I remember the first time my dad took me out to teach me how to ride a cycle. I remember perfectly that distinct moment when dad let go of the cycle and I tried to control the handle and guide the cycle in the direction I wanted as if the cycle was supposed to follow my command. I remember that first fall, the tumbling from the bike, the grazing of my skin against the ground, the flesh scratching as tiny trickles of blood oozed out. I realized at that moment that not everything was under our control. As the tears loomed down my eyes, I remember my dad picking me up in his arms, slowly patting me on the head and saying-'one day you will be able to control that cycle with just your thoughts.' And I did. I learned to ride that bike and take it in the exact direction I wanted, controlling it as per my will, speeding up and slowing down as I demanded. It was exhilarating. The experience of controlling something that had caused you hurt earlier, submitting it to your will and deriving pleasure out of it. It was like I had tamed a wild beast. And I had thought then, as I drove the bike down the lanes I knew so well, that I could control anything with just the power of my thoughts if I wanted to. Even life.
I was wrong.
For you are never completely in control of your thoughts.
My name is Luke Gallows.And I die today. Yes-Gallows is my second name and as the people around me now say, as an ironic joke, 'I was born for the Gallows.' I didn't see the funny side earlier. Thought it was highly insensitive of the people. But I see the funny side now. And sometimes I even manage to smile. At 5:30 PM, 27th of March 2008, by the order of the state of California, my life will be ended for the heinous crimes that I had committed. Its 3 PM now. In exactly one hour, the execution squad consisting of 6 guards will walk into my cell and take me for my final walk. A walk to the gallows. And I wait. I wait patiently.
There are several memories that are forever seeped in a man's mind. Memories that take shape and and remain with you and cannot be wiped out even by the passage of time. The memories differ from person to person. But some of those memories are universal. The birth of your child, your marriage, your first job interview, the day you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with some one, the first time you make love to a woman. Universal truths that hardly change.
Jennifer Francis. The first woman I ever made love to. I remember every moment, every little detail of that night. I was 19 then, a college sophomore, madly in love with the girl with the deep blue eyes. We had been dating for 6 months before she said she was ready. I didn't mind waiting. I was in love and I could have waited forever. I still remember vividly her red dress, the expensive french perfume and those small ear rings. I remember kissing her lips, feeling the touch of her hand, undressing her slowly as if in a trance. I remember the touch of her soft smooth skin against mine, her small breasts as I kissed them, the feeling of a sensation beyond pleasure as I entered her. I remember the words she said to me as we lay next to each other after making love, deprived of clothes, our body and our soul bared naked to each other. "I love you," she had whispered as we looked at each other. It was the first time a woman had ever said those words to me. "I love you too," I had whispered back. And so we made love again that night. And again.
My last meal was served at 2:00 PM. It consisted of a Medium rare steak with A1 Steak Sauce, fried chicken breasts and thighs and a bowl of fruit salad. In my later on years, I had become health conscious and had resorted to avoid fried food except on those special occasions when I felt like indulging myself. But as a child I used to love gorging on the food that mother used to cook for us. I loved the turkey she made on Thanksgiving and her tarts were always something I couldn't resist. But it really was the steak and the fried chicken that got to me-a meal I would insist on having at least once a week despite the so called unhealthy tagged labeled to it. I was a kid who loved eating and luckily I didn't put on weight easily so I was unaware of the calories count for a long while. I remember having dinner with my family and the way we used to hold hands as we said 'Grace.' There was a charm about praying then and I used to love the way my mother used to look at me on the days when it was my turn to say 'Grace.' I pretty much never prayed after I left home for College-religion and God had become irrelevant to me as I tried to make my own place in this world. Yet, those days of saying grace before dinner have stayed with me for the innocent way I used to look at things then and my mom's unquestionable faith in God. I wish I could speak to my mum now and tell her how much I love her. But that's impossible now. As I realized later on-God doesn't really have the answers to all the questions or the solutions to all the problems. My mom passed away on 16th June 1998. May her soul rest in peace.
In a way, I am really glad that I am being executed in the 21st century and not the 1980's. For lethal injection is so much a better way of dying than being locked up in a gas chamber or strapped down in an electric chair. They say that it is an almost painless death, one where you don't even notice that you are going to die. I will be strapped to a gurney with several heart monitors attached to my skin. Two needles will be placed in my veins and then they will inject an anesthetic into my system which will put me to sleep before injecting a solution of pancuronium bromide, which paralyzes the entire muscular system and stops the breathing. Finally the flow of potassium chloride stops the heart. And as life finally leaves me and my soul is freed from my body, I will still be sound asleep on that gurney. It's almost like the peaceful death that many of us wish for but not all of us can attain. Like the woman that all of us dream of marrying but only few of us do.
