There was a magickal crispness in the air that matched the fallen leaves underfoot. One of the things I always loved most was sitting on the porch and breathing the scent in the air as I handed out candy. I always thought it was more fun to hand it out than to collect it. That year, however, not even that appeased me.
A few days after Halloween, I was at Jason’s house. He sat on the couch, staring dully at the television as I milled around in the kitchen. An old school box sitting on the table caught my eye. It was the sort that elementary school kids kept their crayons, glue, and pencils in. It appeared to be well used and was missing its top. Inside was a large quantity of pumpkin seeds that the family matriarch had deposited when carving the jack-o’-lantern. “What are these for?” I called out, picking up a handful and letting them run through my fingers and back into the box like gold coins. He looked over, shrugged, and went back to watching television. I put a handful into the pocket of my jacket.
I stayed up late into the night, lying on the couch and eyeing the canister that contained all of Deanna’s letters. It was a form of self-torture. I felt the need to do something, to take some form of decisive action. I knew it was the only way to begin reclaiming my life and enter a new stage of development and growth. I was tired of the stagnation.
Making up my mind, I got off the couch, grabbed the letters, and went into the bathroom. Using a cigarette lighter I lit each letter one by one and let it burn all the way down to my fingertips before dropping it in the sink. I went through the entire collection, consigning the past to a funeral pyre. The entire bathroom was filled with smoke by the time I was finished, and my eyes were bloodshot. It didn’t bring the sense of relief I thought it would. Still, I had committed myself to a course of action and would follow it to completion.
I collected all the ashes from the sink and put them back into the canister. I sat with that can of ashes and waited for the sun to rise. When the first rays of light touched the world I started my trip. I walked back to that spot between the hills where we had spent the spring day that now seemed to have been an eternity ago. Autumn was now in full sway; the grass was no longer green. Everything was brown, more like stalks than foliage. The sky was dark gray, warning that rain was on the way. The wind whipped my hair around my face, and the trench coat I was wearing made a sound like the sail on a pirate ship as it flapped behind me.
Using the lid of the canister I began to churn up the earth on the spot that would have been beneath us that day. I was on my hands and knees, digging in the rich soil and sprinkling pumpkin seeds like some demented creature in an ancient children’s tale. When I finished, I sprinkled the ashes of the love letters over the seeds, then covered it all up with dirt. I knew it was awfully late in the year to be planting anything, but I was hoping for a miracle. Pumpkins are pretty hearty and can withstand frost.
I don’t know if they grew or not because I never returned to the spot. I left the empty canister there and walked away. I was tempted to go back a couple of years later, just to see what the scene looked like. I fantasized that pumpkins would still be growing there, the descendants of the ones I had planted and fed with ash. Perhaps they still are, decades later. The thought pleases me. It would be a mark I left on the world that the winds of time had not worn away. Perhaps when you sit down to carve a jack-o’-lantern this year, or are enjoying a piece of pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving dinner, it’ll be with one of my magick pumpkins that has made its way to your table. I’ll be part of the festivities by proxy.
My life seemed to have no point. I went on living because that’s what my body was used to doing. I drifted from one day to the next, not really caring about anything. I began sleeping with someone else just because she was there.
Domini was a transfer student from Illinois, where she had been living with her dad. She came to Arkansas in the middle of the school year and moved in with her mother. Since her parents’ divorce she’d alternated living with one and then the other.
I was sitting through some sort of civics class when she first walked in. Deanna was sitting behind me (we were still together at the time), and two friends, Joey and Jamie, were sitting on my right. The teacher was a bad-tempered Italian man who had just finished lecturing us on how we’d have time to finish our homework if we weren’t out riding around and “partying” every night. I pointed an accusing finger at Joey and voiced a loud “That’s right,” only to have him do the same back at me.
Deanna laughed, and the bad-tempered Italian said, “Look at Damien, pointing them out.” He gave me a narrow-eyed look to let me know his comment had been directed at my crew. There was a knock on the door and he stepped out into the hallway. The class erupted, as it always did when there was no disciplinarian in sight. When he came back in, Domini was with him. He introduced her as Alia and told everyone she’d be part of the class from now on. Joey shivered as though he found her repulsive. I paid very little attention. She was a red-haired girl with green eyes who looked strangely like Axl Rose in the “Welcome to the Jungle” video. She was dressed in jeans and a denim jacket. I turned back to Jamie and Joey and continued to discuss where we would go that night once Jamie picked us up, just as we had been doing before the teacher caught us. I didn’t give Domini another thought for several months.
I encountered her out of school for the first time about a month after Deanna and I had broken up, while I was on one of my Forrest Gump walkathons. Jason was with me and we were walking through a store a couple of miles from Lakeshore. Domini was there with another girl. I never did understand why she used her middle name, Alia, at school and Domini at home. At school she seemed painfully shy—she never talked, and kept to herself. At home she was a little more outgoing. The four of us began talking and ended up at the nearby apartment complex where Domini and the other girl lived. A guy who lived there seemed to have an open apartment policy, because his front door stood open to let the breeze in and people seemed to come and go as they pleased. I figured he was a friend of Domini’s because she wandered in and started talking to him as if she had just left. Jason and I followed.
