Authors: Damien Echols
I said, “No” and realized it was true. Of all the people, times, places, and things in my life that make me nostalgic, that was not one of them. By that time I had other things on my mind. I was in my first real relationship.
XVIV
My sister could not sing to save her life, but that never stopped her from trying.
The problem is that every song sounds the same as the last when it comes from her mouth. My mother said it was because she was hard of hearing and couldn’t make out the music very well, but I have my doubts. I’m more inclined to believe it was simply a lack of talent, but no mother wants to tell her daughter she sounds like a bag of cats being beaten with a stick. She was allowed into the school choir only because the policy was to refuse no one who signed up.
The choir director thought it was a good idea to hold their first concert less than two weeks after the beginning of the school year. The “concert” was to be held in the school gymnasium at eight PM. My sister put on her best dress and my mother prepared to drive her there and watch the show. Normally I have no interest in extracurricular activities, especially if it’s a bunch of thirteen-year-old girls caterwauling their way through “Amazing Grace,” but that night something compelled me. At the very last minute I decided to go along.
When we pulled up into the parking lot, my mother, sister, and Jack all hustled inside to take their places. I stayed outside for a while longer, dragging my feet and exchanging words with people I recognized. There’s something very odd about being on a school campus at night. It doesn’t feel the way it usually does.
It’s an entirely different place, and there’s a crackle of excitement in the air. I was feeling this more than thinking it as I finally made my way to the gym.
I could hear the piano playing and people singing as I approached the building. There was a greasy yellow light shining through the front windows that suddenly made me feel as though winter had arrived, even with the temperature close to eighty degrees. When I pulled the front door open and stepped into the foyer, the click of my boot heels on the hard tile only increased the winter feeling.
Ten feet in front of me were two large wooden doors that covered the entry-way into the main part of the gym. There was a girl standing with her eye pressed to the crack between the doors, looking in. Her back was to me. When she heard me enter she let the door slip closed and turned to ask, “Would you like a program, sir?” She grinned at me like she knew something amusing I didn’t. Not a smile, a grin.
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I’ve thought about it since, and there’s a difference. A person smiles when they’re happy. A smile indicates warmth and friendliness. A grin is a whole different animal, though. A grin implies pleasure. A person who grins is usually someone who is being pleased, even if it’s your misfortune that pleases them. My grandmother used to say that when I grinned you could see the devil dancing in my eyes. That’s what I saw that night—the devil dancing. It wasn’t a waltz, either. More like a mosh pit.
The girl had skin as white as my own, and shoulder-length hair that was just as black, with no help from dye (over the years many sources have erroneously stated that I dyed my hair black. This is indeed its natural color.). She was wearing a pair of slacks that were so tight many would call them vulgar, and a low-cut blouse one could only say matched the slacks. She had a handful of programs for the choir concert, but I refused the one she offered.
I never went in to see the choir that night. Instead I stayed out with this girl who reeked of sex. It crackled off of her like static electricity, and was present in every gesture—the way she stood too close and looked up at you, the way she hooked her arm through mine, or cocked her hip to the side as she talked. She didn’t seem to be able to control it, much like a cat in heat. It wasn’t me that brought this behavior out, it was any man. I spent the evening entertaining her, and the sound of her laughter brought someone to the door to cast us a warning glance twice.
Her name was Deanna, and she informed me that if I’d bothered to look back I would have seen her in at least three of my classes. I didn’t understand how I had sat in the room with her for almost two weeks and never even registered her presence. I blame it on the fact that it always took me a while to distinguish individuals from a crowd back then. When I was in a new class at the beginning of each year it was always one big nameless, faceless blob for at least a month.
We had lunch together every day after that night. We sat alone at our own table at first, but gradually a small but loyal group of people formed around us—other couples, two younger guys who had started trying to dress like me, and a large gentleman by the name of Joey who claimed to be my “bodyguard.”
In the evenings, I’d always go to Deanna’s house. Her family was very pleasant, a proper and quiet southern family. They invited me into their home and allowed me to take part in their routine. Sometimes we’d watch movies, play games, or listen to music. Nothing harder than country music was allowed in the house, and watching MTV was an offense that would get Deanna and her sister grounded. They could be very strict and even intolerant at times. After all the bad stuff went down, I thought they were evil tyrants who wanted to force religion
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down the throats of their children while ruling them with an iron fist. I still believe that’s an accurate picture in many ways, and I often heard Deanna make declarations of hatred against her mother, but all the years that have passed have given me a new perspective. I can see both sides of the coin now.
In the beginning they accepted me as family. I didn’t realize the honor I was receiving, because I’d never known anything like it before. I’d never before interacted with a girlfriend’s family. Every time there was a family gathering I was invited. It’s been so long ago that most of the memories have faded away and only the feeling remains. I can only recall a few of the more powerful ones. I remember being at their Christmas party, where Deanna gave me a stuffed gorilla and a tin of Hershey’s kisses. We sat next to the fireplace eating bits of chocolate while the rest of the family laughed, and celebrated all around us.
The one memory that comes most easily to mind is visiting her grandparents, who lived far into the country. They had a large dog kennel where they raised hunting dogs, and a guesthouse stood nearby. Deanna’s father had wandered out into a large open area for target practice. I was standing at the top of a hill and looking down at Deanna, who stood by a dry creek bed motioning for me to come to her. The side of the hill was covered in what I took to be brush. I figured the quickest way to reach her was to go straight through it, and began running.
