Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row Read online

  I am scared of some things—some people—some places—but I’m still intrigued with fear. It’s essential. I want to poke and prod it. For some reason—I am afraid of my teeth being smashed into my gums. So I’m careful walking up stairs and around baseballs and such.

  I’ll be thinking of you till next time,

  Lorri

  May 6, 1996

  Dear Lorri,

  Of course I will read Hopscotch. You said it’s your very favorite book, and I am curious to see why you love it. Actually, I guess I’m more curious about you, and maybe I can gain a better insight on you by looking at things you hold close or dear. I think I have a little better “feel” on you now. You seem exotic to me. I mean, you love classical music, you like “real” movies not just “splatter films” like most people I know, and the books you read have “class” and “culture.” You seem like a very gentle soul, caring and educated. It’s very beautiful, but at the same time it makes me feel like such a redneck. My friend Rick from New Orleans says I’m not a redneck, I’m a “southern gentleman,” but I still feel like nothing more than a redneck.

  You’ve lost 5 pounds due to worrying about me? You’ve got to stop that, I’m fine. I actually feel a little better lately. Most people spend their entire lives running from themselves. But when you’re locked in a small room all alone for a few years, you have no choice but to face yourself, and stare down the truth, and look into the face of your “inner demons.” Then, either you overcome them, or they overcome you. There are only two possible outcomes—either you find some sense of inner peace, or you go down a long, lonely path of self-destruction. I won’t say that I don’t still have my bad days, because I do, but I think that for the most part, I’m at peace with myself. There’s no longer a war going on inside my head.

  I’m including a visitation form in this envelope, in case you’re ever down this way. Just fill it out and send it to the address at the bottom, and I’ll let you know as soon as it is approved. One day, hopefully, maybe I’ll even be able to come visit you. You could show me around. New York is one of the few places I’ve never lived. I’ve always wanted to see the Chelsea Hotel, which is supposed to be haunted by Sid Vicious and Janis Joplin.

  Well, I guess I’m going to close up for now, but I can’t wait to hear from you again. I love hearing from you.

  Forever here,

  Damien

  May 5, 1996

  Dear Damien,

  You know, I shaved my head after a devastating relationship, too. And like you, the pain almost killed me. Instead of walking in the sun, I would drive in my car for hours and days, pull off, sleep, hardly knowing where I was. This went on for weeks. That kind of pain is like no other. It’s because of that situation that I ended up in New York. It was the hardest thing I could think of to do—I didn’t know anyone here, I had no place to live, and very little money. It worked, though.

  I believe in reincarnation, sometimes; however, it is very, very difficult to see things from a broader perspective—I mean over time—and lives that we have no memory of—learning from past mistakes and triumphs. In some ways, it makes some moments in life bearable. It’s the only reason I’ve been able to understand or accept this strong feeling I have for you—for your well-being. It’s one of the most bizarre things that I’ve ever felt—but at the same time, perfectly natural. I felt like I knew you after that movie. Even as if we had talked before. And even though it has made me into a weepy woman—nobody knows what’s wrong with me—Damien, I’m glad it’s happened.

  You are incredibly inspiring.

  OK, I’m going to stop for now. I feel as if I could write you every day. I feel as though I have so much to tell you.

  Most of it is pretty silly—I really try not to overwhelm you with my prattling away.

  But if you want to hear stories—let me know.

  I can’t wait to hear from you.

  Your friend,

  Lorri

  May 3, 1996

  Dear Lorri,

  The relationship you have with your friend from Paris sounds wonderful. I have a friend kind of like that. As soon as we saw each other, it was like, “Even though I’ve never met you, I know you!” It is a great experience.

  Yes, I am also very obsessive. Once I become attached to something, it’s like I can never truly walk away from it. I tend to keep it very close to my heart forever.

  My parents? Actually, I never got a chance to know my father during childhood. I never knew him. We have just started to communicate over the past 4 or 5 years. It’s a strange experience when you’re meeting your father and he has to ask you who you are. I was raised by my mother and grandmother for the most part. They would do anything to help me, and my grandmother always looked at me as if I were an angel. I was very close to my grandmother, and when she died 2 years ago, it tore me apart. I couldn’t even go to the funeral. Yep, I’m the oldest. I have a sister who is 19 and a half brother who is 10.

  If I could study anything, what would it be? All the world religions. That’s what occupies my time now. I read everything I can get my hands on, especially reincarnation and meditation. I found that at their core, all religions teach the same principles. You mentioned reincarnation in your last letter. If you stop and think about it, it’s the only reasonable explanation for a lot of things, like different types and classes of people, why some live in poverty while others are rich, etc. Or people who have phobias—like being buried alive or drowning or high places.

