Ninny and Poppa lived in an old, white clapboard farmhouse on a hill in Yocona, a rural community near Oxford, Mississippi. As an adult, I have mixed feelings about that house, and sometimes about the people who lived there, but it was the one constant in my life. It still stands there today and my family still lives in it. I haven’t been there since Poppa died, though, and I have no plans to visit any time soon.
Poppa was a farmer. The house sat in the middle of several acres that he tended to carefully. As far as I know, he never took a day off. Ninny tended to their four children. Aunt Paula was the oldest. The twins, my Aunt Maggie and Uncle Richard, came next. My father was the youngest.
I don’t know Maggie and Richard very well. They both left home right after high school – before I was born. Maggie started nursing school but married a doctor before she finished. They live in Denver and seem to have a very nice life. Richard went to business school. He’s a corporate executive in Dallas. Or is it Houston? When I was younger, they always came home for Christmas. Now they only come home for funerals and I haven’t seen either of them since Poppa died.
Paula and my father were much more dysfunctional, and much less successful. Neither of them ever strayed very far from home. I realize now that Ninny and Poppa enabled them. Ninny mothered her children until they left. For the two that never did, she just continued mothering them like there was nothing wrong with it. As for Poppa, well, he just did what Ninny wanted. I never witnessed any opposition on his part.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
After Camille's First Visit
I was halfway back to Oklahoma City when I had to stop the car. I was shaking so badly that I could barely grasp the steering wheel. My head was spinning and my heart was racing. I still wanted to run away, but I also wanted to stay. I wanted to help her. And I wanted to shake her and ask her why she couldn’t help herself and solve her own problems without having to drag everyone into her messes. I loved her. And I hated her. And I was so angry at her for making me feel this way, and at myself for allowing it to happen.
I got out, paced a bit on the side of the road and took some deep breaths. After about fifteen minutes, I managed to pull myself together enough to get back on the road. The thoughts and emotions were still there, though. Had I really thought that I could just pop in to say ‘hi’ and leave it like that? What really brought me here in the first place? Was it some kind of morbid curiosity? I couldn’t answer that. I still can’t. And, to this day, a part of me wishes I’d never set foot in that place.
As I drove, SueAnn’s life played out in my head like some kind of strange movie. I kept trying to pinpoint exactly when things went south for her. It was hard to tell. Maybe there was no exact moment. Maybe it was all meant to be. Maybe she was born under a bad sign or something stupid like that.
As children, we were pretty typical. We lived in a rural community in North Mississippi and all the other children our age were boys. Needless to say, being girly girls was not an option for us. We climbed trees, we got into fist fights, played war and cowboys and Indians. My mother wasn’t fond of the fist fights, but she didn’t mind the rest of the tomboy stuff. Aunt Paula didn’t care about any of it. Probably because she paid no attention whatsoever.
Ninny, on the other hand, paid plenty of attention. She desperately wanted us to be proper little girls and behave accordingly. She dressed us up and dragged us to church. I can’t tell you how many times we came home on Sunday with grass stains on our dresses from rough housing with the boys in the church yard. She also tried to teach us to cook and sew. Every single lesson ended with us sneaking out the door the first time she turned her back. She never stopped trying, though.
I guess we were twelve or thirteen when things started to feel different. Our bodies were changing and our friends became more interested in popping our bras and less interested in being our friends. I didn’t quite understand the changes, but I also didn’t have much opportunity to process them. That was the summer that my parents divorced. My sister and I moved into town with our mother just before school started that fall. I focused my attention on academics and SueAnn focused her attention on boys.
I got out, paced a bit on the side of the road and took some deep breaths. After about fifteen minutes, I managed to pull myself together enough to get back on the road. The thoughts and emotions were still there, though. Had I really thought that I could just pop in to say ‘hi’ and leave it like that? What really brought me here in the first place? Was it some kind of morbid curiosity? I couldn’t answer that. I still can’t. And, to this day, a part of me wishes I’d never set foot in that place.
As I drove, SueAnn’s life played out in my head like some kind of strange movie. I kept trying to pinpoint exactly when things went south for her. It was hard to tell. Maybe there was no exact moment. Maybe it was all meant to be. Maybe she was born under a bad sign or something stupid like that.
