Free In the Image of Grace by Charlotte Ann Schlobohm

had a very cave
like feeling. There were rows upon rows of folding chairs lined up,
hundreds. The place was packed. Every seat was sat in and there was
a huge swarm of people in the back. That was where we tried to
blend in.
    Jeremy leaned in towards me. “I was expecting
everybody to be wearing like long white robes or something,” he
whispered.
    I scanned the warehouse and everybody looked
surprisingly normal. There were teenagers and elderly women, middle
aged balding men, guys with mow hawks, girls with boyfriends,
husbands, wives, you name it and it seemed like they were there.
Then there was Jeremy and I, trying our best to fit in. Jeremy
stood next to me wearing what looked like grey workpants and a
plaid jacket. His hair stuck out the bottom of a green beanie.
    Somebody then walked onto stage and everybody started
clapping. I immediately recognized him. He was maybe in his early
thirties, with a widow’s peak and black plastic framed glasses. He
was wearing a guitar across him and had on one of those microphone
head set things. Everybody stood up. They all seemed to know what
to do. We seemed to be the only newbies.
    “Hello children,” he spoke giving a little wave.
    “Hello, Pastor Dave,” everybody responded in unison.
It was the same pastor that was at Elizabeth’s funeral. Goosebumps
crept over my whole body.
    “Thanks for coming to this special gathering. You
will hear some exciting news this evening, but first let’s start
with the Song of Grace .” He started strumming his guitar and
singing. Everybody sang along. Jeremy and I tried to mouth the
words.
    “It was intelligent design in the Xtials eyes,”
Pastor Dave sang. His voice wasn’t half bad. “And in their image we
were made. And they gave us Grace to carry on the human race and in
her image they were made.”
    “They gave us Grace, they gave us Grace,” everybody
sang. “And in her image the new children were made.”
    Jeremy looked at me like he couldn’t believe what he
was hearing. He put his hand over his face and shook his head.
Everybody else was swaying and singing. Some had their hands raised
in the air; others held hands and some embraced in hugs. One woman
with a very think long braid had one hand over her heart and the
other in the air with her eyes closed. Then on the projection
screen a picture of my mother slowly fizzled together. It looked
like it could have been a picture from college or possibly high
school. It looked exactly like me. A wave of emotion swept over me,
it seemed to of contorted my whole body. My back stiffened, my eyes
opened as wide as humanly possible and my hand shot up and grabbed
the sleeve to Jeremy’s jacket. I could feel the material of it
balled up in my fist. I felt sorrow, anguish, anger, bubbling up
inside of me. There was my mother on display for everybody to see,
for people who were so familiar with the image and yet there I was
her daughter, seeing it for the first time. Her hair was parted in
the middle and worn long and smooth just like mine, just like in
her missing person photo. The light shined off of it, giving her
hair a brilliance of its own. Her dark almond eyes had a glitter in
them; a glitter I’m sure that was never present in mine. Her skin
was flawless and porcelain white. It was so unfair I should have
been familiar with that picture, not the hundreds of strangers in
that warehouse. I wanted her so badly. I wanted to hug her, ask her
how her day had been. I pulled at Jeremy’s coat. It was keeping me
grounded.
    “Come here,” he whispered to me pulling me into his
body. I dug my head into his shoulder. He ran his hand over my hair
from the top of my head all the way to the bottom where it fell
down my back.
    “I don’t know if I can do this,” I whispered trying
to hold back my tears.
    “You’re strong,” he whispered back. “Find answers for
Elizabeth.”
    I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. I
looked up at Jeremy. He was looking into my eyes and ran