Sweet Tea and a BLT

“Your scheduled date just came in,” said Lisa Rawlings in a quiet voice. Rylee Abbott sat at her small, wall-mounted table, trying not to look as if she’d just been sucker-punched. For two decades, every time a guard approached her cell, she was terrified they would speak those words. Another ten years passed, and somewhere in the daily routine of death row life, she’d forgotten there was an end date.

Now, after more than forty years behind bars, it was hard to grasp that the day had finally arrived. Rylee opened her mouth to make a joke that the warden must need the room, but when she turned her head and saw Lisa’s face, she swallowed the words.

“We’ll be moving you to the watch area in a few days,” the guard continued. Her eyes, swimming with tears, were locked on Rylee’s.

Without acknowledging she’d heard anything, Rylee moved to sit on her bed. Clasping her hands tightly between her knees to keep them from shaking, she stared at the floor. The sound of the door at the end of the hall clanging shut, made her jump. How much time had passed? The harsh, metallic sound she’d heard thousands of times over many years, had eventually become as innocuous as white noise. Today, after receiving the news she’d literally forgotten would come, it took her spiraling back to her first day.

It was 1979. The U.S. Supreme Court had recently reinstated the death penalty, and Rylee Abbott was convicted of a double murder.

When she arrived at the Women’s Correctional Institute in North Carolina, Rylee was strip searched, given an oversized gray pullover top, a pair of baggy gray pull-on pants, and white sneakers without laces. A guard walked on either side of her as they made their way through the general population. Rylee kept her eyes down, concentrating on walking. A chain connecting her ankle shackles to her cuffed hands made it difficult.

She stumbled, and while the guards grabbed her arms to keep her from falling, the yelling, banging on bars, and whistles from inmates grew louder. Tears ran down Rylee’s face. She had never felt so helpless, so scared, in all her life, and doubted she would survive the night. After what seemed like a mile-long walk, they reached the end of the hallway, and one of the guards called for the door to be opened. There was a loud screech as a heavy bolt released, and the three walked through. When it locked again with a fierce metallic clang, Rylee jumped and stumbled again, nearly falling. But after the echoes died down, and for the first time ever, she felt relief in the relative silence.

Hours—or maybe it was only minutes—passed, and another loud clang startled her awake. Sitting up, wide-eyed with fright, she looked around, frantic, confused by her surroundings. Hearing the familiar voice of the guard from earlier, Rylee was instantly plunged back into her nightmare reality.

When the guard passed by her cell, guiding another prisoner, Rylee shrank back on her bed, pressing hard against the wall. The prisoner was a large woman, rough and loud, with tattooed arms and a badly scarred face. She slowed and glared at Rylee. With a menacing scowl, she croaked out, “What the hell you looking at? You might be younger and prettier now, but since you’re in here, makes no difference. You’re the same as me.” Her voice was gravelly; some of the words sounded garbled. That’s when Rylee saw a jagged scar across the woman’s throat. Her eyes went wide, and she tried to make herself even smaller, wishing she could disappear.

The guard jabbed her baton into the woman’s side, forcing her to move forward. When they were out of sight and the lock on the metal door engaged with another loud clang, nineteen-year-old Rylee Abbott curled into a tight ball in the far corner of her bed and sobbed. She desperately wanted to be hallucinating from a bad acid trip and find herself back at the commune, lying in bed with Franklin, when it was over.

When she opened her eyes and saw that the metal toilet bolted to the floor was real, Rylee knew there was no bad trip to come down from. Everything did happen, and there was only one way she was leaving.

#

“You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Rylee whirled around with a confused look on her face and a mop in her hand; she was staying busy, pretending everything was normal until it wasn’t. Wrapping her hands around the handle, she leaned on it. With a quizzical look, she said, “Who? I don’t know anyone. My parents are gone, and I haven’t seen my attorney for years. I don’t even know if he still is my lawyer.”

“Well, seems like some new attorney wants to have a word with you. She’s from an organization called Justice from the Death Penalty.”

