Post Card Christmas

The Post Card Christmas
(WC=3,475)

         There’s got to be snow for Christmas--that is, if you’re going to have a post card Christmas. And, Lester really needed a post card Christmas this year. He wouldn’t be seeing another Christmas. That’s the unfortunate thing about knowing you have a terminal condition. It makes every annual event the last one of its kind. This time next year he would be dead.

         He didn’t deserve another Christmas. He was sure of that and so was the jury who brought in the guilty verdict. He had killed that woman as sure as he was sitting in his prison cell; he did it. He killed her by design, and it was no accident. She had done nothing to him to deserve to be killed. At the moment he did it, it just seemed to be the right thing to do. Oh, he knew now that it wasn’t. He sincerely regretted his poor decision, but, that girl was still dead nonetheless.

         Lester heard the hard mechanical clank of the gears of the big doors in the hall being opened. Like Pavlov’s dogs he rose to his feet and walked to the cell door to peer out the eight-inch by twelve-inch plexi-glass window in his cell door. It was on the half-hour; whatever the reason for opening the door, it was not a regularly scheduled event. Sitting in a cell all day long for years, you become attuned to the daily routine. Every clank and shuffle in the hall is associated with an appropriate time. The routine is all you have. Life on Death Row is pretty boring; breaks in the routine become significant events.

         Lester pressed his face up close to the window to see as much as he could of the hallway. He could see faces pressed in the other windows of the doors across the way. He heard muffled calls of men through the doors.

          “Hey, Warden, trade places with ya!” someone jeered down the hall.

         Lester saw the procession of people stop outside his cell. The Lieutenant walked to his door, slid back the talk hole and said, “Pettigrew, turn around and put your hands out the meal slot.”

         The slot slid open. Lester knew the drill. He backed up to the slot and stuck both hands through the slot as far as he could. He felt the handcuffs engage around his wrists.

          “Stand there; when I open the door step back through with one foot.”

         Lester heard the lock on the solid metal door engage and then swing open. Lester took one step back. He felt the shackle engage around his ankle.

         “Step forward and put your feet together.”

         He complied, and soon the other ankle was shackled. He waited for further instruction. He virtually did nothing on his own. He was told when to walk, where to walk, how long to stand there, when to return, when to go to sleep and when to wake up. Very few of the hours in the day were his own. But, because he had mechanically assimilated the routine into his system, he learned to do these things on autopilot. That left twenty-four hours of his day free in his mind. The monotony of the time almost drove him insane at times. Therefore, any break in the routine was welcome.

         “Step to the back of your cell and turn around and face the door; the Warden wants to talk to you.”

         Lester complied; when he turned around he was looking into the faces of the sixty-year-old warden and two prison guards. This was the first time he had met the warden. There was no need, previously. Lester’s mind quickly scanned the scenarios for this meeting. Had his sentence been commuted? Was he going to have a new trial? Had he forgotten the date scheduled for his execution and now here it was? In rapid fire action the scenarios played in his head.

         The warden spoke. “Pettigrew, you’ve been on death row for ten years now.”

         “Yes, sir,” Lester agreed. “I’ve about run out of time. My execution date is a couple of weeks away.”

         “Yes, I know. Six months ago when we calculated the new date, it fell on December 25th. We’ve never executed a man on Christmas day. We moved it out a couple of days.”

         “It doesn’t really matter, Warden. One day is as good as another.”

         “Maybe so,” the warden continued, “but we weren’t going to be the ones to do it on Christmas day. But that’s not why I’m here, Pettigrew.”

         “Go ahead and call me by my first name, Warden, that is if you don’t mind.”

         “Sure, Lester, I don’t mind. Well, anyway, the reason I’m here is that you have a visitor coming.”

         “Visitor?” Lester replied, somewhat surprised. “I’ve been here for ten years and haven’t had anyone except my attorney visit me; and that’s been someone different every time. Who’d want to visit me, Warden?”

