by Amanda Knox
Corrado had arranged for us to wait in the airport’s VIP Lounge, and for even more than that. We drove in through a side entrance to the airport, went through private security, and, when we finally had to come out to face the public, had an escort through the airport hallways. We were a large group, walking quickly through the various terminals. But airport security surrounded Corrado, Mom, Steve, and me all the way to the lounge. In the meantime, people took out their iPhones and took pictures. I embraced Corrado.
My family gathered in the lounge. I ordered my first legitimate cappuccino in years, as I explained to my baffled little sisters how, in prison, to create foam for a cappuccino, we’d pour boiling hot milk into an empty two-liter bottle and shake it furiously. It never worked all that well.
Chris and a supporter who worked for the airline had secured us three business-class seats, so that I would be safe to relax on the plane, and family could be up there with me. Many journalists had managed to book last-minute seats on the flight, but the flight attendants, alerted to our situation, kept them from approaching the upstairs part of the plane.
Once on the plane, Deanna and I giggled together like little girls, poking at each other across the armrest. She fell asleep, but I still couldn’t even doze. I was wired. I spent a lot of time catching up in my mind with what had happened to me so far, since my acquittal. Everything was different. Everything was not prison. I had viewed the same countryside for years without ever seeing anything else, and now I could open my window shade and watch the clouds foam beneath us. The flight attendants were smiling and considerate. I watched Deanna sleep, curled up awkwardly even in roomy business class. Chris was across the aisle.
I searched for something to watch on the video screen on the seatback in front of me, and came upon a news report about my case. I felt myself go numb. This was a British report, and I was suddenly reminded of how big this was, of how many people knew about this and were following what was happening. I watched myself being led from the courtroom after my acquittal, and immediately my chest tightened. I took off Chris’s headphones and turned off the channel, struggling to breathe.
About an hour before we were due to arrive in Seattle, Mom came up from coach to switch seats with Deanna. She brought with her little notes from journalists on the plane. “They all seem very supportive,” Mom said, after we read the notes together. All were congratulatory in nature, and all were requests for interviews.
The sight of coming down over Seattle jacked my heart rate up again. I plastered myself against the window, almost in disbelief at how familiar the view was. It was so familiar that, for a brief moment, it felt as if I hadn’t been gone so long after all, as if my life hadn’t been irrevocably changed.
But after the plane had landed, it was back to the crazy rush and the new reality of the present. Coming out of the doorway of the plane, I was hit immediately by the smell—the wet earthiness of Seattle, especially in the fall, which was so completely different from the way Perugia smelled at any time of the year. I breathed in deeply. It was the first thing that truly made me realize I was home.
Our group was allowed to exit the plane first, and down onto the tarmac, where two large black vans were waiting for us. The vans drove us to a private area, where we were greeted by Seattle police officers. My heart clenched uncomfortably for a moment, but they smiled. They were there at our service, to escort us.
There, I met David Marriott and Ted Simon for the first time. David helped my family handle the media, and Ted gave my family legal counsel. I recognized them both immediately, from the descriptions of them my family had pieced together for me. David looked like Santa Claus. He smiled and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me up against his belly, his voice joyful. “It’s so good to finally meet you!” he cheered. Ted looked like a smartly attired, wily fox. He had thick, wavy gray locks and was wearing impressive black cowboy boots with his well-fitting suit. We also embraced, and he spoke energetically. “It’s such an honor! How’re y’doing? How y’feel? It’s so great!”
David and Ted explained that there was a press conference about to happen outside. Ted and my parents were going to say a few words and take questions. “Now, if you think you can do it, you may also give the press a little something to sit on,” David said. “Then maybe they’ll be more inclined to leave you in peace for a while. Something like that?”
I felt it was the right thing to do. We walked through the doors and onto a dais that had been set up in front of a bank of cameras. My imprisonment and release from prison had never been a private affair. I gathered myself, feeling that I would be able to pull through without getting choked up.
I had expected to confront the same sort of impersonal cameras I had shied away from in the courtroom. Instead I was received with cheers. I was blown away by the show of support.
I said what first came to mind, often pausing to try to think of what to say next.