As children, we were pretty typical. We lived in a rural community in North Mississippi and all the other children our age were boys. Needless to say, being girly girls was not an option for us. We climbed trees, we got into fist fights, played war and cowboys and Indians. My mother wasn’t fond of the fist fights, but she didn’t mind the rest of the tomboy stuff. Aunt Paula didn’t care about any of it. Probably because she paid no attention whatsoever.
Ninny, on the other hand, paid plenty of attention. She desperately wanted us to be proper little girls and behave accordingly. She dressed us up and dragged us to church. I can’t tell you how many times we came home on Sunday with grass stains on our dresses from rough housing with the boys in the church yard. She also tried to teach us to cook and sew. Every single lesson ended with us sneaking out the door the first time she turned her back. She never stopped trying, though.
I guess we were twelve or thirteen when things started to feel different. Our bodies were changing and our friends became more interested in popping our bras and less interested in being our friends. I didn’t quite understand the changes, but I also didn’t have much opportunity to process them. That was the summer that my parents divorced. My sister and I moved into town with our mother just before school started that fall. I focused my attention on academics and SueAnn focused her attention on boys.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Camille's First Visit (conclusion)
Things continued along those lines for quite a while. It was very uncomfortable for me but it didn’t seem to bother SueAnn at all. She was enjoying my company and that was all that mattered to her at the time. She always did have a way of living in the moment. I used to envy that about her when we were children. I was always the one worrying about the consequences – what other people might think, how much trouble we would get into, etc. SueAnn, on the other hand, just did what she wanted and enjoyed herself. She worried about all the other stuff if and when it actually happened.
I realize now that I was just exercising good judgment and self control – two things that seem to have been omitted from SueAnn’s genetic make up. I guess you could say that’s been the story of her life. I can’t tell you how many times she’s paid the price for her bad judgment. Every time something awful happened to her, I would think ‘maybe this will be her wake-up call’. I kept hoping she’d have a moment of clarity somewhere along the way and turn everything around for herself. As it turns out, even prison wasn’t a big enough wake-up call. In true SueAnn fashion, she managed to make a bad situation even worse.
Eventually, the small talk came to an end. One of the guards popped in with the five minute warning. The hour was almost over. “You’re comin’ back, right?” she was begging more than asking.
The question threw me off guard a little bit. I hadn’t anticipated it. I don’t know why, though. It was a logical question. I guess I just hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Well, I’m only in town for the day. I’m on my way to a job assignment.” She just stared at me. “I have to do some research for a new documentary. I’m headed straight back to the airport when I leave here.”
“But you can come back when you’re done, right?” This was breaking my heart. “How long will you be gone?”
“The assignment is supposed to take a few weeks. I should be able to come back after that.”
“Can you write me? Maybe send some pictures? They do let me have mail in the hole, you know. And I can write you back.”
“Sure.” What else could I say? “I’ll give you my address. My mail gets forwarded when I’m on assignment.”
“You’ll have to give it to the guard. You ain’t allowed to give me nothing directly. It all has to go through them.”
I realize now that I was just exercising good judgment and self control – two things that seem to have been omitted from SueAnn’s genetic make up. I guess you could say that’s been the story of her life. I can’t tell you how many times she’s paid the price for her bad judgment. Every time something awful happened to her, I would think ‘maybe this will be her wake-up call’. I kept hoping she’d have a moment of clarity somewhere along the way and turn everything around for herself. As it turns out, even prison wasn’t a big enough wake-up call. In true SueAnn fashion, she managed to make a bad situation even worse.
Eventually, the small talk came to an end. One of the guards popped in with the five minute warning. The hour was almost over. “You’re comin’ back, right?” she was begging more than asking.
The question threw me off guard a little bit. I hadn’t anticipated it. I don’t know why, though. It was a logical question. I guess I just hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Well, I’m only in town for the day. I’m on my way to a job assignment.” She just stared at me. “I have to do some research for a new documentary. I’m headed straight back to the airport when I leave here.”
“But you can come back when you’re done, right?” This was breaking my heart. “How long will you be gone?”
“The assignment is supposed to take a few weeks. I should be able to come back after that.”
“Can you write me? Maybe send some pictures? They do let me have mail in the hole, you know. And I can write you back.”
“Sure.” What else could I say? “I’ll give you my address. My mail gets forwarded when I’m on assignment.”
“You’ll have to give it to the guard. You ain’t allowed to give me nothing directly. It all has to go through them.”
