Sparring Partners(46)
“I don’t believe this. Here I am at the end and you’re still grading my papers.”
“I am not, Cody. I’m here because I care about you.”
This hits him hard and his knees almost buckle. He’s never heard this before. He walks to the bars, grabs two of them and sticks his face between them, as close as he can get. He whispers, “I care about you too, Miss Iris. I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Well, I am, and evidently I don’t have much time.”
“Neither do I.”
“So, what can we talk about?”
“How’d you get here?”
“I convinced Charles to drive me. He’s my new boyfriend.”
“What happened to Frank?”
“He died. I thought I told you that.”
“I don’t think so, but in all honesty, it’s not easy keeping up with all of your romances. You were quite fond of Frank, as I recall.”
“Oh, I’m fond of all of them, at least at the beginning.”
“There have been quite a few.”
“I suppose. To be honest, Cody, I was kind of tired of Frank. So far I’d say that Charles has far more potential. You know what they say. If you really want to know someone, just take a trip with them. Well, we’re in the middle of this trip, and so far so good.”
“Thank you, Miss Iris. I can’t believe you’ve come here. It’s a thousand miles, right?”
“Nine hundred and twenty-seven, according to Charles, who has this odd habit of counting everything. It’s sort of annoying but I haven’t said anything yet.”
“When did you leave Nebraska?”
“Around noon yesterday. Stayed in a motel last night, separate rooms of course, then drove all day today. I’ve done it before, if you’ll recall.”
“How could I forget? Eight, ten years ago. You showed up here and they wouldn’t let you in.”
“It was awful. My son Bobby drove me all the way down, our last road trip together I can promise you that, and they made us wait in this small, smelly room with no air-conditioning, it was August if I remember correctly, and then they told us to leave, rather abruptly. Said you had done something wrong and got put on probation and couldn’t have visitors. It was just awful.”
“And it was a lie. I’ve never been on probation. They didn’t like me because I kept suing them in federal court and kicking their butts. We had a terrible warden back then and he hated every one of us on death row. He somehow managed to make our miserable lives even worse.”
She takes a deep breath and looks around, trying to absorb the place. “So this is death row?”
“Smack in the middle of it. Twenty cells on this wing, twenty on the other, no vacancies anywhere. No room at the inn. Around the corner, behind the East Wing, known here affectionately by the guards as the ‘Beast Wing’ because that’s where they tend to put the nastier boys, there’s a small square addition known as the Gas House. That’s where they do the dirty work of killing us in private so the good Christian folks who love the death penalty don’t have to actually see it in action. I’ll be going there in less than two hours.”
As she listens she keeps looking around. “Well, I must say, first impressions are not very good.”
Cody takes a step back, releases the bars, and enjoys a good laugh. “It’s designed to be an awful place, Miss Iris.”
“And how long have you been here in this cell?”
“Fourteen years. I was fifteen when I was convicted, fourteen when I was arrested. Dead at twenty-nine, the youngest to be executed in this country since the Wild West days when they would string up anybody.”
“It’s a pretty depressing place. Could you ask to be moved?”
“Why? Where would I go? All the cells are the same. Eight feet by ten. Same rules, same food, same guards, same unbearable heat in the summer, same freezing cold in the winter. We’re just a bunch of rats trying to survive in the sewer and dying slowly every day.”
“You were just a baby.”
“No, I wasn’t a baby. I was a tough kid who’d been living in the woods for four years. I had no other place to live, except for the orphanage or another foster home. Brian found me and we escaped and lived the way we wanted for a few years. I wasn’t a baby, Miss Iris, but I was too young for this.”
“Do you feel safe here?”
“Sure. Death row is a very safe place, even though it’s full of murderers. We’re all locked down in solitary so there’s no one to fight, no one to hurt.”
“You said that in one of your letters.”
“What have I not said in my letters, Miss Iris? I’ve told you everything. And you’ve been pretty honest with me.”
“I have, yes.”
“So, if we assume we’ve already talked about everything, in our letters, what can we talk about now? We only have a few more minutes.”
“Did you save my letters?”
“Of course.” Cody quickly falls to his knees, reaches under his bunk, and pulls out a long, flat cardboard box filled with colorful envelopes. “Every one of them, Miss Iris, and I’ve read them all a dozen times. One letter each week for the past twelve years, plus cards for my birthday, Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. All in all, six hundred and seventy-four letters and cards. You’re pretty amazing, Miss Iris. Has anyone ever told you that?”