what do you think...
There she stood, head buried in my chest. Tears fell violently, filled with anger, sadness, and disbelief. This was tearing her up inside, but as much as I wanted to let our tears flow as one, I had to be strong. I choked back the tears that were forming at my eyes. This would be the last time I’d ever see her.
As I wiped a tear from her cheek and gently laid a kiss upon her forehead, as if to say, “Everything will be alright“, the deputy came in and announced that it was time to take me back to my cell. I held her tight for a few more seconds before he handcuffed my hands together and led me from this room. Our eyes remained locked with each other until I was led around a corner and she was out of sight.
My cell laid empty, cold, and waiting for my return. The first thing that my eyes came in contact with was the bunk beds. That small set of cheap beds wrecked havoc on my back. They were just as comfortable as sleeping on a sack of bricks. I tried to remember the last time I’d gotten a full night of sleep, but I couldn’t recall. The sheets had my final destination stamped in ink on them. The letters ‘Death Row’ were printed in big and bold letters that held so much emotion that they filled my dreams with images that could wake the dead. Oh, the bitter irony.
My stomach grumbled and I sat wondering when they would feed us some
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gruel that I’ve come to know as dinner. I pressed my face up against the thick glass on my cell door, it was my only window to the rest of the world. My eyes searched up and down the corridor hoping for the sight of a clock. There was not one to be found, so I sank back onto my bed, leaving my mind to wonder free.
How did I end up here? I never did anything to hurt anyone! I never would. I am innocent. I was sure that they would believe me. They had to, but I stand corrected. When something terrible happens, people are always quick to place the blame.
I stared at the ceiling as my gaze slowly took me away into a distant dream.
I was sitting in a chair. What was this place? I know I’ve been here before, or maybe it was from some mind-rattling scene I had seen in a movie. Things slowly began to come into focus and I felt my heart sink like a lead weight. This was much more worse then any horror flick. It was my own reality.
All I saw were the angry and disgusted faces surrounding me. A man in a suit was preaching lies to them, as if he were a preist giving a sermon to his perish. Why was he telling them all these false accusations? I had to prove them wrong. I had to save myself from this blasphemy, but when I went to cry out, my voice was lost somewhere in my stomach. I groped at my throat hoping for a
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sound, a sign, anything to escape my mouth.
I could feel my face getting hot and I broke into a sweat. I looked
for a way to escape and behind me I saw a door. I made a run for it and I found myself in a room, small, white and plain. It was a jail cell, not just any jail cell, but my jail cell.
I awoke with a jolt and tried to shake the remnants of this dream off. Was there no escaping this? Even when I was asleep, my mind threw me for a loop and dragged me down a long, bumpy road that I tried my hardest to erase from my memory. For the first time in weeks I allowed myself to visit that memory. Maybe if I dealt with it now, it would let me be.
It all started about 3 months ago when I lost my backpack. All of this over an insignificant backpack. I don’t know how I lost it, but one day I discovered that my wallet, backpack, and plans to go to California were no longer in my cubical at work. I was annoyed at first, seeing as they had my train ticket in there, making my commute to work a pain, but then got over it and decided that it was going to someone who needed it more than I. So life continued as normal, until a knock came upon my door.
The F.B.I had told me that they knew I had done it. They had my prints and identification all tied to the bomb. All of this was happening so fast. What bomb? What identification? What prints? Did they find my backpack maybe? No,
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it couldn’t be. Even if they did, what bomb are they talking about?
I found out soon enough that there had been an explosion on the L-train earlier that day. There were a total of 18 casualties and 10 wounded. They also informed me that the place of the explosion came from a backpack, not just any backpack, but my back pack. The one I had lost only but a few days ago. This was all so unbelievable. This had to be a dream, but they didn’t believe my side of the story. Everything was happening so fast, and in the blink of an eye I found myself on trial being sentenced to death.
