5 Minutes

3rd August 1989

Dear Mamma

I hope this letter finds you and Josie well. I must admit I find this hard; I’m somewhat of a loss at what to say. But of all the things I could think to do within this crack of time; looking down at my hands for the final time contemplating the crime they committed, gazing into my reflection to see what sort of man I have become, staring up into the night sky and letting the moonlight take me away...even for a last quiet second. Of all of these choices, I could only think of writing this letter. Maybe it’s for you, maybe for me so I can feel I haven’t left this world without leaving a trace of myself, and the truth within it. I can’t quite comprehend what is going to happen to me, you would assume I’ve had enough time to prepare, for I have had eight long years to come to terms with the inevitable.

I must admit despite what has happened I have never stopped missing you or Josie. Twenty years old now, my little sister has become a lady. I still see her as that little girl with long sunshine hair, chestnut eyes large and filled with curiosity, innocence and life. I now imagine those eyes breaking hearts and causing quite a stir in town. It’s hard not being able to protect her from this world behind these iron gates. I spend a lot of time sitting with my memories like when you bought her first bike for Christmas. Riding it unsteadily through the ice, determined, and refusing to let any obstacle hold her back even I stood shivering like a wimp wishing she would get tired, hoping that soon she would come to her senses and return indoors. Heart of a bull, and fire in her eyes I only wish I knew that day what I saw. I remember how impatient I became on that Christmas morning and after half an hour I led her inside despite her protests, her five year old spirit dampened. Precious these times, in reflection I would now stand out in the snow forever.

I haven’t heard much news from town over the years, aside from developers have come and have torn down old Phil Wakes store and the other businesses for the new K-Mart. I met a guy in here, 402320; he wouldn’t give me his name. An old Negro, from two towns over and put in here for tax evasion, says I would barely recognise the place. Says the K-Mart is like a beacon drawing the townsfolk like night-flies, doesn’t sound too good to me. I don’t know why they put him in here with us; he has to sit beside some of the worst folk you are likely to ever meet. I have tried to look out for him, old and brittle with sentence stretching worst than that of a cold blooded killer it surely baffles me. He says it’s because he is a Negro, once upon a time I would have told him to hush his mouth and take his punishment like a man, now I am inclined to agree.

Over the years in here I have seen some fucked up stuff, bad stuff, pardon my language Ma I have seen what men can do to each other when they have nothing, it’s enough to make your blood run cold. Sometimes wonder whether being offered an exit is such a bad thing. Then I think of you and Josie, and I know that I am being surely punished, the rest of these dogs revel in their cages and I suppose make good of what they got.

It hasn’t been all bad, I made a few friends here; Nicholas 369548. He is a French immigrant and was my companion throughout my first few years, also Beef 284152, named due to his size but was in most respects a gentle giant. He came after he discovered his wife cheating, so I guess her family don’t share that opinion. In lock-down with four other s these guys were what kept me going, looked out for me. Shit bad food is a drawback, but in here good company and alliances are vital. In some way these guys became brothers to me, family to replace those I have lost. Their numbers are etched into my mind even to this day, my way of honouring fallen angels, memorials in memory.

The last twenty four hours have been pleasant, you tend to get treated well in these parts once it’s known you won’t be around for much longer. Farther Millan visited me yesterday, complete with prayer book and words of comfort. I requested a burger and fries and a chocolate milkshake as my last meal, apparently most people do before heading to Old Sparkie. With this knowledge I felt very unoriginal, began to wonder if I should have ordered steak, maybe caviar, not to eat but just to look at, I’ve never seen caviar before. The idea of it weird’s me out though.

I could add more about my time here but that isn’t the intention of this letter. Every day I have had to carry the heavy burden of knowing that in your eyes you have no son, and I can only imagine how Josie regards me in her older years. I wonder if she even knows I am alive, she was barely six when it all happened. It further saddened me in the courthouse, stood at the mercy of the judge the evidence weighed against me, all presented on the table before me and the jury, all true except one detail...my motivation.

I know you loved him mamma, but Jack Heweson was not a man that deserved his life. It didn’t deserve the readymade family waiting for him, he didn’t deserve you or to fill Pappas shoes. You sat with his relatives disregarding your own and spoke nothing but lies to the court. You defended his memory, plastered me as a villain and he as a victim. You even went as far to say he was an ‘honourable’ man.

Having time to reflect I wonder if it was your own guilt that possessed you to stand against your own son in the dock. The fact that you let him into our home, at our table, in your bed and the bed of your six year old daughter, my sister, your feelings of failure and embarrassment must have weighed heavy. When I saw him mamma, drunk with his white ass exposed spilling his sickness over her nothing would have stopped me. I only hope that what I witnessed him doing to Josie was the first and last time, and her young mind has forgotten, or at least forgiven. I only hope now she is a wonderful young woman not repeating your mistakes. Splitting Hewesons head like a watermelon, bursting open so his broken brain and sinful desires was one of the most gratifying experiences of my life. I never made much of myself mamma, but at that moment I felt I had a purpose. Whatever I had or hadn’t done, whatever mistakes I made and no matter how much time I wasted...it was all absolved for that moment made my every second of my thirty two years worthwhile.

That for all of this farce is the truth. I saw your face when I spoke about the events of that night on the dock, I prayed you were as drunk and as naive as you protested. I have no idea where you are or what direction your life has taken you since that fateful evening, again I just prey you have found happiness, taken control of your drinking and that Josie has got out of town and spread her wings. That bum town is no place for good people. But what don’t is done, I have no hard feelings for within my eight years in this cell I have been boundless, and within these last five minutes I feel nothing but love for my mother.

I have asked the Warden-Donald-to forward this letter to you; apparently you have been informed of the date of execution, from what I have been told you haven’t responded. This is all inconsequential to me now mamma.

The Officers have just informed me its time. I will leave you with the comforting words of Farther Millan:

'I have swept away your sins like the morning mists. I have scattered your offences like the clouds. Oh return to me, for I have paid the price to set you free' Isaiah 44:22

My everlasting love to you and Josie.

Woody
Prison Number 387960