Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row (15 page)

D.

October 4, 1996

My dearest Damien,

The sweetest thing happened today—I was working, working—and I didn’t want to stop—and Julie was going out and she asked if I wanted anything. And I asked her to mail a letter to you—she said, “Sure.” Well, as you know I kiss every letter that I ever send to you, and I had pre-kissed this letter. Later that day—Julie said, “Lorri, I hope you don’t mind, but I kissed Damien’s letter before I mailed it. I always see you kiss them and I was afraid this one was going unkissed.” So you’ll get a kiss from me—and a kiss from Julie—which is fine—cause—it’s Julie!

Yours forever,

Lorri

October 7, 1996

My dearest Damien:

I am in such a euphoric state. I have so much to tell you—I feel so close to you and more and more in love with you each minute. Last night—when you told me about Howie’s firm taking over the case—I thought I would scream—I did when I got off the phone. Damien—this is incredible—you will undoubtedly soon be in my arms—I can’t help but be amazed at how everything is falling into place. Miracles happen every single day since you’ve been in my life—and I won’t for a minute take any of it for granted.

*

Now—I must comment on the Grand Guignol and Morpheus. The Grand Guignol is very intriguing to me—Damien—you never explained how you know all of this—you know so much—have you met him? How could you know this? Who is Gracie? If you choose to go with the Grand G and he gives you a part of himself and you give him a part of yourself—where will you end up? Or is there no end? Can you ever go back or do you become something else (I suppose that is inevitable) and can you have some kind of peace with him? I like that he is playful, somewhat.

But Morpheus . . . see, I love sleep so much—but I’ve never thought of it as kin to death—to me it is the most “alive” thing—I look forward to it every day. However—not so much now—I just look forward to you. Sleep has just become something in the
background for me. So Morpheus doesn’t seem at all ominous to me. Kind of like an old friend.

Thank you for telling me about them. I would like to meet that Grand G—I would have fun with him. He sounds like he probably hangs out in a few places around here.

*

. . . I want you to be completely addicted to me—I want to be the very essence that feeds your veins—I want you not to be able to get through a day without being inside me, tasting me . . . Damien—I want you to hold me down with all your might—I want your arms—your hands on my arms pinning me down [ . . . ] I think of that all the time—I can’t imagine a more remarkable thing. I want to be completely held down by your body—your mouth, your hands, your legs—and looking right into your eyes. I want to be engulfed by you. Will you do this to me, please?

As far as limits—there are none with you. There will be absolutely none—as I have said—you may do anything you want to me and with me—what an exquisite state to be in—you would think it to be impossible—but it’s not—and I am living proof.

I, too, kiss with my eyes open.

And I
love
to kiss.

I love you more than you ever thought possible,

Lorri

October 11, 1996

My dearest:

I am always in trouble or distress or emotional upheaval when you see this piece of paper. And today, I am in all of these.

Every now and then I think of our recent conversation and I get the feeling—the same feeling as jumping out of a plane—that’s as close as I can get to describing the feeling.

I am rendered breathless and limp and at the same time strangely vibrant with all of the adrenaline that is running through me, and my heart is beating so hard and my breath is staggered. You said we’ve been together over six months—never, Damien, has a lover had so much effect over his love—never—I am drugged with you. I want more—your words—I feel like an addict waiting for her next fix. Damien . . . and you haven’t even touched me yet.

I wonder at this moment how you are feeling.

I won’t be able to speak with you this evening and it is tearing me apart.

I love you so much—I adore you and I long for you as no one has ever felt such longing and I do want to be buried with you and I do want to die with you—because it can be no other way.

L.

October 18, 1996

My dearest Lorri,

No, I wouldn’t say it feels as if you’ve invaded my realm, because I don’t think my realm exists anymore. You came along and blew my former realm to pieces, forcing me to create an entirely new one.

Before you came along, I had spent months thinking about how no one was worth the effort of even acknowledging their existence, because no one and nothing brought me peace of mind or any consolation, so I was thinking about how I would spend eternity alone, and then—you came along, once again proving me to be a perfect idiot.

*

The reason I like
Nona
, the reason I’ve read it so many times, is because I believe it’s the most beautiful love story ever put on paper. Not even Romeo and Juliet can compare. I think it’s absolutely beautiful and heartbreaking. And it ends the way a love story should—he forsakes everything, even his own life, to go and be with Nona. It’s beautiful.

*

You said I was a “glaring knock-down-every-roadblock Mack truck” who chose superhighways. I don’t think that’s entirely true, because I never chose superhighways. I made my own and they were paved with misery, sorrow, and suffering. But I had to do it, because it was my way of laughing in all their faces. I loved the feel of the human
masses converging on me to crush me, only to see me break through in the end, still laughing at them. That’s how I get myself into messes like this. It takes a tremendous amount for me to do it, because I had to burn as bright as the sun. And I have to admit that this time I almost bit off more than I could chew, because I was getting too old and tired to burn that bright anymore. I just didn’t have the will or reason to do it anymore, so I sat here waiting for the final blow to fall. And then you came along, giving me back my youth, my will, my strength, until now I can burn again. But this time, I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t want to tease the lions anymore. All I want is you.

And I love you. And I belong to you. And I am incredibly happy.

Damien

October 21, 1996

My dearest Lorri,

Ever since last night, when we were listening to each other, making ourselves come, I’ve felt that we are now in an entirely different realm, as if we have walked through a door and left everything else behind us. It feels like we’ve started another part of this journey we are on. It feels as if everything changed during the course of that one conversation. And I love it. I feel so much more peaceful now, almost languid. It’s exquisite.