As I came back into this cold, bitter reality, I noticed that I did feel a tad bit better. Well, at least it calmed down my nightmare. I kept telling myself it was only a nightmare, nothing more. It was only a night scare.
Denial was my only safe haven at the moment. Hoping not to have another frightening dream, I rolled over in search of a more comfortable position and laid my head upon the pillow and slowly but surely fell back into a state of unconsciousness.
“Hey bonehead. Wake up.”
Yet again my night’s attempt at sleeping was interrupted. Who said that? There’s no one else in here but me. I think. There couldn’t be anyone else in here, I was in a maximum security prison. And in confirmation of my suspicions, I lifted my heavy eyelids and searched my cell. That’s when I saw it. No, not it.
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Them. People. This must be one of those deranged dreams I’ve heard about. I
pinched myself and a sudden pain bit at my arm. Okay, so maybe this isn’t a dream, I’m probably just seeing things. Of course, that’s it. All it is is a shadow or something; nothing out of the ordinary.
“Hey you, I was talking to you. Don’t just ignore me. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
One of the ‘shadows’ spoke again, in a heavy Pennsylvanian accent.
“Why Johnny. There’s no need to be so rude! You haven’t even introduced yourself to the poor boy yet. Forgive him, please sir. And where are my manners! My, oh, my. I’m Lilly Jane.”
The other ‘shadow’ stepped out from the corner and came better into my view. She was a short, obviously southern, (the accent gave her away) and looked like she was built for child bearing. For some reason she reminded me of someone I had met a long time ago. Wait, what was I to do? Should I respond? Oh come on, this is crazy talk. There’s no one to respond to, only me, myself, and this empty jail cell. But if I was all alone, why am I seeing people?
“Oh, sorry if I’m a bit rude, I’m just a little shell shocked at the moment. My name is James Goriva. So, um, how exactly are you in here with me?” I responded. What am I doing? This is insanity. In the morning I’m going to wake up and realize that I just had some bad chili the night before. But I might
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as well enjoy the company while it was here.
“Why, we’re here for you sweets. You brought us here, whether you
remember it or not. Well you know me, but this is my comrade Johnny boy Williams. I can tell you look worried, but there’s no reason to be worried hun, if you want us to leave, just say the word.” She spoke as she crossed the small distance between the two of us and placed her hand on my shoulder. I felt nothing, so I guess what she said was true. She must be some sort of ghost come from my imagination. Whatever. Wherever the two of them came from, I was just glad to have some company. I only hoped that they would stay.
“Oh, okay. Nice to meet the two of you. Well, I don’t really know what to tell you, but I don’t exactly want to talk about myself, so why don’t you tell me something interesting to keep my mind away from anything to do with me?.”
With my command, the two took turns telling stories of any kind. I felt myself begin to loosen up a bit. I had never felt so comfortable in my life. I had no fear of them rejecting me, or of them judging me. They were the ones who I had always wanted to meet when I was younger, the ones whom if I might have met them, I wouldn’t have ended up in this position. I had settled to be friends with the people who were hollow and shallow. They taught me to lie and cheat; they stole my innocence as a kid. They stole my innocence, the one thing from
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me that I would give anything to get back.
The hall lights came whirring back onto their normal position as lighted. I
looked out my door and I saw a guard approaching my door. He reached for the handle and I began to panic. What would happen to my new found friends? I turned around to tell them of my fear that they would leave me, but they were already gone. I felt a new sense of dread that I hadn’t felt in a long while. Oh how I hoped and prayed that they would return.
The day passed by as slowly as ever, and I couldn’t keep my mind off of Lilly and Johnny boy. I wanted to hear more stories, I wanted company. I kept my ears and eyes open for some sort of sign of them all day long. I finally gave up and slipped into a long, delayed nap.