Emily Anna Birmingham was always the woman I was going to marry. I knew it within a month of dating her. It was never a question of if but only when. But I wasn't in a hurry. I never have been that kind of a man. And though I could have got down on my knees on the very day I realized that she was the one, I waited patiently for a year before doing so. She said yes without hesitation with tears in her eyes and I knew she was mine forever. I still remember her eyes and how they lit up every time she looked at me, the smell of her hair as she lied down in my arms, her smile as she forgave me for showing up late for a movie or even the feel of her skin as we made love. I remember the way we used to walk at the beach during our early days of courtship, side by side, with sandals in one hand and the other hand waving freely by her dress, as we talked, debated, argued, smiled and conversed without the fear of upsetting the other. And then suddenly, when a moment of silence came, when we felt like there was no need to say anything else, her fingers would entangle in mine, and slowly her head would rest on my shoulders as we walked endlessly without a care in the world, comfortable in the knowledge that we had found each other.
The last time I ever saw Emily was 6 years ago. She had come to inform me that she had met someone else and was going to marry him. I had said nothing. She had tried to hold back her tears, tried to act strong as she mentioned her impending marriage, almost as if using the marriage as a final declaration that she had moved on from me. But then she broke down and started crying, asking me to say something, saying that somewhere in her heart she was still in love with me and she hated herself for it because she didn't believe she would ever be able to move on completely. She asked me for an explanation, asked me if I even cared for our little son, to tell her why I did what I did, to tell her that I sill loved her because she knew I did. I told her to never come visit me again. She never did.
I still love Emily. And I always will. There is no question about that. Despite my crimes, my regrets, the mistakes that I made-Emily never was one of them. She was perhaps the only right choice I made in a life ordained with mistakes. I just wish I could say the same for Emily. For as I realized almost 8 years back, she had made a mistake with me. She was the best I could have ever hoped for. But I was the worst choice she made. It wouldn't have been true if I hadn't done what I did-we could have been happy and lived a wonderful life together, but once I had committed the crime, I automatically became the worst choice she made. And I needed to let her go. It was the least I could do. Perhaps only I can understand with what strength she has restrained herself from seeing me again. And from the bottom of my heart I wish that she has moved on and found happiness again. She deserves to. More than any one else.
Yesterday night I was talking to one of the guards and he had asked me one of those questions which every dying man is asked-'how do you feel man?' I didn't exactly know how to answer him then so I just told him-'alright.' Now that I have got time to think about it, I can answer that I feel prepared. I am ready. Its not to say that I am not scared or that I wish death upon me sooner. I want to live every bit of the life that I have got left in me-but I am prepared for the fate that awaits me. The wait is neither agonizing nor exciting. Its just there, a thought in my head, and one that I cannot control.
My son, Ryan Gallows, was an accident. But it was the most beautiful accident that could have ever happened. Emily and I had decided not to start a family till at least 3 years into marriage. I remember that night though. Emily and I were watching a movie in the living room, sitting on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket when things got a bit too exciting and as it often happens, there was no control to our thoughts and before we knew it, Emily was pregnant. Once we realized that we were expecting a baby, we never even thought of looking back. We may have decided that we didn't want to start a family so soon, but now that it was upon us, we welcomed the blessing rather than fret about it. I was going to be a father and nothing else mattered. I remember holding my son in my arms for the very first time. His droopy eyes, the chubby nose, those little fingers in my palm as they held onto any support, devoid of any misgivings, the purest thing in the world. And it was the purest feeling in the world. One that words can never do justice to.