“My family is reminding me to speak in English, because I’m having problems with that. I’m really overwhelmed right now. I was looking down from the airplane and it seemed like everything wasn’t real. What’s important for me to say is just thank you to everyone who has believed in me, who has defended me, who’s supported my family . . . My family is the most important thing to me right now, and I just want to go and be with them, so, thank you for being there for me.”
I couldn’t stay focused, and ended up backing off from the dais. I could have said so much more about the many lives forever marked by the events of the past four years. I wish I had said something about Meredith and her family. I wish that I had expressed things more eloquently. But I had been unprepared. I was unprepared for my freedom. I was unprepared for how unfamiliar this all felt.
And still, I was home.
Author’s Note
The writing of this memoir came to a close after I had been out of prison for over a year. I had to relive everything, in soul-wrenching detail. I read court documents and the transcripts of hearings, translated them, and quoted them throughout. Aided by my own diaries and letters, all the conversations were rendered according to my memory. The names of certain people, including friends, prisoners, and guards, have been changed to respect their privacy.
So much has been said of the case and of me, in so many languages, in so many books, articles, talk shows, news reports, documentaries, and even a TV movie. Most of the information came from people who don’t know me, or who have no knowledge of the facts.
Until now I have personally never contributed to any public discussion of the case or of what happened to me. While I was incarcerated, my attention was focused on the trial and the day-to-day challenges of life in prison. Now that I am free, I’ve finally found myself in a position to respond to everyone’s questions. This memoir is about setting the record straight.
I’ve written about what brought me to Italy, how Meredith’s murder affected me, and how I got through imprisonment and a judicial process married to the media. I went in a naïve, quirky twenty-year-old and came out a matured, introspective woman.
I’m grateful to Robert Barnett, for graciously and securely holding my hand along this new, unfamiliar journey through publishing and the public.
I’m grateful to my publishing house, HarperCollins, for giving me the opportunity to be heard. Tina Andreadis, Jonathan Burnham, Michael Morrison, Claire Wachtel—thank you for believing in me, for supporting me, for your ideas and your care.
I wouldn’t have been able to write this memoir without Linda Kulman. Somehow, with her Post-it Notes and questions, with her generosity, dedication, and empathy, she turned my rambling into writing, and taught me so much in the meantime. I am grateful to her family—Ralph, Sam, Julia—for sharing her with me for so long.
I can only attempt to recognize and thank all the sources of support my family and I received over the course of our battle for justice in It
aly. I’m grateful to everyone who gave their time, their words, and their means to support us.
Don Saulo and the prisoners of Capanne, who appreciated me for who I am, supported me through many a moment of crisis, and taught me so much about humanity.
Rocco Girlanda and Corrado Daclon, for visiting, for supplying the books and music to keep my mind active during imprisonment, and for the help they provided getting me home from Italy.
Dr. Greg Hampikian, Dr. Saul Kassin, and Steve Moore for their advocacy, their expertise, and their friendship.
David Marriott and Theodore Simon, for their guidance and generosity.
Professor Giuseppe Leporace and the Seattle Prep community, for their dedication as educators to my mind and heart, despite the criticism.
My family and friends, for coming together in my time of need, for overcoming the unknown, for saving my sanity and my life.
And finally, Luciano Ghirga, Carlo Dalla Vedova, and Maria Del Grosso, for defending and caring about me as if I were one of their own.
About the Author
Amanda Knox was convicted of murder in Perugia, Italy, in 2009. In 2011, the conviction was overturned, and she was acquitted of the charge of murder. In March 2013, the Italian Court of Cassation annulled the acquittal and ordered a new review of the case. She now lives in Seattle, her hometown, and is studying creative writing.
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Credits
Cover photo by Yolanda Perez
Cover design by Robin Bilardello
Map copyright © 2013 by Springer Cartographics LLC.
Copyright
The names and identifying characteristics of some of the individuals featured throughout this book have been changed to protect their privacy.
WAITING TO BE HEARD. Copyright © 2013 by Amanda Knox. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
All photographs courtesy of the author unless noted otherwise.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
EPUB Edition © MAY 2013 9780062217226
ISBN 978-0-06-221720-2 (Hardcover)
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