When I awoke, the lights were out and I found Lilly and Johnny boy sitting at the foot of my bed. I felt my heart lift and a smile grew upon my face. They had come back to see me; they hadn’t forgotten about me. I wasn’t hesitant in asking them to tell some more stories. They obliged with no complaint and I sat upon my bed, a smile upon my face, as the moon and sun traded places in the sky and I drifted off to sleep. Nothing but good dreams came to me that day, and I felt the least alone I had ever felt in my whole life.
The next few days continued with the same schedule as the previous ones. I only had one worry on my mind, that was that I think one of the guards
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heard me talking to my visitors. I was worried that he would make me say farewell to the ones who made those once lonely; cold nights pass quickly and
happily. Unfortunately, to my demise, my suspicions were correct, and it was worse than I had suspected.
I thought it was a bit peculiar when they served me my lunch in my cell, and with a powdered brownie, that had a slightly bitter taste to it, but I enjoyed my meal with no hesitation. As I sat alone in my cell, waiting for my visitors to arrive, they never did. My dreams were filled with a feeling of desperation and loneliness. Sadly enough, the next week continued the same as the previous.
I began to feel moody. Maybe no one in this world was worth trusting to not leave. Only my dear Shannon, but she was with the rest of the world, free from this hell-hole of a prison. With this new found moodiness, I also began to loose my appetite. I left my plate barely eaten and merely pushed the food around the plate. That night I was in for a pleasant surprise.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the wall out of pure boredom, when a familiar voice spoke to me.
“Hey there brownie-cake. You tried to get rid of us, eh?” Johnny boy’s voice was so reassuring and enlightening it made me smile like a little child. Then I reprimanded myself, and remembered my past nights that I was left
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alone.
“Why did you leave me? I thought that you guys were different. But I
suppose not. You’re just as bad as the rest of the world.” Then it struck me, his words finally got my brain a-ticking. The powdered brownie, it wasn’t any normal powder. It was a crushed pill. How could I have not figured this out sooner? Any thought of anger fled from my mind as we went back to the normal feeling of free speech like the three amigos.
As the hours went by, the clock on my life began to run out. I had the day that I was scheduled to die marked on my home-made calendar with a big red circle. How impersonal it sounds, to be just another number fit into some one’s day planner. When I came into the final week of my 35 years of my life, I began to panic.
My mind grew troubled with the things I was going to miss. Growing old with my wife… having children and moving into suburbia… teaching them how to drive… I still had so much I wanted to do with my life. I wasn’t ready to go.
My dreams became sad and depressing, filled with death and funerals. Even my nightly visits with my two friends, Johnny boy and Lilly weren’t the same.
I found myself being touchy and over-dramatic. What’s wrong with me? I sound like an overly hormonal woman, but how else was I suppose to act in a
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situation like this?
When my last day came about, I was handed a stack of papers. One for
my final request of a meal, and one just blank for whatever use I would like.
The first one was easy to fill out, a plate full of garlic mashed potatoes, potato and leek soup, lasagna, and a big old case of root beer. It made my mouth water just at the thought of it. But that momentary bliss soon turned into a nauseating feeling when I remembered the nature of the food.
With the rest of the paper I wrote my final good-byes, I love you’s, and apologies to everyone I knew and that I cared about. I found myself reading and re-reading those letters like crazy. What if I forgot to say something to someone? I couldn’t bear the thought.
Later that day they brought me my meal and I binged my pain away on it and tried to drown my sorrows away. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted, but I’d give it all up just to have another chance at life. No, not even that, just for the chance to live. I swear, I promised to myself that I’d do things differently. I’d live more, worry less, love more, and have no regrets.
As I laid down in my bed, for the first time in months I felt at peace. My dreams were filled with the ones I loved, but that fear of death that once captivated me, now seemed so petty. I suppose that I had finally accepted my final destination, so I closed my eyes and slept in that bed for the last time.
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Night fled and morning came in what seemed to be the blink of an eye. My final day had at last come. I knew that I was scheduled to be sent for at
12:15, so when the guards came, it was no surprise to me.
