This Is My America(88)

The judge sets down his papers and removes his glasses.

“Mr. James Beaumont, please stand.”

Daddy lifts his body up with help from Mr. Jones. I can tell he doesn’t know how to process what’s happening. It’s fear and hope all mixed into one body. I rub my thumb inside my palms to settle my nerves.

“Mr. Beaumont, do you still claim to be not guilty of the murders of Mark and Cathy Davidson?”

“Your Honor, I’m not guilty.”

“Then on behalf of the Court of Criminal Appeals, with regret and sorrow for the trials you have been through, and the seven years you have served, may God forgive us all for what we know now, you are a free man. I hereby reverse your conviction for the murder of Mark and Cathy Davidson.”

The room explodes in applause. Daddy turns to us immediately, Mama falling to her knees, but this time praising God. I cover my mouth with my hands. Jamal can’t get to Daddy on his side so he just puts his arms around Quincy and me, Corinne squishing in the middle. Crying out in joy. Unbelievable joy that it’s all finally over. I’m bursting so much my chest feels like it’s exploding. Buzzing and zipping inside.

It’s over. The clock has stopped. We can stop living our life counting the days, counting the time between Saturday and Monday visits.



Jamal takes Corinne to see Daddy. Quincy places his hands on either side of my face and kisses me.

“You did it.” Quincy presses in closer to me, resting his forehead against mine.

I flick my eyes at him but don’t move.

“Completely platonic, don’t get excited.” Quincy’s voice is soft, but there’s a shakiness behind it because we’ve been inseparable ever since Jamal’s been free.

“Maybe it should be more,” I whisper.

Quincy stops joking and kisses me again. Each time I kiss him, I’m lost in us. He places his hand by my ear and kisses my lips once more. Quincy gives a halfway grin. I hold on to his hand until it’s time for Daddy to speak.

We follow Daddy through an exit that leads to the front steps of the court, where the media has been gathering, waiting for him to speak. Before he goes to the mic, Daddy extends his arm to grab my hand and pull me up next to him. I look out at the crowd. The courtroom catching up to us and surrounding the cameras. Across the street, the sidewalk is filled with people who weren’t able to come to the courtroom but wanted to make sure there was justice. I’m taken aback by the swarms of people here to see my daddy free.

Daddy whispers, “Baby girl, this is all because of you.”

He gets on the mic, going down the list of everything he’s thankful for. He sticks to the speech he wrote because he didn’t want to miss a name or a moment. The crowd is overflowing, growing. I breathe out slowly, take pride at being able to stand next to my daddy. No longer in Polunsky Prison, a free man, for the first time in seven years.



Daddy finishes to cheers.

Cameras clicking, reporters yelling questions, but they’re overtaken by the shouts of people chanting, Justice. Justice. Justice.

I’m soaring inside. The word rattles through my body. Daddy lifts my hands up with his. Then Mr. Jones and Steve take the mic. We drop back, and our security guards escort us away as Innocence X takes more questions, holding court with the media now, so we can escape without anyone following. Mr. Jones has them captivated.

I hold my breath, waiting until Daddy sees our surprise.

He stumbles toward it, speechless. Mama passes me a knowing glance. All my comments over the years, I swallow up because she was right. The look on Daddy’s face to see his old Buick, just like the last day he drove it—it’s priceless.

Daddy’s car is polished clean, parked on the side of the courthouse in a private spot.

Mama hands the keys over to him. He shakes his head. “I haven’t driven in years.”

He hands me the keys. I refuse. So does Jamal.

Seeing Daddy drive us home is just as meaningful to us. Daddy clears his throat as he sits in the driver’s seat and we all pile in, waiting for him to turn the ignition. I can feel he’s nervous that it might not work, that the moment will fall apart. Like everything else.

Daddy waits another minute, then turns the key. The engine revs, then starts purring. Daddy starts out slow, cautious. When we reach the highway toward Crowning Heights, we can see him relax. No longer looking over his shoulder. He lets out a laugh, a great belting laugh as he grips the steering wheel at ten and two, like he’s just learning how to drive again. Corinne is giggling watching him. He looks in the rearview mirror, and our eyes meet. I don’t say anything when I see that Daddy’s laughing, but tears are running down his face.



It’s all real. We can let it out. We’re holding on to each other, windows rolled down, letting the wind whip on us as Daddy drives us home.

For the first time, I allow myself to shut the worrying away. There’re still some uncertainties, for sure, but the most deadly countdown has ended. With justice secured for my father, I’m finally free, too.





Monday, September 27

Stephen Jones, Jr.

Innocence X Headquarters





1111 Justice Road


Birmingham, Alabama 35005

Re: Death Penalty—Intake Department Dear Steve,

You thought I’d stop, huh? This is going to be my last letter. I bet you wonder what I’m going to be doing. I’m starting my senior year with my own podcast: Corner for Justice. I decided I didn’t need to be the editor of the school newspaper if I can reach a larger audience with social media. I have just over 100,000 followers already! It’s all about highlighting injustice. Would you be willing to do an interview? I’ve got a lot of people lined up, so time’s ticking. I don’t plan to wait seven years for a response.