Life After Death: The Shocking True Story of a Innocent Man on Death Row

Will I Laugh Tomorrow When I Can’t Even Smile Today?” This became our routine.
    We’d been together for most of a year when the slip occurred. The problem was that one day we arrived back at school a few minutes later than normal, and her bus had already left. I had no idea, so I left her there and returned home. She had to walk home. Her mother asked her why she hadn’t told someone in the front office, so she could have gotten a ride. Instead of giving the typical teenage response of “I don’t know,” she said she had told someone, and they refused to help. Her mother promptly went to the school to complain, only to discover that her daughter had not been in school that day. That’s when the proverbial shit hit the fan.
    After Deanna told her mother the entire story, she was forbidden to ever have anything to do with me. She wasn’t even allowed to speak to me. They couldn’t stop us during school hours, but they made it impossible for us to meet once she was at home. I tried, though. I tried everything I could think of, but they weren’t stupid. They even informed school officials to call them if she was ever absent from school.
    We tried to work it out for months, but her parents were relentless, and it was like beating our heads against a wall. Early one foggy, gray morning Deanna met me and said she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t take the pressure her family was putting on her, so she was breaking up with me. This was the last thing I was expecting to hear, because all we had talked about were ways to make it work. We had never even discussed the alternative. I was in shock, and my mind was having trouble comprehending her words. When the pain came it was like being stabbed in the chest with a blade of ice. I said nothing, so there wasn’t a great deal of talking. She severed everything as quickly as a razor. “I can’t do this anymore.”
    I turned and wandered away like someone who’d been in an accident. “Wander” is the perfect word for what I did, because I didn’t really go anywhere. I just walked. Walked and walked and walked. It would become a hobby for me. I was the Forrest Gump of Arkansas.
    The nights were the worst. Every night I’d wake up racked with sobs because of the dreams. It was the same general dream, with slight variations: Deanna comes to me and says it was all a mistake, that she’s back now and the hurt will all be gone. Each one seemed so real that waking up would drive me almost to the point of madness.
    In addition to having to deal with this, I had to deal with Jack, who had quit his job and was always home. Not only did he never leave the house, he never left the couch. He festered with hatred and made everyone’s life miserable. The only time he spoke was to spew venom at someone, and he and my mother fought constantly. She complained of a new ailment every week because the stress was wearing her down. Jack always managed to make us the most miserable when it was time for supper. He’d sit at the table with a hateful expression on his face, daring anyone to speak. I just tried to stay out of his way, but it was impossible. He made sure everyone was as miserable as he was. It was hard to swallow a single bite, much less make it through an entire meal, when he was present. My sister later claimed that he molested her during this period, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time.
    I stayed out as much as possible. I didn’t really care where I was; I just drifted from place to place, hoping to dull the pain. I took up smoking because the nicotine helped me fall asleep at first. Later it would keep me up.
    Grief sometimes causes people to do strange things. It once caused me to plant a pumpkin patch. I didn’t tend it like a farmer or anything; I just left it to grow wild, like a baby raised by wolves. I had saved every love letter Deanna ever gave me, as if they were a priceless treasure. Perhaps they were, in a way. Over the years I’ve searched my brain trying to remember what words were inscribed on those pages, but I can only draw a blank. Whether the letters were playful, passionate, or filled with longing, I’ll never know. Not that it matters much now, but it just seems like I’d be able to remember something about them because I once thought they were so important.
    I needed to create a doorway through which I could enter the future and leave the past behind. I needed closure. I drifted through the days brooding and sullen, heartbroken