Rylee sucked in a breath. The idea of moving to the watch area in three days had finally resolved itself in her mind. Was it possible to think something could be done now, after forty-four years? She didn’t know—

“You need to decide now.” Lisa interrupted Rylee’s thoughts. Looking at her watch, she added, “She’ll be escorted out of the building in five minutes if I don’t show up with you.”

Rylee looked around the cell block to see if anything was left unfinished. After “end-of-the-hall-Margaret’s” scheduled date came and went, she was alone on the block. Solitary confinement took on a whole new meaning. Margaret had no redeeming qualities as a human being, but her constant bitching was better than the silence her absence left behind.

When Rylee was told she’d be responsible for keeping all seven of the cells clean, the girl who’d hated cleaning her room as a child secretly reveled in having something to look forward to.

Placing the mop in a corner, Rylee shrugged and said, “Okay, I’m curious. At least I’ll finally get to see a different face.”

Lisa harrumphed and pushed away from the wall. Jangling a set of handcuffs, she motioned for Rylee to hold out her hands. “Yours doesn’t make my top ten list either, but here we are.” They both laughed. Somewhere along the way, Rylee came to see Lisa as the closest thing to a friend she would ever experience.

Once she was seated at the table in the small interview room, Rylee looked at the woman who was young enough to be her granddaughter, had she ever had children to begin with.

Smiling, the woman began, “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m Gretchen Smalls from the offices of Justice from the Death Penalty. I’m aware this would be your final appeal, and,” opening a thick folder, she continued, “while I’ve read the court transcripts, I would like to hear your story from the beginning.” She pulled a photograph from the folder and presented it to Rylee.

When Rylee leaned forward to look at it, she felt the rising heat of an anger she thought was long buried. She looked up at Gretchen and demanded, “Where did you get this?” Not waiting for an answer, she pointed a finger at one of the girls whose smile was frozen in time. Her honey blonde hair was held in place by a piece of leather tied around her forehead. She wore a bright yellow halter top and bellbottom jeans. Tabitha.

“Is that you in the back, looking her way?” Gretchen said, ignoring the question and simultaneously forcing Rylee to look at the photograph again. It was her. But that girl was young, tanned, and innocent-looking, despite the fake smile plastered on for the photo. When she looked up at Gretchen, the look she gave the woman for dredging up ancient memories could have shattered concrete. Rylee wanted nothing to do with this and almost called an end to the meeting. But the pull of her all-but-forgotten past was too great, and with another glance at the photo, Rylee felt herself dissolving into her nineteen-year-old self.

It was Novitiate Day at the commune. The day some of the girls who hung out as weekend groupies—helping in the kitchen and the vegetable gardens—went through the ritual to become true disciples.

Rylee’s job, as Franklin’s number one, was to observe and help select the girls who would be invited to join the Order of Eternal Light. She had arranged the procession of novitiates numerous times, always confident in her position as the favored one. All of the girls knew and respected her position…until Tabitha.

They first met in the communal kitchen. Rylee was picking up lunch for Franklin, and instead of seeing everyone busy, she found most of the girls crowded around someone she’d not seen before. One of them spotted Rylee, and ran over to her. “Come meet Tabitha. She’s Maggie’s cousin, and she’s come all the way from California. I think it’s groovy that she wanted to see our place.”

“What’s Franklin about? He seems cool. And not bad to look at, either,” said Tabitha with a chuckle as Rylee got within earshot.

“Franklin is cool, and he’s mine,” Rylee said. Everyone turned to look at her, and some scurried back to what they were doing earlier. Rylee looked at the stranger and became even more annoyed at how pretty she was. She wondered how often she’d been asked if she was related to the model, Cheryl Tiegs. Even her honey-blonde hair was done in the same feathered style. Rylee and Tabitha had a stare down. Tabitha looked away first, with a shake of her head, and a tiny smile that was more of a sneer. Blatantly dismissive, she turned to her cousin and asked what she could do to help out.