         “Carolyn Williams,” the warden responded quietly. “She’s the little sister of the girl you murdered ten years ago. She’s the only one left in her immediate family. Her father couldn’t live with the strain of his daughter being murdered and killed himself several years ago. Her mother died of cancer early this year. She’s the only one left of that family. And, for some reason she wants to talk to you.”

         Lester shook his head in amazement and asked, “What good would that serve? I’ve got nothing to say to her, Warden. I can’t undo the thing I did to her sister. She’s just as dead today as she was on that night ten years ago. What good would it do?”

         “I don’t know, Lester. All I know is that she’s requested to talk to you. We can’t make you do it. All we can do is ask you. But, don’t you sorta think you owe this to her?”

         Lester stood silent for a moment, trying to make sense of his thoughts. Finally he spoke slowly, “Yeah—yeah, I suppose I owe her. OK, Warden, I’ll talk to her. When do we do this thing?”

         “Well, we’re setting it up right now. She’ll be here on the 24th, that’s a Saturday morning—somewhere around 8:30 in the morning. We’re setting up a special interview room for you.”

         “That’s Christmas Eve, Warden. Sure you want to do this then?”

         “We don’t have much choice, Lester. You’ve got another appointment three days later.”

         Lester chuckled to himself and responded, “Yeah, I suppose I do; kinda trying to forget that one.”

         “One more thing, Lester,” the Warden sternly began, “this girl is only eighteen years old. She’s the same age her sister was when you killed her. I don’t want you to do anything that will harm her in any way. You deal with her with respect, do you hear?”

         “I won’t do anything stupid, Warden. Don’t worry about me.” Lester responded and then added with a slight smile, “But, if I did, what are you gonna do? Put me in jail?”

         The warden’s face hardened as he responded, “I mean it, Pettigrew—no funny stuff. Do you understand?”

         Lester nodded at the warden in submission. There would be no funny stuff. He had no reason to be hurtful. He was curious now, and looked forward for the opportunity to meet this young lady.

         There is an official warrant of death issued to those who wait on Death Row. The warrant is not issued until several days before the execution. On the 21st of December, Lester was called into the Death Row captain’s office and informed of the official date of execution—December 27th. The next few days would be different. From now on, Lester would live in a special cell called a Death Watch Cell. This cell was surrounded on three sides by bars. It was open to continuous observation. From this time forward, he would be watched very closely. The State did not want him to be harmed before they had an opportunity to execute him. He spent the night of the 23rd fitfully; sleep was difficult. His surroundings reminded him that life was tenuous at best. His thoughts churned through his mind, unable to be sorted and unwilling to be resolved. Questions and doubts about his mortality assailed him, however, on the outside those who watched him were convinced he was handling things uneventfully, quietly, reservedly. There was little evidence of the internal tempest that raged in Lester’s soul.

         On the morning of the 24th, he opened his eyes thinking of that day ten years ago—the day he took Teresa Williams’ life. It was interesting that his mind could not remember his mother and father’s faces well, but he could see Teresa’s face vividly in his mind. She was a pretty girl, far too young and pretty to be working alone in a convenience store late at night. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. It didn’t matter who would have been behind that cash register, Lester would have killed them just the same. His fear of getting caught terrified him more than the morality of taking a life. For forty-seven dollars he shot and killed Teresa. Her only offense was to be there at that moment. Lester was apprehended within an hour of committing the crime. He had the gun, the money and no reasonable explanation of how he acquired either one of them. At his trial, it took the jury twenty minutes to convict him. The judge was only more than willing to sentence him to die.