I am yours forever,

Damien

October 30, 1996

My dearest Damien:

It’s strange what I was explaining to you about being possessive . . . it’s not that I think you are not mine—or that I have to worry about you, or our love—it’s like I don’t think anyone or anything has the right to have any part of you—that’s why I have such a problem with the media—I can’t stand it—that is why I stopped taking in pop culture. I don’t think any of that stuff is worthy of you or me or us—it degrades us. Like you were talking about how the world has no place for you—I feel the world has no place for us.

*

This morning I woke up only to have your name on my lips—not even out of sleep and your hands were all over me and your mouth was all over me—it was so wonderful—I can’t help myself—every time I come, I have to say your name—it just starts coming out of my mouth—almost breathlessly—it’s like you can hear me.

I love having myself surrounded with things that you used to have—your books, your clothes—I wear the hair tie you sent me every night to bed—but I won’t wear it out on the street—nor your clothes, yet. However, I would like to venture out in your clothes. They would make me feel so safe.

I love you,

Lorri

November 1, 1996

My Dearest Lorri,

I don’t know what I am. If there is a name for what I am, then I don’t know it. But I know that no two people see me exactly the same. Sometimes they see what they want to see, sometimes they see what I want them to see, and sometimes they see something else entirely. But if you want a name, I don’t know one.

I hate when people come sniffing around things they can’t understand, things that don’t concern them. Lorri, please be wary of things like that. Sometimes when people do things they believe is to help us, they can cause more trouble than they even imagine. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Just be careful, please.

*

I love the thought of you eventually wearing my clothes out on the streets. I think of you running around in New York, wearing a prison uniform shirt, and I can’t keep from smiling.

I am yours forever,

Damien

November 5, 1996

My dearest Damien:

No. You will not be in there for five years—absolutely not—not with all of the power out here pulling for you. Damien, that’s just not a possibility. I feel so much lighter—shedding such a heavy burden as fear—I hate to admit it, but it is one of my weaknesses, and I have fought it my whole life—but you . . . I will not let fear touch us. Not ever again—we can handle anything that comes our way.

I am yours forever,

L.

November 6, 1996

My Dearest Lorri,

My love, I don’t want you to always try to be strong for me. Sometimes, I can be strong enough for the both of us. From now on I want you to always tell me these things that prey upon your mind. I want to know when you cry. And I will do anything I can to ease the pain, to ease any fear. Just tell me.

I know that us not being able to be together right now is painful, it hurts like hell, but all you have to remember is that we will be together, just think about that and look ahead to the time when we will be together constantly, when nothing will ever come between or separate us again. We will spend every minute of every day together, and we will leave everything and everyone behind us. It will be only you and me. Then you will look back at this time that we have been separated and you will say that it was worth every minute of it. Lorri, everything is perfect, it’s all just threads woven together to form the picture. I love you, and everything will be perfect soon.

Yes, I’ve only been in love once. Only with you. People can only say they don’t believe in love, or that love doesn’t last, because they have never experienced true love. If they ever felt the things I do, the way I do, they would realize and understand that they have never before felt true love.

You, always the victor? Yeah, and then you woke up.

How far back do I remember? I have partial memories all the way
back to when I was still small enough to take a bath in the kitchen sink.

My first day of school was a nightmare. I remember sitting across the table from this black boy named Patrick, and we just sat there staring at each other all day. I had a teacher that really, really hated boys, so she was very mean to us. She used to paddle me almost every day. I remember the very first day, at snack time, my grandmother had sent me some cookies, and I wouldn’t eat them because I was so homesick that I just kept thinking, “My grandmother touched these cookies.” And I hated “nap time.” I would always crawl around on my hands and knees, tormenting everyone who was trying to sleep, and I always got paddled for it, because someone would always tell on me when the teacher came back.

What things did I think about? I couldn’t stop wondering why I was so different from everyone else. From a very early age, I knew I didn’t fit in, I knew I didn’t “belong,” and I used to sit outside by a thornbush, on the verge of tears, thinking, “I’ve got to get out of here, to go back where I came from.” But I had no idea from where it was that I had come.

I belong to you, only you, for eternity,

Damien

November 7, 1996

Damien,

No.

That’s not it at all—yesterday when you said you could be strong enough for the both of us—and I said I was so affected by the thought of not having you—well—I suppose it has a little to do with it—but it’s not the whole story, Damien, I can’t bear it that you can’t go out prowling late at night or that you can’t eat broccoli even if you wanted to, when you wanted to.

Don’t you know—I’m not crying for myself? Every tear is for you—but that’s what I mean about being strong. I must overcome this weakness—I can’t stand myself sometimes. I can’t stand being weak—but you, my beautiful one, have managed to bring out every single solitary feeling that exists in me—so I suppose sometimes my heart will just break in two and I will just have to let it happen. I do think there is quite a bit of power sometimes in tears—I know there is in mine—it depends on how they are wept—what state my heart and soul is in.

My nights continue to be strangely magical with thoughts of you. I wake up hearing things in my head—the last two nights have been incredible—the strongest point came at 4:00 a.m.—I was lying on my stomach with my hands underneath me—

Suddenly I heard your voice so clearly in my ear and I was so startled by what I heard, it was that wonderful, low kind of “gravelly,” as you call it, voice of yours and I’ve never heard you say
something like this—but I loved it and I was strangely thrilled by it—Your voice said, “Lorri, I want to fuck you.” My eyes flew wide open and a complete shiver went through me—I lost my breath and my heart was beating so hard—it was extraordinary. And if you ever say that to me in my presence—you had better mean what you say. I wonder why I was so affected by a word—or by your words—completely lovely to me, nothing else.

I have to work.

I love you.

L.

November 7, 1996

My dearest Damien,

My fever for you is getting stronger and stronger. I miss talking to you about all the things we can do to each other.