Eliza Fletcher. A name I’d not known before last Friday. A mother, wife, sister, daughter, teacher, friend — a woman, who, by many accounts, was a bright light in the lives of those she touched. As a bit of proof, among the memorial posts on my timeline was a video shared to YouTube in March 2020 of her singing “This Little Light of Mine” as part of a series of videos she must have created for the virtual schooling stage of the pandemic.
I did not know Eliza. But I have read many tributes to her over the weekend, from some who did know her — through her teaching, friends, neighbors — and many others who did not but were almost equally as crushed by the horrific news. As all of Memphis, and much of the nation, now knows, 34-year-old Eliza was abducted on an early morning run on Friday, September 2nd, at Central Avenue and Zach Curlin Street. Unreleased surveillance video showed her struggle with the assailant; her smashed phone and water bottle were found in front of a house near the scene. University of Memphis students, staff, and faculty received a safety alert that morning describing the incident and the few details known at the time. I later received a text message from a friend asking if I was okay — because I live near the university, one mile from where Eliza was violently forced into an SUV, and I take walks almost daily in the area.
The weight of what happened to Eliza, as she carried out, from what I’ve read, her normal morning routine — a bit of self-care before the world awoke, before the scheduled demands of work and motherhood took hold of the day — shook a lot of us, especially women. Many of us have had uncomfortable encounters with strangers: the man asking for a phone number at the gas pump, the guy in line at the grocery store wondering if we’re married (“We can just be friends though”), boys catcalling from car windows, or worse. Women, at times, are treated as prey by those without respect or human decency — or the smallest crumb of common sense to know better. And in even scarier instances by those whose intentions are pure evil, as in Eliza’s case.
These types of things don’t only happen in Memphis, of course, though people are quick to claim it’s commonplace here. From national headlines, in Washington over the weekend, a woman was abducted at knifepoint after attempting to help a wayward stranger. She jumped from the car as the aggressor slowed down on a dirt road, where she ran to a nearby home for safety. Stories of missing women and young girls saturate the news everywhere, though not all get the same level of publicity. There may be many reasons for this, but it could be more simply that not all have video footage or physical evidence or a specific timeline of events to follow up on. I’ve seen some online commenters victim-blaming. “She shouldn’t be out running at 4 in the morning,” they read, in some way or another. Maybe 4 a.m. is an odd hour for you, but does that give a predator the right to grab a living, breathing being off the street and shove them into their vehicle? Pluck them from a morning run and take their life?
Following the story over the past few days, seeing the inundation of speculative commentary from internet sleuths, and learning of the suspect’s criminal past, hope dwindled by the moment — both for the well-being of Eliza and for a thread of empathy from the general public. When did people become so insensitive? Do you not realize this could happen to you or a loved one? How are violent offenders like Cleotha Abston allowed out of prison? Monsters do roam this Earth.
There was, though, an outpouring of love, from those who knew her well and others who didn’t at all — fellow runners who are organizing runs locally and nationally in her honor, mothers whose hugs were a little tighter this morning as they sent their children off to school.
I did not know Eliza. But she did not deserve to die this way. Her sons deserved their mother. Her family and friends deserved more days with her. May her light continue to shine.
Shara Clark is managing editor of the Flyer.