I sat and discussed with the guard about my life, my family, God, after-life, heaven or hell and stuff like that. He was kind enough to avoid mentioning my impending death on most occasions-as if we were just 2 normal guys having a discussion in a bar over a round of beer. The gravity of the situation didn't escape either of us but we knew we didn't necessarily have to make an issue about it and cry over it. I certainly knew that the last thing I needed was a bout of tears. It was amply clear that we were both aware of the elephant in the room but neither of us needed to mention it. He did put forward to me another question-if there was anything I wished I could do one last time. There are lots. I want to walk on the road and see what it feels like to be a free man one last time.I want to drink beer again. I want to watch the San Francisco 49ers win the super bowl one last time. I want to watch a movie and laugh and cry with the actors on screen as I suspend myself to the magic of cinema. I want to say Grace while having dinner with my parents again. I want to walk down the beach with Emily one more time. I want to make love to her again. I want to do all this and much more. But more than anything else-the one thing I really really wish I had a chance at, the one thing that I desire more than any other is a chance to see my son grow up. If there is one thing I really regret in all this-and one that I will never be able to forgive myself for-is depriving my son of his father. He didn't deserve this. No son does.
On the night of 7th May 1999, I had run over 3 children with my car resulting in their deaths. None of them survived. It was a massacre. I was driving after getting drunk at a party my co-workers had thrown in celebration of my latest promotion. I was 32 years old then. Had I planned to get drunk at the party? No. I had only planned to have a can of beer at the most as I was well aware of the fact that I had no one to drive me back home. Yet, in the excitement of my promotion and the party, I lost control of my thoughts once again. One can of beer became two. Followed by several shots of vodka. I left the party at 11:30 that night and decided to avoid the high way lest I get caught by the traffic cops. So I took the smaller lanes to Ashbury Heights, my neighbor hood. I don't recall much after that. There are just vivid memories but most of it is a blur. I remember trying to be careful not to over speed and to drive safely but I am not really sure. I remember I was drowsing in and out of consciousness, trying to clear my head but sleep and intoxication completely taking over me. My eye lids were almost shut as I kept on driving and when I forcefully opened them next, I saw 3 kids run across the road almost right in front of my car. I don't know what they were doing out in the middle of a road at 11:30 in the night. But they were there. My mind registered their movements but I was too slow to react. I tried to swerve my car and pressed the brakes but it was too late. The children-all 3 of them-had been crushed by my car. I pleaded guilty to the charges of death caused by drunk driving and man slaughter to the jury. My lawyer plea bargained for a life sentence but the jury of the state of California was out to set an example then and I was sentenced to death to be administered by lethal injection on the very charges I had pleaded guilty to. From that day on-I tried meeting any person from my past life ever again. Including my hospitalized father, my wife and my two year old son. If only I could have controlled my thoughts then.
I can hear the foot steps coming now. The execution squad will be here any moment. Its time for my last walk in life. A walk to the gallows. But I believe I have already walked to the gallows. For the last 10 years of my life that's what I have been doing everyday. Visiting the deaths of those children in my head, remembering the face of my beautiful wife as I shut her down from the last days of my life, trying to retain the fragments the memories of how my son looked like when I last saw him and the boy he must have grown into now, all of 12 years old. Trying to figure out if he looks like me or has he gone after his mother? Trying to understand if he has any memories of me at all or if he even knows who his father is. I don't know if it would be a bad thing if he didn't. Trying to hold onto every little memory that I had as a child as a way of reliving those innocent days in these last 10 years of my life. Trying to remember being there with my father at the Pontiac Silverdome stadium in Michigan as a 14 year old as I watched the San Francisco 49ers win their 1st Super Bowl and scream up and down with my father as they lifted the trophy. Yes-I have been walking the gallows for the last 10 years. Ever since the day I was sentenced to death by the State of California. Today is the day those harrowing walks to the gallows ends. Today I will finally be freed from the feeling of guilt, remorse and regrets that I have been facing everyday for the past 10 years. Today, my soul will be liberated of all the sins that I have committed.
The elimination squad is here. They are asking me to get up and get ready. I have asked them for 5 more minutes which they have generously, albeit grudgingly given. I have requested for no visitors to be present at the time of my execution which means besides the state officials and the press, no one else will be allowed to view my execution. Emily wont be there. Neither will Ryan. I don't know if they are out there somewhere, hoping to catch a last glimpse of me and praying for me. I hope they are. I like to believe they are. But even if they are not, what I want to tell them is that I love them. Beyond the mere definition of the word love. I have loved them and if today I can walk peacefully onto my death bed then it's because I have loved them. I wish I had a chance to tell them this. I hope Emily can forgive me and still find a space to love me somewhere. I hope Ryan knows that his father wasn't really a bad man. Just a reckless one. And one who should have learned a lesson in his childhood itself.That you really can't control your thoughts all the time. If only I had listened then.
There are now no more miles to go before I sleep. And I rest easy upon death's bed, waiting for my final salvation. Take me away.
