Mid-December, it was raining outside and freezing. I lay there trying to get comfortable and warm by getting under my extra (and therefore illegal contraband) blanket. There was a thin sheet laid across two threadbare blankets, in an attempt to trap the heat escaping the old porous blankets.
I was chilled to the bone but knew how fortunate I was to have the extra blanket when many had none. Yet, I couldn’t sleep. The prison beds were old, angry, rusted, and bent metal cots bolted to the unforgiving concrete floor. The so-called plastic mattress was razor-thin and left imprints on every metal bolt and weld spot.
With each breath, I began to smell a strong medicinal aroma like in a sterilized hospital. It was subtly getting stronger. My eyes were closed, and my face was under the covers. I speculated on the source of the smell with my mind while my body tried in vain to sleep.
I started hearing voices in the background – not the usual nightly screams from grown men’s nightmares visiting them in a crowded open barracks of 100 or more robbers, rapists, and murderers who all shared the same fate of arrest. Not even the usual daily roar of that many men crowded in a small room talking in groups of two to five. No, these voices became clearer and were of a woman and a small child calling someone named Lee and praying to God for him to wake up.
I began intently following the narrative-like conversation of the voices. It became apparent a mother and daughter were praying for their daddy to get well and wake up. I became so engrossed in their voices that my eyes misted up as the little girl’s angelic voice begged Jesus to please wake her daddy up, that they needed him.
An ethereal, light-headed “out of body” feeling enveloped me. The ether-like smell began to have a seeming intoxicating effect on my senses. “In and out,” I started thinking as I controlled my breathing in a relaxing meditation-style technique I learned years ago to inhibit my anger and anxiety. Slowly I flexed my toes, knees, stomach, arms, and neck as I made myself aware of my entire body.
When I heard a gasp near me, I opened my eyes and could barely see, for the light was everywhere and blurred my vision. Yet, I could make out a beautiful woman sitting at the foot of my bed, holding hands with a little girl. They both continued to pray for “Daddy.”
As I tried to figure out who they were, it dawned on me that I was in some type of hospital room, and they were praying for me. “Daddy?” Why would they be praying for daddy at the foot of my bed? As I contemplated this new development while staring intently at them, my eyes slowly focused. The little girl was maybe five years of age, had shoulder-length blond hair in a ponytail wearing a little gray and pink striped business skirt with a pink blouse. She was an identical version of her mother in both clothing and hair.
The little barbie doll looked up from her prayers in astonishment. As I scrutinized her, she loudly exclaimed, “Daddy is up!” and only her mother could have kept her from choking me to death as she jumped out of her mother’s lap, bounded onto the side of my bed, and gave me the most ferocious hug I have ever had. As her mother smiled at me, she came and gently pried the girl off of my neck.
I was shocked to find tears running down my face. The raw, unadulterated love and emotion of the crying little girl praying with her mother and now hugging me had affected me in a way I had thought impossible. I, who had hated life and everyone in it, including myself, for various reasons through the last 33 odd years, had tears of silent joy and fulfillment running down my face – that I could not control nor explain.
Finally, I smiled and attempted to speak, but only a croaking growl escaped my lips. The woman leaned over and kissed my forehead, cheeks and mouth while squeezing my hand and whispered, “Don’t speak. The doctor is coming.” Their love and joy were powerful and contagious as I felt it igniting inside me and reciprocated 110%. I knew that at this moment, nothing in life was impossible.
The doctor came in and shook his head while telling the woman, “I don’t believe it! It’s a miracle he’s out of the coma with such a head injury.” The doctor then pulled out a syringe and stuck it in my arm while stating, “This will let you sleep off the physically draining shock of coming out of a head injury induced coma.”
“NO!!” I screamed with all my might. I was afraid I would wake back up in the emotionally starved, isolated, dehumanizing, and cold prison world. Yet only a slurred moan emitted from my lips as he inserted the needle.
Cold, icy, desolate nothingness enveloped me.
I could groggily hear the prisoners yelling for chow. These damned dreams don’t discriminate. As I opened my eyes, they were still blurry, but I could make out the unmistakable smiling face of the beautiful child with a hospital tray of food.
“It’s time to eat daddy!.”
Robert Lee Williford, Jr.
