was preaching about strongholds and being released from them.
“God can release you from the strongholds of your past,” Pastor Landris said. “Some of you may have done things you think you can never be forgiven of. There’s not a sin out there that you can’t bring before the Lord and ask Him to forgive you of that He won’t forgive. And God won’t bring up your past to you again. But now Satan will take your past and try to keep you in bondage. He’ll tell you how horrible you are. He’ll tell you that God could never forgive someone like you. But Satan is a liar, and the truth is not in him. Come, won’t you? Come, and let God release the shackles from around your ankles today. Let Him break the chains that have you bound.” He pulled his fist in different directions to show a chain being broken.
“If you’re tired of carrying around heavy weights that are holding you down,” Pastor Landris said, “then come. Let’s pray to have your stronghold released. If you want to be free, get up out of your seat and walk up here right now. Don’t wait for tomorrow. Today is your appointed