Friday, May 8, 2009
Camille's First Visit (continued)
When they brought her in, my first thought was that they had the wrong inmate. I didn’t recognize her. Then she saw me and her face lit up. I’ve often wondered what my own face looked like in that moment. Did she see shock? Disbelief? Or did she see the guilt that was tearing me apart?
The truth is that, even once I knew it was her, I still didn’t recognize her. The honey blonde hair of her youth had turned dark and mousy. It looked like straw. Her bare face was rough. She had aged so much since the last time I saw her. How long had it been? Ten years? Twelve? I couldn’t remember.
I watched while she waited for the guards to remove her shackles. A chain around her waist was attached to the handcuffs that she wore. The shackles on her feet were larger versions of the handcuffs and were connected by a short chain which forced her to take very small steps. The chain around her waist and the leg irons were connected in front by another chain. I knew from my research that the shackles were not one large contraption. They consisted of individual pieces that could be used together or separately. The removal process was very slow and methodical. I hated watching it, hated knowing that she had to go through this every time she left her cell for recreation, visitation or medical appointments. I also knew that she didn’t get to leave her cell all that often and that made my stomach hurt all over again.
The guards removed the waist chain and then helped her to her knees. Once she was on the floor, and at a tactical disadvantage, her handcuffs were removed. She turned and faced the wall, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. Then her leg irons were removed. She remained in that position until the guards had left the room. Then she rose and came over to the Plexiglas. She seated herself in a molded plastic chair which was the only movable object on her side of the partition.
“Hey, Girl!” She said it as if we had just bumped into one another at the mall. It was more than a little surreal. “You’re lookin’ good these days.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t very well return the compliment. I mumbled something about how good it was to see her and how long it had been. In that moment, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away from that place and never come back. I wanted to remember my SueAnn the way she had been as a young girl, not as this haggard, old-before-her-time creature in front of me. But the guilt kicked in and I stayed right where I was.
I asked the standard questions – ‘Are you feeling okay?’ ‘Are you getting enough to eat?’ – that sort of trivial bullshit. I knew the rules in these places. As long as she was here, she would be fed, she would receive any medical treatment that she required and no real harm would come to her – at least for now.
Finally, she interrupted my questions. “You don’t wanna hear about this place. Besides, there really ain’t much to tell. I eat and sleep and watch a little TV. Mostly I work on my case, though.” Again, I didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily, she kept right on talking and I was off the hook for a comment on her case. “Tell me about you. What’ve you been doin’ all these years? Norma told me you were on TV.”
I couldn’t help but smile. My family tends to be a little confused when it comes to exactly what I do for a living. “Well, I’m not actually on television. I work for a media company that owns a few cable networks.” She gave me a quizzical look. “Channels. They own TV channels.” That was better. She seemed to understand.
“Well what do you do if you ain’t on TV?” I could never tell how much SueAnn really understood and how much confusion she was faking for the sake of getting some attention. She’d been doing that for so many years that I’m not sure she knew either.
The truth is that, even once I knew it was her, I still didn’t recognize her. The honey blonde hair of her youth had turned dark and mousy. It looked like straw. Her bare face was rough. She had aged so much since the last time I saw her. How long had it been? Ten years? Twelve? I couldn’t remember.
I watched while she waited for the guards to remove her shackles. A chain around her waist was attached to the handcuffs that she wore. The shackles on her feet were larger versions of the handcuffs and were connected by a short chain which forced her to take very small steps. The chain around her waist and the leg irons were connected in front by another chain. I knew from my research that the shackles were not one large contraption. They consisted of individual pieces that could be used together or separately. The removal process was very slow and methodical. I hated watching it, hated knowing that she had to go through this every time she left her cell for recreation, visitation or medical appointments. I also knew that she didn’t get to leave her cell all that often and that made my stomach hurt all over again.
The guards removed the waist chain and then helped her to her knees. Once she was on the floor, and at a tactical disadvantage, her handcuffs were removed. She turned and faced the wall, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. Then her leg irons were removed. She remained in that position until the guards had left the room. Then she rose and came over to the Plexiglas. She seated herself in a molded plastic chair which was the only movable object on her side of the partition.
“Hey, Girl!” She said it as if we had just bumped into one another at the mall. It was more than a little surreal. “You’re lookin’ good these days.”