Going downhill gave me a speed I wouldn’t ordinarily have had, and I loped like a gazelle through the chest high grasses. It was a wonderful feeling, almost like flying. Deanna looked at me coming down the hill and covered her mouth with her hands. I knew something was wrong, so I stopped. The moment I did I felt myself pierced in at least a dozen places. What I had thought was only brush was actually a chest high briar patch, and I now found myself in the middle of it.
There was no way to move without ripping myself to shreds. She laughed and laughed and I ripped my way through, one step of agony after another, leaving little droplets of blood behind me. I was bleeding from too many places to count as she and I trudged back to the house, she laughing and me groaning. Her mother seemed to find it hilarious too, and laughed delightedly the entire time she bandaged me up.
Deanna was secretly a pagan. What was called a witch in the old days—a Wic-can. I had never before heard the term. All that I knew of “witches” was what I had read in the old books which said they flew to meetings where they danced with the devil and cursed crops, or caused babies to be born with birth marks. I knew only the nonsense passed down by the church and The Inquisition. She kept a small green diary filled with all sorts of things—names of ancient, pre-Damien Echols
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Christian goddesses, plants and what their medicinal purposes were, and prayers written in flowery verse.
I had no idea that this was an old religion that would soon undergo a population explosion in the United States. Now there are many books written on the subject every year, and it’s even recognized by the United States armed forces as a valid religion. Times have changed. Back then I had no idea that such a thing existed. I was amazed and flabbergasted.
I began doing my own research into the realm, reading about it and even meeting a group of local teens who were followers of the religion. They were a good source of information, but I couldn’t stand being around them. They were all extremely flaky and melodramatic. I felt embarrassed for them, as they didn’t have the sense to realize how socially inept they were. Wicca is a beautiful religion in theory, but I distanced myself with anything to do with it because I couldn’t take the people. Many of them are people in their thirties and still trying to live and behave like teenagers. It seems to draw a great many people who cannot or will not grow up, and I have no time for such things.
It did serve me as a springboard into other areas of knowledge, though. From there I went on to learn of Kabbalah, Hinduism, Buddhism, Meditation, yoga, Theosophy, Tantra, Taoism, the Rosicrucians, the Knights Templar, and the Hermetic practices of the Golden Dawn. I couldn’t get enough and devoured it all. I found it infinitely fascinating for a great while, not knowing my curiosity and interest would one day be used against me.
The beginning of the end was when Deanna’s parents found out we’d been having sex. We got away with it for a while, but a simple mistake gave us away.
The very first time, we planned it out. When she was dropped off at school I was there to meet her. We immediately left and walked back to my place. We took a back path, following railroad tracks that kept us out of view of passing cars but also tripled the distance we had to cover. It took an hour to get there, and when we arrived we went straight into my room where we stayed for the rest of the day. My mother and Jack both knew, but neither cared. Fittingly enough, the soundtrack that played in the background was Suicidal Tendencies singing “How will I laugh tomorrow when I can’t even smile today?” This became our routine.
We’d been together for most of a year when the slip occurred. The problem was that we arrived back at school a few minutes later than normal, and her bus had already left. I had no idea, so I left her there and returned home. She had to walk home. Her mother asked her why she hadn’t told someone in the front office, so she could have gotten a ride from them. Instead of giving the typical teenage response of I don’t know,” she said she had told someone, and they
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refused to help. Her mother promptly went to the school to complain, only to discover that her daughter had never been there that day. That’s when the proverbial shit hit the fan.
After Deanna told her mother the entire story, she was forbidden to ever have anything else to do with me. She wasn’t even to speak to me. They couldn’t stop us during school hours, but they made it impossible for us to meet once she was at home. I tried, though. I tried everything I could think of, but they weren’t stupid. They even informed school officials to call them if she was ever absent from school.
We tried to work it out for months, but her parents were relentless, and it was like beating our heads against a wall. Early one foggy, gray morning she came to me and said she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t take the pressure her family was putting on her, so she was leaving me. This was the last thing I was expecting to hear, because all we had talked about were ways to make it work. We had never even discussed this as a possibility. I was in shock, and my mind was having trouble comprehending her words. When the pain came it was like being stabbed in the chest with a blade of ice. She didn’t make a long speech, so there wasn’t a great deal of talking. I said nothing. She severed everything as quickly as a razor.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
I turned and wandered away like someone who’s been in an accident. “Wander” is the perfect word for what I did, because I didn’t really go anywhere. I just walked. Walked and walked and walked. It became a hobby for me. I was the Forrest Gump of Arkansas.
The nights were the worst. Every night I’d wake up racked with sobs because of the dreams. It was the same general dream, with slight variation: she came and said it was all a mistake, that she’s back now and the hurt will all be gone. Each one seemed so real that waking up almost drove me to the point of madness.
In addition to having to deal with this, Jack had now quit his job and was always home. Not only did he never leave the house, he never left the couch. He festered with hatred and made everyone’s life miserable. The only time he spoke was to spew venom at someone, and he and my mother fought constantly. She started to get sick with a new ailment on a weekly basis because the stress was wearing her down. Jack always managed to make us the most miserable when it was time for supper. He’d sit at the table with a hateful expression on his face, almost daring anyone to speak. I just tried to stay out of his way, but it wasn’t possible. He went out of his way to make sure everyone else was as miserable as he was. It was hard to swallow a single bite, much less make it through and entire
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meal while he was present. My sister later claimed that he molested her during this period, but I didn’t hear of that until later.
I stayed out as much as possible. I didn’t really care where I was; I just drifted from place to place, hoping to dull the pain. I took up smoking because the nicotine helped me fall asleep at first. Later it kept me up.
My life seemed to have no point. I went on living because that’s what my body was used to doing. I drifted from one day to the next, not really caring about anything. I began sleeping with someone else just because she was there.