  I laughed when I read about your white wig. I could see it as plain as day in my mind, and it was hilarious. When I was young, I was obsessed with cowboys. Everywhere I went, I wore my hat and guns, and I wouldn’t even look at the television unless it was a Gene Autry or Roy Rogers movie. I was also horrified of taking baths, because I was positive I would go down the drain. My mom used to have to fight me to get me into the bathtub, because I would be kicking and screaming. We also had a Dixie cup dispenser in the bathroom, and I would lock the bathroom door and use all the Dixie cups to drink water out of the toilet because we thought it “exciting.”

  I also used to think I was really loved, but the longer I’m here, the more people drift away and forget me. Oh well, now at least I know who my true friends are.

  I don’t think you “prattle away.” You keep me company. Yes, I would love to hear stories. I’m interested in your life. It’s like I said before, you seem exotic.

  Trust me, my entire life is out of sync, so why should our letters be any different?

  The way you described how you felt after a bad relationship hit me close to home. I know exactly how you felt, because I was in complete agony. The end of that relationship was the most devastating, miserable thing I’d ever felt in my life, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. No amount of physical pain could ever amount to that burden of emotional pain. There’s no way to describe how it hurt. It took me a few years to get over it.

  Well, I guess I’m going to close up for now and go take a shower. It’s been a couple of days, so I guess I need one. I can’t wait to hear from you. I’ll be here waiting.

  Your friend,

  Damien

  May 1996

  Dear Damien:

  I have told my friends about you, as you already know, so I was telling my very close friend Susan—she lives in the apartment above me . . . that you can only receive paper. Friday evening I was reading a letter that had just arrived from you—and she said—Oh! I have a present for him! So she pulled this out of her bag (the paper thing enclosed). It’s from Chinatown and you have to blow it up. I thought it was so sweet that she was thinking about you and got it. Susan is the best. I think the thing that makes me happiest in life is that I have been blessed with the sweetest people around me. People with hearts of pure gold.

  It is so funny right now—here I am—on the grass—drinking water with my cat—the neighbors to
the left are playing basketball—loudly—and the ball keeps coming into our garden—the neighbor to the right is sitting outside strumming a guitar (nicely). The neighbor in front is playing Dominican music. And my head is miraculously clear.

  Damien, will you tell me one of your favorite memories?

  Thinking of you,

  Lorri

  May 14, 1996

  Dear Lorri,

  One of my favorite memories? Well, when I was 16 years old, I was very much in love. Her name was Deanna. One day we skipped school together. We walked for miles until we found a place that was absolutely beautiful. There were hills, and the grass was so full and soft and green, the sky was grey and overcast. We spent hours talking, telling each other things that we had never told another living soul, our worst fears, our most wished-for dreams, and we made love several times. I never suspected that that would be the last time I ever saw her. There’s no way that words can ever do this memory justice, but it’s a day that has returned to haunt me every day of my life.

  Friends forever,

  D.

  May 1996

  Dearest Damien,

  There is no doubt in my mind that you are a very strong part of my past. No doubt. All I had to do was see you, hear you speak—and I was gone. Literally. Some door opened in my head and all I knew was—“You have got to locate this person—contact him—it is crucial.” I was so scared you weren’t going to receive my letters. I know this is real—nothing in my life has been quite so real.

  It’s funny, what you said about wondering what I do at night—every night (I usually go to sleep at 12:00 or so) I whisper good night to you and wonder what you are doing! I sometimes hope you can feel me thinking of you—but I’ve never tried thought transfer.

  Does NY scare me? Well, really—no. I feel so strong here sometimes. No one even looks at you funny. I feel completely accepted. Sometimes I let the hair grow on my legs and under my arms and no one even looks—when I was in West Virginia last week, everyone looked. I can’t stand that. New York after a while is very accepting. It’s exciting, too. But at the same time—it’s perfectly possible to live a “quiet” life.

  I know I’ve asked you already so if you don’t want to tell me—say, “Lorri—I’m just not going to tell you.”

  But . . . when is your birthday? Mine is July 16th.

  I have grey eyes and I weigh 120 pounds and stand 5´6˝. My hair is brown. I’m prone to freckles—have no birthmarks and am extremely fair.

  There.

  Affectionately,

  Lorri

  May 21, 1996

  Dear Lorri,

  With everyone who I ever become close to, I leave part of myself with them, and I carry part of them with me. I find it to be a very beautiful, if slightly weird, experience. I guess you can tell my hands are shaking now, my writing is not too good. This is along the lines of what I was trying to say in my last letter, about meaningful conversations, and examining each other’s thoughts, ideas, love, fears, and dreams.

  Just relax and let things flow. Some memories stay with us all our lives.

  Yes, the full moon makes me feel wonderful. When I am out on those nights, I can hardly even stand to wear clothes. I just want to strip down to my bare skin, and throw my head back and laugh with the pure joy of being alive. It would make me want to just run and run and run, just celebrating and wallowing in the fact that I existed.