Over the next few days, Rylee made a point of keeping distance between her and Tabitha. She told herself the bitch would leave soon enough, and they could all get back to normal. The same could not be said for Franklin. He lit up in Tabitha’s presence the way he used to when he saw her.

Franklin was always friendly to the other girls, and Rylee was not naïve; she knew sex was part of the ritual, but it always ended there. Rylee was the exception. She was special, and Franklin was hers.

Until Tabitha.

They weren’t scheduled for a procession for another month, but when Franklin asked Rylee to prepare for one as soon as possible, she knew the reason, and she was pissed. Standing in the doorway of his office—a converted bedroom at the end of the trailer he lived in—Rylee said, “It’s all ready for tomorrow,” hoping her voice didn’t give away how angry she was. She had never loved anyone more than Franklin and had proven her devotion to him for almost two years. How was she not enough for him?

“Right on!” Franklin gave her a big smile, got up, and moved around the desk to stand in front of her. Rylee’s anger disintegrated when he folded her into his arms, his long auburn hair cascading around her face. She breathed in his familiar scent, a mix of musk oil and marijuana, and raised her mouth to his. He kissed the top of her head instead and whispered in her ear, “You need to take a chill pill, little girl. I’ve been hearing rumors your attitude is bumming everyone out, especially some of the newcomers.” He released her, cupped her chin in his hand, and brushed his lips over hers before walking past, and out of the trailer.

She remained, unable to move. “You need to take a chill pill” replayed in a loop in her head. Did he think she was stupid? Would she simply move aside and let someone take her place? It was clear that Franklin wanted Tabitha now, but his twisted rules wouldn’t allow him to bed a novitiate before the procession and ritual dance. After the ceremony, all that was left was for him and his chosen one to share a special cup of wine.

A loud clang pulled Rylee out of the memory. With her eyes closed, she waited for the myriad of memories to settle before speaking. She finally looked at Gretchen and said, “Do you remember Jimmy Carter?”

Gretchen was immediately confused but nodded and said, “He was president a long time ago, before I was born. What does that have to do with why we’re here today?”

“1979 is when time stopped for me. I came here when Carter was president. There have been eight more since then. I’ve never used a computer. A tablet is still just a pad of paper for me, and a mobile phone is something out of a science fiction movie.

“Time and people have progressed outside these walls. Getting old is the only thing that has progressed for me.” Rylee sat back and studied the woman across from her and continued in a more solemn tone, “I can appreciate why you’ve come, but you have to understand I don’t have a place anywhere but right where I am.” Giving her a tiny smile, she said, “Besides, the best you might be able to do for me is get me moved to general population, and I can’t —I won’t —do that. I’ve been alone for too many years.”

Looking down at the photo again, Rylee said in a softer voice, “I made an awful choice back then, poisoning a glass of wine that cost two people their lives. Well, three lives, actually, if you mine, and that will be over soon enough”.

Rylee indicated to her guard that she was ready to leave. Turning back to Gretchen, she said, “Thanks for coming, but I don’t need an appeal. I’ve done my time, and I’ve made peace with those who matter. Go find someone who actually should be saved.”

On their way back to her cell, Rylee said to Lisa without looking at her, “You asked me a few days ago what I wanted for my last meal. I didn’t want to even think about it then, but I can tell you now. I’ve decided on a childhood lunchtime favorite. It’s been a minute or two since I tasted a cold glass of sweet tea and a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. With extra bacon,” she added, looking over at Lisa with a smile.

After a moment of silence, Rylee said, “I know you can’t be with me while I eat that last meal, but I was hoping you would have the same thing at the same time. That way I could pretend we were friends having lunch together.”

When she looked over at her again, Rylee saw that Lisa’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. She looked at Rylee and nodded once. They continued on in familiar silence, the only sound coming from the jangle of wrist and ankle chains. Rylee swallowed hard, then nodded to herself. It was her time, and she was ready.