origins

Six years ago, I found out the story of where I came from. It happened in an unexpected way, amidst a bunch of other chaos. I was twenty. I was living in North Carolina and going to college at UNCA when it all occurred. It was mid August when i received the birthday card from my Grandmother's close friend. It read, "I am worried about your grandmother, if you are too, please call me." Since I was, I did. What she had to say scared me beyond belief. My Grandmother had been displaced from her own home,the locks had been changed, and she was now not allowed to leave my mother's house except for church on Sunday mornings. I drove to my home town in the dark of that night, and rested at my Dad's house for 4 days until Sunday came. I clothed myself in the most authentic garb I could find, given my resources, to make myself blend in with the other old women in her Sunday school class; I snuck into an area that had been agreed upon between her friend and me. I waited. I saw her, and convinced her to leave with me.
We went to another friend's house. We waited 3 days. We found out that a private investigator was searching for us. I decided we had to leave under cover of darkness that same night. The journey began. We traveled to New Orleans that night, where we would be for the next month. This was the only other place she had ever lived in her whole life, and there was really no where else I could imagine that she'd feel comfortable. We watched the boats on the Mississippi every day, and ate gumbo very often. We talked. We spent so much time with only the company of one another. One day, we had a talk about my mother. She was adopted, that much I knew. I asked about where she may have come from. I suppose I thought knowing that information would make me feel more like I knew myself in a way. Only, I wasn't prepared for what I got. I had never been told the truth before, even when I had asked this same question. But this time, the bare honest truth was all I got. And she said, "your mother was born in prison, and her mother was a lady of the night."........................I sat silent for so long, crying, still. She comforted me. I knew something about myself now; something real, and something hard. I wished i didn't know. I knew something about my mother. I knew her better, and I was able to have compassion for her even. I ran 7 miles that day. I ran like I was actually going to escape the truth.