What was I supposed to say to that? I couldn’t very well return the compliment. I mumbled something about how good it was to see her and how long it had been. In that moment, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away from that place and never come back. I wanted to remember my SueAnn the way she had been as a young girl, not as this haggard, old-before-her-time creature in front of me. But the guilt kicked in and I stayed right where I was.
I asked the standard questions – ‘Are you feeling okay?’ ‘Are you getting enough to eat?’ – that sort of trivial bullshit. I knew the rules in these places. As long as she was here, she would be fed, she would receive any medical treatment that she required and no real harm would come to her – at least for now.
Finally, she interrupted my questions. “You don’t wanna hear about this place. Besides, there really ain’t much to tell. I eat and sleep and watch a little TV. Mostly I work on my case, though.” Again, I didn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily, she kept right on talking and I was off the hook for a comment on her case. “Tell me about you. What’ve you been doin’ all these years? Norma told me you were on TV.”
I couldn’t help but smile. My family tends to be a little confused when it comes to exactly what I do for a living. “Well, I’m not actually on television. I work for a media company that owns a few cable networks.” She gave me a quizzical look. “Channels. They own TV channels.” That was better. She seemed to understand.
“Well what do you do if you ain’t on TV?” I could never tell how much SueAnn really understood and how much confusion she was faking for the sake of getting some attention. She’d been doing that for so many years that I’m not sure she knew either.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Camille's First Visit
It wasn't my first trip to a prison. My job has taken me to many unusual places to conduct interviews or to gather information for research. Prison isn't even the scariest place I've ever been. This one was different, though. This one held someone who mattered to me. This trip wasn't just part of the job.
When you visit someone in prison, there are rules you must follow. There is always a dress code. The things that you are allowed to carry in with you are severely limited. It can vary from one place to the next, but usually not by much. I followed the rules for the Mabel Bassett Correctional Center to the 'T'. I did not bring my purse or my cell phone. I did not wear an underwire bra because they can set off the metal detectors. The only jewelry I wore was a watch. My pocket contained my driver's license and a roll of quarters for the snack machine.
When I had been properly screened for visitation, I was escorted into a secure visitation room. The difference between 'secure' and 'regular' was a Plexiglas window. Regular visitation took place in a large cafeteria-like space where inmates could hug family members and hold their children in their laps. SueAnn and I would sit opposite one another in small booths and talk through a round vent in the Plexiglas. Somehow that Plexiglas really reinforced just how bad things had gotten for her. It made my stomach hurt.
When you visit someone in prison, there are rules you must follow. There is always a dress code. The things that you are allowed to carry in with you are severely limited. It can vary from one place to the next, but usually not by much. I followed the rules for the Mabel Bassett Correctional Center to the 'T'. I did not bring my purse or my cell phone. I did not wear an underwire bra because they can set off the metal detectors. The only jewelry I wore was a watch. My pocket contained my driver's license and a roll of quarters for the snack machine.
When I had been properly screened for visitation, I was escorted into a secure visitation room. The difference between 'secure' and 'regular' was a Plexiglas window. Regular visitation took place in a large cafeteria-like space where inmates could hug family members and hold their children in their laps. SueAnn and I would sit opposite one another in small booths and talk through a round vent in the Plexiglas. Somehow that Plexiglas really reinforced just how bad things had gotten for her. It made my stomach hurt.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Camille Remembers: Todd
It was the summer after sixth grade. We were twelve that year. SueAnn’s mother had come back just before the end of the school year. She was gone a lot back then. Everyone was always very quiet about it. Our grandmother (we called her Ninny) would say, “Paula’s out of town again.” I never heard anyone ask where or why. When I was very young, it sounded work-related and I didn’t question it. As I got older, I began to realize that she never kept a job for long and I doubted that her trips had anything to do with work. She was usually gone for a few weeks. Then she would be home for a long time. Then she would leave again. Every time Aunt Paula left, SueAnn would have to stay with Ninny and Poppa until she came home.
My mother was very protective so my sister and I were a bit more sheltered than most kids our age. That’s probably why I never really clued in to what was going on. I was in college before I really understood. I’m not sure if my sister ever knew either. It’s strange how no one ever talked about it. Aunt Paula came and went throughout my childhood and I never even questioned it. Not really. It was the norm and I was accustomed to it.
