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TITLE: The Eviction
By Jo Wanmer
10/09/14
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I didn't know Mr R. was a stowaway. He walked around in the open as though he had a paid passage. He’d always been there. How could I have known?
Although a constant part of my life, I didn't like him much. But I listened to his wisdom. He was more a minder than a friend.
'I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Everyone will laugh.' He saved me embarrassment countless times.
He cheered others on from the sideline, explaining their superior expertise. He was right. Compared to me, others were better speakers, more fluent writers and funnier joke tellers.
One day, I attended a lecture. The speaker had a soft voice.
‘Mr R., I could speak better than her.'
'Yes, you could. She's boring. I wouldn't listen if I were you.'
I was delighted. Mr R. agreed I was a better speaker. Day-dreaming carried me away. I had no idea what the woman said, but others left the lecture excited.
I decided to attend again.
'People will think you’re strange if you attend twice.'
I considered Mr R.'s words. But who would notice? I slipped into the back row. Mr R. sighed but followed. He chatted through the lecture, diverting me, but I learned some people carried freeloaders, leeches who stole life's precious resources.
'Can you believe it, Mr R? Freeloaders!'
But he'd disappeared. I watched as others sent their freeloaders away, bound and silenced. Some people wept as the familiar departed, but only for a time. Afterwards they danced as though the devil was off their backs.
A friend dragged me back to the lecture. 'Come on! Get rid of your freeloaders. It's so...so...freeing!'
'Waste of time,' yelled Mr R. 'Boring. Fanciful nonsense.'
I repeated his arguments to my companion.
She laughed. 'Sounds like typical freeloader lies.'
'I don't have any!' How could she think I would support a leech? I was careful. I didn't pick up strangers or let anyone in my cabin! I worshipped God. As if I'd let someone rob me!
As Mr R. beckoned me from the door, I rose to leave. My friend grabbed my arm and started to tell me about her ex-freeloader, now banished.
Mr R. pointed to a poster. An interesting scrap-booking demonstration was about to begin
'I’ve got to go.'
My friend stopped me. 'Speaker’s starting. Everyone will look at you.'
I was helpless. Mr R.'s face was like thunder. Unusual. He was congenial most of the time, a little pushy maybe, but easy-going.
'Many freeloaders have been with you since birth. They appear to belong. They hitch-hike into your life on your parents DNA.'
I searched my life. No leeches there. My friend found another and left the meeting dancing. 'I'm free to make my own decisions. That liar has always restricted me. Praise God! He's gone.'
I thought she was loopy, but her enthusiasm over-rode Mr R.'s sulks. I kept returning, swept along in other’s joy and excitement. At Mr R.'s suggestion, I busied myself in the kitchen, making tea. Everyone likes a servant.
'It's time to move on.' Mr R followed me into the kitchen. 'Tell them you have other lessons to attend, important things to do. That will impress them.'
The idea had merit. I'd talk to the teacher afterwards.
Before I could say anything, she looked across my shoulder. Her eyebrows shot into her hair. 'Rejection! You have no right to be freeloading! Be gone!'
I spun around.
Mr R. cowered, red with embarrassment, his eyes pleading with me.
Mr R. a freeloader? My mind whirled. Those familiar eyes begged me to save him. Without my support, he was trapped, doomed to be banished below.
Time stood still. The choice was mine.
With sudden clarity, I understood. All my life he'd been lurking in my family, telling them they'd never amount to anything. Dad had tried to evict him, but he had clung to Mum. Her sister listened to him all the time. He'd been freeloading for generations!
Worse still, he'd been whispering lies in my children's ears, restricting their creativity and confidence. I was furious.
'Mr R.! You’re Rejection in disguise! Get out of my life, you sneaky, lying stowaway.'
I didn't shed a tear when he was dragged away, gagged and chained. I left dancing. Now I can stand and speak without his voice restricting me with lies about myself. Lies disguised as wisdom. Thank you Jesus, for paying the price and setting me free.

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