I sat in a chair minding my own business and staring blankly at the television screen while other people talked, drank beer, teased each other, or stood at the door, shouting to people in the pool outside. I didn’t care about any of it; this was not my place and I did not fit in. I could tell Jason was just as uncomfortable. The only people I spoke to were Domini and her friend, who introduced herself as Jennifer. We weren’t there long before Jason and I got up to leave. Domini tried to get us to stay, but we said Jason had to check in at home. She wanted us to come back later, and I said I would, even though I had no intention of doing so. As we were walking home Jason asked, “You’re not really going back, are you?” My answer was “Of course not.” In the end I didn’t have to, as she came to me.
That night I was alone in my room with the lights off. The radio was on and I was staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t sleep much at night anymore because that was when the hollow, empty feeling was the worst. At night there’s nothing to hold your mind to the earth, and you spend the entire time falling into an abyss. The only cure is the rising of the sun. I was following my usual routine of waiting for daylight when my mother opened the door and told me someone was there to see me.
When I entered the living room, Domini stood looking back at me. She knew people who knew where I lived, and had taken it upon herself to come calling. It was late and she stayed only for about fifteen minutes, but before she left I kissed her. I don’t really know why; I guess I felt like it was expected of me. I was still in mourning and felt no desire for her. In hindsight I know I did it for the same reason I walked nonstop—because I didn’t know what else to do, and doing something was better than doing nothing.
There wasn’t much of a courtship, no scenes of seduction. We started sleeping together two days later. It took my mind off things and gave me something to do on autopilot. It was something to lose myself in, and we established a r
outine. Every day Jason and I would go hang around the apartments where she lived, or she would come to Lakeshore. Jason and I did a great deal of “hanging around” and must have appeared to be pretty shady characters.
Perhaps Domini saved my life, just because I needed someone to be near me then. I didn’t want to be alone where I had to think. We had some fun moments together, but when I ask myself if there was ever a burning love for her in my heart I must be honest and say no. Domini is a good person, straightforward and loyal, and she doesn’t play games. She keeps things simple and never makes life complicated the way so many people love to do. Maybe I praise her so it doesn’t seem so harsh when I say I was never in love with her. She was and still is a friend of mine.
One other thing of interest happened at this time. I heard a piece of information that wasn’t meant for my ears and committed the only act of violence I’ve ever been guilty of. Early one morning I stood talking to a couple that Deanna and I had been close to, Josh and Lisa. Lisa let slip that Deanna had performed sexual favors for another young man while still with me.
If my wounds had started to develop scabs, they had suddenly been ripped off. This was a “whole ’nother story,” to quote Matt. Lisa immediately knew she had made a mistake, and if I weren’t so white she would have seen the blood drain from my face. I knew just where this young man would be, so I turned to go find him. I could feel fire in my blood and a gleam in my eye that let me know I was alive. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been dying inside until I felt that flame of life. I had no plan and no idea what I was going to do; I just let the current carry me.
I approached him from behind and saw something I hadn’t planned on—Deanna was standing with him. This was new. She must have realized I knew by the look on my face. I was hurt and mad as hell, and it must have been obvious, because as I walked down the hall many people stopped and turned to watch. I still don’t think my course was unalterable, even at that point. What pushed me over the edge was seeing her glance nervously at him and say, “He’s behind you.” I felt a world of betrayal come crashing down on me. She didn’t say, “Damien’s behind you.” She said, “He’s behind you,” like it was something they had been expecting. I knew the whole story when I heard those words.
“Hey!” I screamed at his back. The moment he turned around, I was on him. He was bigger than me, and I’d never been in a real fight in my life, but he wasn’t expecting the pure, raw fury that came from being hurt the way I had been. It happened so fast that all he could do was try to ward me off. He backed up, trying to escape what must have seemed like a cyclone, and tripped over his own feet and fell. I went down on top of him and about twenty people jumped in to pull us apart. As they pulled me away I desperately tried to hang on to him, grabbing at him, and left scratch marks across his face.
Later there was a rumor that I had tried to pull his eye out, but it wasn’t true. I was just trying to hang on to him. This rumor spread and grew with time, darkening my reputation. Or as they say in prison, “casting a shade on my character.” I was suspended from school for three days over this incident.
I regretted it almost as soon as it was over. It wasn’t the guy’s fault. I’ve wanted to apologize to him ever since, but haven’t seen him in many years. I truly am sorry, though, and I wish I could take it back.
Ah, but talking about such things tends to depress me, and a man in my shoes can’t afford to become depressed. And we are talking, you and I. Just like old friends. Who else would I be telling my life story to? Let us now skip ahead to when things became more cheerful, however briefly.