         Teresa’s face came to him often lately. Perhaps it was the imminent fact of his own looming date with death that caused him to think of her so often. He was sure it was guilt. However, guilt was not new to Lester. In his short life of thirty-nine years he had done much to feel guilty about. Long before he walked into that convenience store and needlessly killed Teresa, he had been ignoring the guilt in his life. This was just another one—another failure. He had become good at shoving his guilt aside. It was what he did—how he survived. However, he could no longer push the image of Teresa’s face aside. It was ever present. He still clearly saw her smile as she greeted him and her terror as he took her life. But, it was the terror in her eyes he could not purge from his mind. And, the thing that tormented his soul, even today, was the fact that he was the one that put the terror there.

         By 8:30 Lester had cleaned up using his sink as a wash basin and his extra towels to wash and dry himself; he dressed in a clean change of clothes, with the orange shirt characteristic of inmates on Death Row. He was handcuffed, shackled, and led to the interview room. It was a long narrow room. In the middle of the room were two small desks facing each other and snugged up against a plexi-glass wall that bisected the room. There were louvers in the wall to assist the sound to filter through; however two microphones mounted on a long flexible pipe were the primary aid to conversation. The plexi-glass provided a barrier between inmate and visitor but permitted full view of each party.

         Sitting at the desk facing him, Lester saw a pretty young woman. He was somewhat shaken to realize it was the same face that came to him in the night--the same face that held such terror in her eyes from his actions. Carolyn was the image of her older sister. Lester physically controlled his shock as the young girl watched the guards unlock the shackles and handcuffs. The guards would remain in the room; the plexi-glass barrier provided more than adequate separation and protection for Carolyn.

         Lester settled into the chair behind the desk and leaned forward on the desk with his arms resting on the desktop.

         “I suppose you are Carolyn?” He spoke blandly.

         She nodded and returned, “I suppose you are Lester Pettigrew.”

         He nodded.

         “I never expected that I would meet any of you folks.” Lester spoke quietly. “I figured what I did could never be explained, and to say ‘I’m sorry’ just isn’t good enough. So, why bother?”

         “You’re right. ‘I’m sorry’ will never be good enough. You destroyed my family that night you killed my sister. My dad couldn’t take it and killed himself; my mom wasted away with grief and died of cancer.”

         Carolyn spoke with little emotion. It was apparent she had endured much over the years Lester had been waiting on Death Row. He realized she was in a prison of her own, a prison he had built.

         Carolyn continued, “You’ll never know what my life has been like since that night you killed Teresa. But, mostly you will never know how much I miss her.”

         Her voice broke and she quickly wiped a tear from her eye. She started to continue but she stopped, unable to find the right words. So, they sat there in silence. After a while, Lester broke the silence.

         Automatically, almost as a reflex Lester spoke. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

         It was the first time he had uttered those words. He had not intended to; however the innocence of the girl sitting across the table and the depth of her pain released the emotion he had hidden for so long. Those were the only words he found he could use; so, he said them again.

         “I’m so sorry.”

         Carolyn paused for the longest time and just stared at the man before her. She heard his words but was having difficulty associating the words with the man. She searched his eyes looking for the truth of the words. The moment was frozen in time as she stared at him. Lester did not look away. He yielded to her probing search of his soul.

         Finally, she spoke almost in a whisper, “I believe you.”

         Again, Lester’s world was rocked. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to hear those words. He would not ask her if she forgave him. He felt he did not deserve to be forgiven. No, just to be believed was more than he could ask for. He closed his eyes as he felt them fill with tears. He would not cry; he willed himself to not cry. He was conscious of her watching him.

         Lester took a deep breath and said, “Thank you.”

         She nodded and waited for him to continue speaking, if he wished.

         Lester continued. “You know, I can’t tell you why I did what I did. I just did it. I know it was wrong and can’t be undone.”

         Carolyn’s lip tightened as she fought to control her own emotions. She just nodded her understanding.

         They sat through another moment of silence, which was somewhat awkward but necessary. They both realized they had to be here even if they did not speak; they had to do this thing before it was too late.

         Carolyn continued, “That’s not the reason I came here today. I came to ask you another question.”