PO Box 600 – ADC #091357
Grady, Arkansas 71644
© Rwilliford 2000
11 Comments
My brother Lee committed an atrocious crime that was inexcusable. True he had a horrific childhood, but even he will tell you it’s not an excuse for his crime. It’s just a verifiable fact that his father was convicted of severely sexually and physically abusing him and the state of Arkansas gave him back to his father three times. He has been incarcerated 34 years – so he will never “get away” with anything. But that’s not what has me riled up and writing this post. You people who hide behind monikers of concerned citizen, etc, have no right to attack our sister Shawnette and question why she would be given a day to honor her by the Arkansas State Legislature (1997 Arkansas Senatorial Citation for Bravery) for heroically trying to save lives. Yes, two victims were not physically harmed and did not attempt to go back into the burning house to save our beloved Aunt (mother) Sue, as she was dying in a burning house. But Shawnette did! She initially escaped unharmed through her bedroom window. When she heard Aunt Sue inside trying to get out – she did not stay on the lawn as everyone else did. She went back inside the burning house through her window. She ran through a burning hallway into the kitchen area and found Aunt Sue. She dragged her a few feet but was unable to go further. She was literally on fire. In a daze she miraculously made it through burning hallway again to her bedroom window. She escaped this time with burns over 60% of her body with 40% third degree. So she is more than just “another victim.” She was a 16 year old hero to those in her community and family. You hypocrites who hide behind monikers of “concerned citizen, etc.” should get your facts straight before you socially disparage someone who is more than a victim. Shawnette Walker is a survivor, not a helpless victim anymore, and I dare any of you to say otherwise. She is my sister and I am dammed proud of her for trying to save lives while everyone outside stood around and waited on First Responders.
You weren’t even there when it happened. When she came out she told no one her aunt was alive inside. She even told people she thought she was already dead including the firefighters. If you think anyone was just standing outside waiting for help, you couldn’t be more wrong. Sorry but your sister is a survivor. She isn’t a hero. She survived a crime that your own brother sent her to die. There were several survivors that lived. One laid by the front door who was her husband. The two ladies after they got through getting out of the house (they opened the room and was engulfed in flames) could not get in the house. The doors were swelled shut. Your sister isn’t a hero and your brother is a piece of lying shit. Just accept it. The only innocent one in all of this is the woman who died.
You didn’t go back inside. No one went back inside through a window but Shawnette. If your hate was just directed at our brother that would be understandable. But to be so angry, bitter, and hateful at a 16 year old child who went back into a burning hell, and whose never hurt you, is a reflection of your inner chaos. You are not the only one who matters. Whatever you story is – it’s not the only one. Shawnette is not your enemy or anyone else’s.
What are talkin about? I don’t know about stories that have been given someone to copy which is me. I don’t hate your sister. She can get all of the awards she wants. As far as anyone else, it is documented what each person did. In reality, the only person who Lee Williford. You should be pretty damn upset that you couldn’t save her. Her own brother carried her to bed so he could finish getting the alarms packed in the car.
Well said.
We used to work at the paper years ago. Always respected you until now. Some of us old timers were horrified at the story but I might be inclined to say this is a different level of hate. We don’t know why you have chosen to do this but I could take a guess and assume he is up for parole. You have become unprofessional over the years and it saddens me to see this. Please delete your user names on here and your messages. This family has had more pain than any of us could even imagine. You and I both know to never get too invested in a story. Everyone that was involved in this situation are victims in their own right, including the offender. I always pray for healing for everyone involved. HL contacted me last night and my advice is to delete your messages. Take care and miss you in the old days when we had to actually print the news.
She didn’t escape unharmed in the beginning. Just ask her!! SHE HAS BEEN LYING THIS WHOLE TIME.
Sir, I don’t know you and you don’t know me. I have been in journalism for 38 years and I publicly apologize to all of the families that are seeing these comments. This is an angry individual who has an agenda. We are in shock by the horrific comments and this person has been contacted regarding the comments. This person has been retired for several years. As a journalist my advice is to not give in to anger. God Bless
You have a gift for writing, I hope you continue. Writing is so powerful and healing that it is recommended in restorative justice programs. Thank you for sharing.
Hahaha! That’s cute. Trying to copy my screen name.
Lee is my brother, who has been in prison most of his life. I have never heard him tell a story with emotion before.
This sounds like the good start to a book and I would like to see the rest of it. I don’t know what his inspirations are, but I do hope he keeps working on it.
I am 800 miles and lifetime away from my brother and I don’t see that ever changing. I have seen him for some thirty years. I’m often sad about that but it is the result of the paths we have taken.
It’s good to see some of the world from his perspective.
Blessed Be my brother, may the gods be with you.