I had one of the greatest teachers to ever lend his skill to the realm of academic learning. His name was Steve Baca, and he taught physical science. What made him so interesting and effective was that he didn’t stick to a script or enforce rote memorization. He made you think. Sometimes he would hand us a video camera, assign a certain scientific principle to us, and then we had to invent and conduct our own experiment, while videotaping the whole thing. Instead of grading us himself, the entire class would watch the tapes and grade one another. He showed us movies like The Manchurian Candidate and introduced us to the music of Pink Floyd. Sometimes we’d take the day off and play a quick game of baseball. This is a guy who made you want to go to school. He could also tell a joke that appealed to the teenage mind, a task most adults aren’t up to. He was open to any topic you cared to discuss, and he would give advice. You don’t find many teachers like that.
It was in one of his classes that Deanna came back to me. Mr. Baca had sent us out to work on one project or another, and he assigned Deanna and me to the same team, along with three others. It’s one of the times that are fixed crystal clear in my mind. We all went into the gym, and one guy operated the video camera while another guy and girl interviewed the janitor. I was sitting on the stairs and looking out a back door that had been propped open. Summer was just arriving and the sunlight was so bright it dazzled the eyes. There was just the slightest breeze blowing in. Deanna came and sat next to me, and I was scared to move or say anything, lest she move away like a frightened deer. My throat closed up so I could barely breathe, and I wanted to cry. This was the closest she’d been to me since she left me.
“Want to talk?” she asked.
“About what?” I managed to croak. I knew damned well what. My heart beat like it was trying to escape my chest.
“Why did you do that?” she asked, referring to the fight that had taken place almost a month ago by this time. We hadn’t spoken since. I shrugged, not knowing what to say. We talked about other things for a while—the guy, who was now her boyfriend, and Domini, who was now my girlfriend. She asked me whether or not I still wanted to be with her.
If I’d known then what I know now, I’d have run for my life. I didn’t know, though. “Yes,” I said, almost hissing the word, hoping she could sense the force and determination behind it. She nodded her head as if she’d just made a decision, then without another word left me sitting there. What did this mean? Was she coming back to me?
I never even came close to sleep that night. I felt like I was on the cusp of something big. The next morning Jason stopped by and we walked to school together. My nerves were too jangled for me to be much of a conversationalist.
Deanna was standing there waiting for me when I arrived, and she indicated that she wanted to talk to me alone. I told Jason I’d see him later and followed her over to what used to be “our corner.” She was crackling with happiness as she told me she had dumped the other young gentleman. She said that since she had been the one to mess things up, she wanted to fix them properly. In a very official tone she asked if I would take her back.
I should have run like I was on fire. I should have shaved my head and taken a vow of celibacy. I should have instructed this raven-haired package of pain to go bugger herself. I did none of the above. Instead I crushed her to me, buried my face in the top of her head, and inhaled deeply. Her face was against my chest and she said she was breathing my scent. When I asked her what she smelled, her response was “home.”
She asked if I’d broken up with Domini, and I explained that I’d yet to see her, so I hadn’t been able to. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at me through narrowed eyes, but there was no real anger or jealousy, because she knew there was no competition.
Did I seek out Domini that night and tell her that it was over? Indeed I did. All was right with the world and I cared about nothing else. Domini has earned the right to call me an asshole many times over. I could tell her heart was broken and I offered no comfort. I couldn’t get away from her fast enough, because I was living in denial. I wanted to believe the split with Deanna had never happened, the tryst with Domini had never taken place. Because I knew that a vase that has been broken, even if it’s been glued back together, is never the same.
Eleven
Sleep deprivation is a direct result of the lights. They turn the lights off every night at ten-thirty. Then they’re
turned right back on at two-thirty, when they start to serve breakfast. If you could manage to fall asleep the moment the lights went out, then sleep through all the guards’ activity, you would still get only four hours of uninterrupted sleep. It’s not possible, though. Doors slamming, keys hitting the floor, guards yelling at one another as if they’re at a family reunion—it all wakes you up. During the four hours when the lights are off you can expect to be awakened at least once an hour. The activity continues throughout the day, with the addition of bright, fluorescent lights. Any attempt at a nap leads to further frustration. You can never sleep very deeply here anyway, because you have to stay aware of your surroundings. Bad things can come to those caught off guard. The strain of keeping one eye open wears you down.
When Death Row was housed in Tucker Max, we at least had control of our own light. It was an older building, and each cell had a wall-mounted fixture with a bulb you screwed in to turn on and unscrewed to turn off. You had to be quick about it, or it would burn your fingertips.
One of the first things I learned when I arrived was how to cook on a 100-watt lightbulb. This is accomplished in one of two ways. The first is by using the bulb directly, as a heat source. To use the bulb like an oven, you first cut the top off a soda can with a disposable razor blade. You then fill the can with whatever you want to cook—coffee, or leftover beef stew, for instance. You make certain the can is completely dry, not a single drop of water on it, and then balance it on the lightbulb. After twenty or thirty minutes, whatever is in the can will be hot enough to burn your mouth. You have to be absolutely certain the can is dry, because the bulb will explode in your face if water drips on it. You can always tell when someone has made this mistake—the explosion sounds like a shotgun blast.
Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row Page 12
