"Keep Your Enemies Closer"
Excerpt….
As soon as Charlotte found out that her husband, Anthony, was “fellowshipping” with one of the “sisters” from the church, she filed for a divorce. Throughout their entire four-year marriage, rumors and evidence of Anthony’s bed hopping had been surfacing. The entire church, including children, knew of his blatant affair with the young usher. And as if the pain and embarrassment caused by this illicit affair weren’t enough, the pastor pulled Charlotte, not Anthony, aside for “a little talk.” Pastor Brown emphatically told Charlotte that she should concentrate more on being a virtuous woman instead of bucking so hard for a place in the pulpit. He suggested she curtail the amount of time she spent in church, advising that she should spend more time ministering to her husband.
Point well taken, and she agreed it was applicable and sound advice. However, after informing Pastor Brown that Anthony was never home for her to minister to in the first place, Charlotte suggested that perhaps he should have “a little talk” with her husband as well, right after he took his religious foot off of her neck.
"Deliver Me From My Enemies"
Charlotte carefully unfolded the slightly crumbled letter written to her by her aunt Ramiyah. She slowly smoothed out the crease and started reading:
Dear Charlotte,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. I can’t believe I’m writing you. I guess it takes something like this to happen to make people communicate with one another. I don’t know if Jean or Betty has kept you up to date about my incarceration. I am so grateful that Jean has agreed to take care of my babies for me, but she is getting up in age and I will soon have to reconsider my options for their guardianship.
You probably don’t know all the details about that night or about the events that led up to it. I guess it doesn’t really matter now. I may have been christened Ramiyah Patterson, but in here I’m just #0195823234. Thanks to the penal system.
I did not sleep well last night, not with all the screaming, crying, pleading and obscenities bellowing over my head and beneath my feet. Talk about acoustics. They have excellent surround sound in prison. Sometimes I think I can feel the inmates’ emotions sink into my bones, right down to the marrow, and eventually seeping into my very spirit.
Every night when those steel doors clank behind the guards and I lay down in my tiny cot, my filthy environment is just another added distraction to keep me from peaceful slumber. Confession: I know I’m not supposed to hate anyone, but I really did hate that curmudgeon of a judge who so harshly sentenced me. I hated my poor excuse of an attorney who must have ordered his law degree from a JC Penny catalog. Most of all, I hated my dead husband who swore that he loved every fiber of my being with every fiber of his being. That was a lie straight from the pits of hell. I hated Ma and JT, and last but not least, I hated myself.
Truth of the matter is, I’m disappointed in myself for allowing the devil to convince me to marry Cole only for me to end up killing him. Now look at me. I’m serving time. So, where is the devil now? Undoubtedly off somewhere recruiting more dumb souls like myself. I hated myself for not listening to you in the first place. But I am, by the grace of God, slowly getting past all this hatred.
Hindsight is definitely twenty-twenty. I mean, sin is truly ugly when you think about it with all it’s masked drawing attraction only to result in pain and destruction.
Pray for me, Charlotte. Pray for my strength. Pray for my protection. I’ve already heard horrid stories about the butches (including some of the guards) in here, and I’ve got to tell you, I’ll kill again to keep from being raped.
Cole had raped me emotionally for years and I promise you I WILL NEVER go through that torture again, nor will I worship another human being again. After all, it’s not like Cole was a miracle worker who taught me how to breathe or eat solid foods. You warned me not to marry Cole. Do you remember that? I thought he was the “one.” He had job stability and money. He was well known, well liked and he wanted me. Me! And at the age of thirty-three (at that time) I felt privileged to be wanted by such a man. What I didn’t know was that Cole had such a short attention span and would not want ME for very long. After about two years into our marriage, I reluctantly agreed to join him in participating in swap meets (and I’m not talking about California flea markets either) and YES…some Black people are into this sort of thing.