At any rate, she was home that summer. This time she came back with a new boyfriend. Like her frequent trips, new boyfriends were a constant for Aunt Paula. She and SueAnn’s father divorced when SueAnn was just a baby and she never remarried. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. Every new boyfriend was potential husband material. Unfortunately for her, they didn’t usually share that point of view. A few of them went so far as to get engaged, but none of them ever followed through with it. There was always some big, dramatic breakup. Then Aunt Paula would play her Patsy Cline albums and drink too much. Sometimes, when it was really bad, Ninny would come and get SueAnn for a couple of days. After a few days of tear-jerkers and hard liquor everything would seem normal and fine. (As if anything was never ‘normal’ or ‘fine’ with our family. We just didn’t know any better.)
Most of Aunt Paula’s boyfriends were local. Sometimes we would run into her exes at the store or the post office (I was even able to remember most of their names). The new boyfriend that summer came from someplace else, though. He came back with Aunt Paula – from wherever she had been. His name was Todd. He seemed nice enough. Then again, they all seemed nice enough. I never invested a lot of time in getting to know them. I guess I thought it would be a waste of time getting to know someone who was going to leave in a couple of months.
Todd moved in with Aunt Paula and SueAnn. Ninny disapproved of that from the start. The truth was that Aunt Paula always had boyfriends in her house. I guess Ninny just pretended not to know. Todd was different because he wasn’t local. She couldn’t pretend that he went home at the end of the day.
My mother was very protective so my sister and I were a bit more sheltered than most kids our age. That’s probably why I never really clued in to what was going on. I was in college before I really understood. I’m not sure if my sister ever knew either. It’s strange how no one ever talked about it. Aunt Paula came and went throughout my childhood and I never even questioned it. Not really. It was the norm and I was accustomed to it.
At any rate, she was home that summer. This time she came back with a new boyfriend. Like her frequent trips, new boyfriends were a constant for Aunt Paula. She and SueAnn’s father divorced when SueAnn was just a baby and she never remarried. It wasn’t for lack of trying, though. Every new boyfriend was potential husband material. Unfortunately for her, they didn’t usually share that point of view. A few of them went so far as to get engaged, but none of them ever followed through with it. There was always some big, dramatic breakup. Then Aunt Paula would play her Patsy Cline albums and drink too much. Sometimes, when it was really bad, Ninny would come and get SueAnn for a couple of days. After a few days of tear-jerkers and hard liquor everything would seem normal and fine. (As if anything was never ‘normal’ or ‘fine’ with our family. We just didn’t know any better.)
Most of Aunt Paula’s boyfriends were local. Sometimes we would run into her exes at the store or the post office (I was even able to remember most of their names). The new boyfriend that summer came from someplace else, though. He came back with Aunt Paula – from wherever she had been. His name was Todd. He seemed nice enough. Then again, they all seemed nice enough. I never invested a lot of time in getting to know them. I guess I thought it would be a waste of time getting to know someone who was going to leave in a couple of months.
Todd moved in with Aunt Paula and SueAnn. Ninny disapproved of that from the start. The truth was that Aunt Paula always had boyfriends in her house. I guess Ninny just pretended not to know. Todd was different because he wasn’t local. She couldn’t pretend that he went home at the end of the day.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Broken - The Basic Story
SueAnn Saxton is on death row in Oklahoma. She has been estranged from her family for several years now. When her cousin Camille finds out that she is on death row, she decides to visit. Camille and SueAnn were very close when they were young. Camille has known for years that SueAnn's life was kind of 'off the rails' but she has always kept her distance. Until now. When Camille learns of the death sentence, she knows that she needs to see SueAnn. In her mind, she's going to say goodbye. In her heart, she's devastated at the thought of losing someone who once meant so much to her.
The story opens during Camille's first visit to Oklahoma's death row. Their time together is awkward - chatting, small talk, etc. So many things have happened over the years that it's hard for them to know where to start. Through their visits, and Camille's memories, we learn both of their stories - difficult childhoods, family relationships, the paths they chose as adults.
Broken is a story about family, forgiveness, acceptance and what you do when there's nothing that you can do.
The story opens during Camille's first visit to Oklahoma's death row. Their time together is awkward - chatting, small talk, etc. So many things have happened over the years that it's hard for them to know where to start. Through their visits, and Camille's memories, we learn both of their stories - difficult childhoods, family relationships, the paths they chose as adults.
Broken is a story about family, forgiveness, acceptance and what you do when there's nothing that you can do.
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