         Lester furrowed his brow as he asked, “Another question? What would that be?”

         Carolyn, who had been looking at her hands, returned her gaze to Lester as she continued, “Your attorneys have been in contact with me. They are trying to get your execution postponed. They tell me that an endorsement from me would be very helpful. In fact, they tell me it is critical for their success. They want me to say I forgive you for what you did and that it is my desire that you not die in that room a couple days from now.”

         Carolyn paused. She was searching for words that were hard to be found. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Still she waited.

         Lester, encouraged that someone was trying to stop his death and charged by a glimmer of hope, asked, “So, what did you tell them?”

         “I told them I didn’t know. I told them I’d have to ask you.”

         “What do you mean?” Lester asked.

         “I told them I was not going to be the one who decided if you should live or die. I was not going to hold the gun like you did as you killed my sister. It was not going to be my decision. I told them I would ask you what I should do?”

         “This is crazy!” Lester thought to himself. “Here sits my way out of here. This is my chance of getting off of Death Row. All I have to do is tell this girl to save me.”

         Lester’s mind raced. He sat on the edge of his chair and considered what he would say to Carolyn. He must be very careful how he phrased this. A chance like this would not come again. Yet, he delayed; he didn’t speak. He just searched her face. It was the same face that haunted him in his dreams. She was beautiful and so young. He realized he had taken so much from her. Why was she here? Was it to put a ghost to rest? Was she here to torment him? Was she real? He did not know. All he knew was she was the one who said, just moments ago, “I believe you.”

         Lester spoke slowly, “Carolyn, I want to live. However, I deserve the sentence that was given to me. I will not make your decision for you. What I will do is assure you that whatever you do, I understand. I am at peace with my destiny, whatever that may be.”

         Carolyn considered his answer and then quietly responded, “Thank you. I know what I must do.”

         For the first time that day, Lester smiled.

         They sat quietly in the room not speaking. They had nothing else to say to each other. And yet they knew the visit was not yet over. So, they waited in silence. Occasionally the guards shuffled in the background, waiting for a sign that the visit was finished.

         Eventually, Lester spoke, “What’s it like out there tonight?”

         Carolyn smiled and responded, “It’s snowing.”

         Lester chuckled to himself. “Really? I suppose we are going to have a white Christmas. Can you describe it?”

         “Well, I can try. When I came in the flakes had been falling for quite some time. They're big, round, moist flakes that smash on your face when they hit you and then stick there. The trees at the side of the road were beginning to coat over. The snow was layering the top side of the branches making plump accents of white, turning the trees into snow trees. People have begun to slow down. Driving is such a mess when it snows and people don’t really know what to do with it. Out in the fields it looks like a quilted white blanket. It is really beautiful. It’s like a post card.”

         As she described the snowy scene, Lester closed his eyes and allowed his imagination to paint the landscape Carolyn described. When she finished he slowly opened his eyes and smiled at her.

         “Thank you, Carolyn. Thanks for the gifts.”

         “What gifts?”

         Lester smiled at her. “You’ve given me a lot today; you’ve made it a good Christmas. And, you gave me my post card Christmas. Thank you.”

         “You’re welcome.”

         Carolyn rose from her chair. The visit was over; it was time for her to go.

         She continued, “You’ve given me a gift also. You’ve let me close a chapter in my life and left room there for new chapters. Thank you.”

         As Carolyn turned to leave, Lester stood and called out to her, “Carolyn?”

         She turned to face him.

         Lester asked, “What are you going to tell them? What are you going to tell my lawyers?”

         She smiled one last time as she said, “The right thing--I’m going to tell them the right thing.”

         Lester chuckled and returned, “Of course--that’s good enough for me.”

         He waited for the guards to approach and place the handcuffs on his wrists and the shackles on his ankles. He closed his eyes and recalled Carolyn’s description of the snow. He could hear her voice describe the flakes. He smiled contentedly as he savored his post card Christmas.