Till Death Do Us Part

My only hope is that I don’t hear that awful word.

My only wish is that they don’t take him from me, from this world.

I watch the judge looking intently at Antonio, then his lawyer.

My heart is beating so loudly, that I barley hear the judge call a recess.

I leave the courtroom and wait outside for Antonio, trying desperately to find him.

I feel his arms around me before I even realize it’s him.

He gently lets go.

“I told you not to come.″ His deep green eyes flicker away.

“Of course I was gonna come.″

″Arabella...″

His eyes rise and meet mine.

“Yes?″ I say softly.

“I don’t want you to be there when they...″

His eyes fall back down.

“They aren’t taking you away.″

“Belle, you have to be ready.″

“No, no. I won’t let that happen. I won’t let them take you away.″ I shake my head, furiously.

He takes my hand and kisses it softly.

The hard chairs in the courtroom hurt my back. And my head.

Maybe it’s not the chairs.

The trial goes on.

The prosecutor stands up and points to a picture, which is standing beside the witness stand, of a knife covered in blood.

“Antonio Vasquez killed Meredith Kleif with this weapon.″

Antonio stares blankly at the picture.

“Isn’t that right, Antonio?″ The prosecutor taunts him.

He doesn’t flinch as the prosecutor rips him apart in front of an audience.

My heartbeat is loud in my ears again, ringing is also prominent.

The trial feels agonizingly long.

Eventually, the judge calls for the jury’s verdict.

A short woman stands up and I see her hand shaking as she holds the paper in front of her chest.

My heartbeat accelerates, but I force my ears to listen, until all I hear is her shaky voice, even now, unsure of what she is saying.

“For the charge of aggravated assault, we, the jury, find the defendant, Antonio Miguel Vaquez,″ She roughly swallows. “guilty.″

My heartbeat speeds up, the ringing comes back.

I don’t hear everything she says.

The ringing subsides.

Her voice is so shaky by now, that it’s barely audible.

“For the charge of murder in the first degree, we, the jury, find the defendant, Antonio Miguel Vasquez,″ Her eyes meet mine, her eyes fill with tears. “guilty.″

The tears are hot against my face.

I drop off of my chair and I’m curled in the aisle, sobbing.

I sit up and scream. “He’s not guilty! He’s innocent! You monsters...you..you’re taking him-″

A security guard picks me up and pulls me out of the room.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t- don’t...don’t..″ My voice falls away and I fall on the floor.

I slam the floor with my fist, until I feel too weak to continue.

“It’s- it’s okay.″ The security guard says hesitantly.

“You’ll take him away.″

“He’s...″ He was about to say that awful word, guilty.

He knows better than that.

“I-I wanna hear his sentence.″

The man nods softly. “You can’t act out like that again.″

I nod, reluctantly.

We walk back into the room, quietly and catch the end of his sentence.

The judge’s voice is rough. “In the state of Arizona, the defendant must be over fourteen years of age to receive the death penalty and the defendant is seventeen years old. In the state of Arizona, the victim of the killer must have been under fifteen years of age or over seventy for the defendant to receive the death penalty. Meredith Kleif was fourteen years old. For the murder in the first degree of Meredith Kleif, Antonio Miguel Vasquez shall be put to death.″

I feet the punch as hard as anything.

I fall to the floor.

I am dimly aware of the security guard behind me.

I scream and sob.

Antonio’s black hair softly falls in front of his face as he turns to look at me.

Pain ripples through his dark green eyes.

He didn’t do this.

My tears fall silently as our eyes are locked.

A security guard pulls him out of the room and his head is ripped away from me.

I push the guard out of the way. Before I leave, I whip around and meet the judge’s eyes.

I want him to see my pain.

I want it to hit him.

I want him to feel guilt.

His eyes soften and he tears his eyes away.

I run out of the room.

I look down the long hall and see Antonio.

I push past everyone and run to him.

I wrap my arms around him and feel the soft fabric of his bulky, black sweater under my wet face as I nuzzle my head into his shoulder.

His hands ruffle through my hair.

The security guard isn’t a good one and only notices me now.

“Hey!!″ He pulls me off.

I bang on the guard’s chest and sob.

“Don’t take him! Don’t! No..no...no″

The guard pushes me away.

“He’s guilty.″ The guard scowls and takes him away.

Antonio’s eyes flicker back to me and I see the torment in his eyes and I know he sees it in mine too.

Seven months later

Antonio received one of the shortest periods of time on the death row in history.

A mere seven months later, it is now that day. That torturous, agonizing, horrible day that no one should ever have to experience.

I walk into the room, dressed in black.

Antonio is already sitting in the other room, across the glass.

He lost all of his family the year before and had been living alone ever since.

Prison is a different type of alone. It’s the alone that means no one wants to go near you, because they fear you. They see you as a monster, which he isn’t.

He looks up gently when he sees me enter.

His eyes are tormented with pain when we lock eyes.

Tears flow steadily from me.

He watches me and tears form in his eyes.

His face is already red, he must have been crying steadily for days and who wouldn’t be?

He was falsely accused and now he is dying for it.

He would never do that. He would never kill.

The tears fall and I watch as a tear hits his hand.

His hand crumples under the pressure of the wet drop, the visible sign of hurt.

His lips twitch. He tries to contain his tears, but his head falls into his hands and he weeps.

We weep together. Separated, but together.

I gaze in horror as they strap him to the bed. Those horrible monsters.

A woman dressed like a surgeon reaches for a large needle.

She injects him with morphine and a sedative.

She reaches for a smaller needle, but with a sharper point.

My body shakes.

The pain is uncontrollable, much too hard to explain, to put into words.

She pushes it into his skin roughly, with no empathy for a fellow human, for a child.

My heart beats heavily.

My throat burns.

My stomach turns.

I feel sick.

Antonio’s body starts to shake.

He starts to fight against the buckles holding him down.

Five minutes and thirty nine seconds.

That’s how long I had to watch that.

Antonio’s dark, deep set, green eyes struggle to reach me.

He tries to mouth something but his lips are twitching crazily and he’s almost gone.

His eyes carry love, pain, tears, but no hatred. No hatred for the people who plunged needles into his skin.

My head hurts, it’s a pounding pain.

My hand reaches to the glass and rests softly.

His eyelids start to close and he tries to lift his hand to mine.

His efforts cease and his hand falls, along with his eyelids.

His lungs give way.

His brain goes numb.

I weep.

I bang on the glass.

“Antonio!! No! No!!” My screams echo through the room. “Come back! Don’t leave me!″

My hand slids down the glass as I fall softly to the hard, cold floor.

The prosecutor is in there with me.

His eyes are stained with a guilt that I know will never leave him.

My body shakes and my breathing is rugged.

I struggle to find breath at all.

Hours later, they wheel his coffin out of the building and I run to it.

I place my hands on the coffin and they shake steadily.

“Arabella means ‘yielding to prayer’. I ask God that you may rest now. You’ll be happier in Heaven, with the rest of your family. I’ll see you there one day, my love.″ My voice cracks and falls away.

The coffin carriers look at me with deep sympathy.

The only thing I feel when I hear his name, Antonio, is pain.

And years later, when they convict someone else for the murder of Meredith Kleif, it hurts all the same.