  I also used to do like you, I would sneak out, and sometimes I would go to the lake near my house and just sit silently watching the moonlight reflection on the water. Sometimes, I would also lie on a hill watching all the cars speeding over the overpass, thinking about where they were going, smiling to myself over the fact that they never even knew they were being watched. My favorite time was when it was so cold that I could see my breath. I love the cold. To me, there is no such thing as “too cold.”

  I never looked in anyone’s windows, but I used to go to a store a couple miles away from my house that was open 24 hours a day, where I would perch on top of a garbage can and just watch everyone coming and going. I’ve always thought human beings were the strangest, most beautiful creatures. Once I even told my mom what I had been doing and she wouldn’t believe me, because she said there was no way that someone could squeeze through the tiny window in my bedroom (it was really tiny).

  I always went alone, because I knew no one else would understand. They would have asked questions like, “How long do we have to just sit here?” Or “Why are we doing this?”

  What am I afraid of? The only thing I can think of that I am scared of is the same thing I’m attracted to—people! Sometimes they can be so cold, cruel, and mean, and it really hurts me. It’s worse than physical pain.

  Your friend forever,

  Damien

  June 14, 1996

  Dearest Lorri,

  Did you see Good Morning America? It was great! I know you said you don’t want to hear anything else about me from the media, but it’s so wonderful down here now. Everyone is talking about it, and they believe me! It’s beyond words, it’s just too perfect. Our lawyers were even on the radio this morning, and everyone who called in was supporting us! It’s such a change, I can’t even believe it.

  Also, some of the guards just came to my door talking about Paradise Lost. They believe me! They believe I’m innocent and they said all of Arkansas was saying the same thing! This is so great. They were also laughing, because they said if someone saw the film, and then looked at me, they wouldn’t recognize me. I asked them, “Why not?” and they said because in the movie I looked fat and bigger than I am, and I had short hair. One of them said, “Now you look like a bushman, you’re as skinny as a stick, and you’ve got hair halfway down your back.” Lorri, this is so great. I knew something like this would happen, but I still wasn’t prepared for it. It’s so overwhelming.

  You really, really shocked me when you said that you were once married. The story about you and David, in a way it was very beautiful, but it was also so sad. I know the pain he feels, he still loves you so much that it hurts, but I also know how you felt, it’s like you said—you had to have him completely or not at all. Yes, it’s like you said—those feelings can be so very beautiful, but they’re always so painful. It’s like being in heaven and hell at the same time.

  Yes, I know what you mean about communicating like this, and it is wonderful. It’s sort of like both of us is pure thought, we have no form, just like two energy forms who meet to exchange thoughts, emotions, feelings, ideas, and information, only to discover that they are really extensions of each other, always connected, but just beginning to realize it. I’ve been thinking constantly now. You know the book you sent, The Holy Kaballah? Well, people who have made really in-depth studies of it say that it teaches that before a soul is born into the flesh, it is whole and complete—neither male nor female—then when it’s ready to be reborn in the flesh, it is split in half—male and female—and born into 2 bodies. Maybe that’s the case of you and me, maybe we were once “one.” I don’t know, but it would describe the way you explained how you think of me—neither young or old, male or female, just part of “us.”

  I got a letter from my mom, and she said she’s thinking of moving to Tennessee, up in the hills away from everything and everyone. She says she feels really at peace up there, with nothing to distract her. I envy her. Anyway, she wants to know my opinion. I know it’s the best thing for her, but she already feels so far away, and she would be even farther. Why does everything always have to change? Why does nothing ever stay the same? I know that even I can’t stay in West Memphis forever, I have to move on, but I will miss it, and it will hurt to leave. I don’t know where I will go, I just know I’ll have to go west. I’ll stick a few things in a backpack and go until I find somewhere that feels right.

  Sending much love forever,

  Damien

  June 17, 1996 />
  Dear Sweetest Damien:

  I have just received your letter telling me of the positive reactions to Paradise Lost. I am so, so happy. Believe me, I want to see all the media in the world that will tell the world of your innocence or will change some minds and get you out of there. Oh, it’s such a good thing. I am so thankful that the movie was made. I knew it was going to help—I have a feeling it’s just the beginning. When you get out, I’m going to take you to Ireland as a celebration gift!! Wouldn’t that be great?!

  But Damien, please, please try to eat. Please, I can’t tell you how I began to cry so hard when I read that you only drink tea! You have to eat every day—you have to start. I know I sound like a mother hen, but if it helps any, think every day, “I’ll eat today for Lorri.” I mean it. You wrote in a letter recently about repaying me—and I scoffed at it—but now I know how you can “repay” me: Just eat. Try to keep yourself healthy. I know it’s hard—I know your life is hell right now. I know I write a lot of nonsense about bugs or worms or whatever, but I never forget where you are and how little I know about what you’re going through. It’s only when sometimes you tell me something like you weigh less than 120 pounds and you can’t eat solid food that I swing back to know you are hurting so badly and I feel so helpless. It makes me crazy sometimes. Please tell me you will try.