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

turned to steel. I knew I would keep my word to her no matter what.
    I barely slept that night: one moment I was excited about the potential adventure ahead, and the next I felt devastated about what I was leaving behind. This was a whole new life. I could leave my past behind like an old skin, something at one time I would have given anything for.
    When morning arrived, I got dressed and packed my things, because I would be staying in a motel that night. I love hotels and motels. There’s something exciting about them, even though you’re only sleeping. I hadn’t had a chance to go to one in many years—not since the last time my mother and father had been married.
    They arrived to pick me up in my father’s Dodge Charger, and I was impressed. Chrome mags, a nice paint job, and a top-of-the-line stereo system. I loved the car immediately. They asked me what I wanted to do, so we went to McDonald’s, where I saw some people I knew. They were in the high school band and were in Little Rock for some sort of competition, and by some amazing coincidence they had wandered into this very McDonald’s. When a girl named Becky asked what I was doing there, I informed her that I was out on a twenty-four-hour pass from the nearby mental institution. After she realized I was serious, she erupted into peals of laughter.
    We got a motel room, and my father and I went down to rent a VCR and some tapes. We got every Steven Seagal film they had, and went back to watch them. He already had all of these movies at home, and they were some of his favorites. I enjoyed myself more that night than I had in a very long time, even though there were things nagging at me. We ordered pizza, watched movies, and talked about what it was like in Oregon. They tried to please me and kept the curtains drawn and the air turned low so that the room was like ice. It was almost as if it were my birthday. They knew I’d been through hell lately and were being extra nice. I fell asleep early, emotionally exhausted.
    The next morning I had a breakfast of doughnuts before heading back to the hospital. Before they left, the doctor told my parents I would be discharged in twenty-four hours and they could pick me up. I never understood the point of having to come back for one more day, but it passed quickly enough. After saying good-bye to the other patients, I was on my way to Oregon.

Thirteen
    T he trip to Oregon took almost a full week, and I enjoyed every moment of it, even with a sadness in my heart that felt like a weight. I was leaving my home behind and I was more than a little scared that I’d never see anyone or anything I knew ever again. I cried so hard I couldn’t see the road before me until we were halfway through Oklahoma. I could tell it made my father nervous by the way he kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. After the first day I had exhausted my grief supply and could cry no more for a while. That’s when it became more fun.
    The trip took so long because we made it in my father’s car while pulling an orange U-Haul trailer. We listened to music all the way, alternating between my father’s collection and mine. The Eagles, Conway Twitty, and Garth Brooks were followed by Ozzy Osbourne, Anthrax, and Metallica, all played at ear-shattering volume. We ate every meal at roadside places and slept every night in cheap motels. This was the life I had loved as a young child, when my mother and father were together and we moved to a new state every month or so.
    My father was in rare form throughout the entire trip, and I laughed at his insanity until I lost my breath. He spent all of one morning pointing out the prairie dogs along the side of the road and around rest stops. With the grave air and facial expression of one imparting divine wisdom, he explained that I should keep my eyes open because if I saw someone run over a prairie dog I would then see all its friends run out and start eating it. The manner in which he relayed this tidbit of knowledge caused me to erupt into uncontrollable laughter. He looked at me for a moment before snickering, then abruptly stopped, and his eyes darted around as if he feared someone might be listening in. This made me laugh even harder because I could tell he had no idea what I found so funny.
    Watching my father interact with restaurant employees was an interesting and humorous experience in itself. It’s hard to put my finger on specific things, but when looking at the overall