I knew that I would be given the opportunity to eat whatever I wanted once this day had come. It is something that I had thought about a few times throughout my life. If I were to know when I would die, what would my last meal be? I never actually thought I would know when or how I would die and they say most would not want to know if given the opportunity to find out. I suspect most people would not expect to find themselves on death row. I know I never thought I would be here, but here I sit. I have been given the task to order form the last menu I will ever know.
I am having trouble deciding what it is I want. I stare at the bars that now hold me within my small five by ten foot home. This room has been home to many before me and will house many after I am gone. The paint is chipped on many of the bars which makes me wonder how they became that way. Have there been others before me in this cell that have chipped the paint off? Is there a tradition that I am unaware of to chip a little off as a way of showing I was here? I try to think of as many questions as I can in hopes of prolonging my final decision. How am I supposed to choose my last meal when I am not hungry? I haven’t been hungry in weeks and I have become increasingly less hungry as the end of my time draws closer.
Knowing that this time would eventually come I have made mental notes of what I would like in the event I ever became hungry again. I was never what one would consider a lover of food. I wasn’t adventurous in my selections and would commonly order things I have had before. Burger with fries, pizza, pasta, Chinese, a little fish, a club sandwich now and again. Nothing too exotic or exciting. And for this reason I would sometimes find it difficult to make a selection at a restaurant. I would be torn between something that was a standard for me and another item that was equally boring. Now that I am supposed to decide what will be my final meal I am stumped.
A burger and fries always sounds good to me as does pizza. I could order something that I haven’t had in years, but I cannot think of anything that sticks out. Maybe New England clam chowder in a sourdough bowl. Giving me a last taste of San Francisco. Perhaps a nice pastrami sandwich from Johnnies in Culver City. Can I be so specific? It’s amazing how many tasty treats I can think of while at the same time none sound appetizing. My time is running out and I am going to have to choose something quick. What will they bring me if I fail to make a selection? Will I starve or will they bring me the most commonly chosen final meal? Hmmm…I wonder what that would be?
I should have given this more thought. While I sat in the courtroom listening to all the testimony surrounding my case I should have been thinking about this meal. There was no reason to listen to the prosecution because there was no way I wasn’t going to be found guilty. Despite the fact that I didn’t actually commit the crime that warranted my termination, I knew I was gonna end up here. I may have been innocent of this particular crime, but I am guilty of so many others that I deserve to be sitting right where I am. I still have the lawyers face burned in my memory when I told her that I did not want to appeal. I smile every time I think about it.
I finally call the guard over and give him my order. After I finish he just stands there with a puzzled look on his face. Was I not clear? Did I order something completely outlandish? I wanted to say something witty like “let’s go, chop chop! Time’s a wastin’!” Instead I stare at him for a second and then sit down. I take in my surroundings and think about all the movies I have seen that had prison scenes in them. They all had it wrong. The settings may be similar, but the feeling is so much worse. I didn’t know you could feel cold like this. Not the kind of cold you would feel during winter in Michigan or summer in San Francisco, but the type of cold you feel when you are completely alone. The being alone part may be worse than death. Maybe that is why I am almost looking forward to the end. I won’t be alive anymore, but I won’t be alone anymore either.
As I wait for my meal to arrive I try to keep my mind occupied. I hope my family understands why I declined to see them yesterday. The last time we were all together was during Christmas and that is how I wanted to remember them and how I wanted them to remember me. I never looked at them during the trial. I couldn’t. I had to keep focused and not let my emotions get the better of me. Having never talked to them I wonder if they think I am guilty too. It is amazing how many questions will never find an answer making them irrelevant.
My meal has arrived. I am still not hungry, but I begin to eat anyway. I begin to think more about my life. I wondered “what if” for most of my life and have often wished to relive specific moments. How would I have changed them and how would that have changed the overall outcome? I am so lost in thought that I do not even realize that I am already halfway through my meal. I knew choosing this was the right move. When the guard delivered it he still had that puzzled look as if he was on a hidden camera show. I didn’t acknowledge the look, but I did notice it. I wonder if he noticed the slight smile I got from his bewilderment. I like that I can still find humor in the most devastating circumstances. Here I am waiting to be put to death and I am laughing inside because of a stupid ass prison guard. I should ask if he wanted some of my last meal. Would it be inappropriate to eat part of someone else’s last meal? Would he have to say no just out of principle? I can feel my mouth smiling through the chewing as I ponder these questions and I see the guard again staring at me. He must think I’m crazy.
The time has come. This part of the process does seem more like a movie. I never really saw the need for full body shackles in the movies and I still don’t see the need for them now. Where the hell am I supposed to go? There are four guards all armed with guns and I just ate. Don’t think I am going to get very far if I made a run for it, but whatever. I have images from Dead Man Walking and The Green Mile flashing in my head. This seems so different. All I can do is stare at the ground in front of me. It is a hard gray colored section of floor. I imagine it is cold. All I hear is the shuffling of my feet and the sound of the chains knocking against each other with every step.
Fear starts to creep in. This is really happening. This is not a movie. I will not get up and go home when this is over. I am fighting back tears now as I feel my bottom lip start to quiver. I am placed against the table that is set vertical as the shackles are taken off. I am looking about the room rapidly as if I am trying to find an escape. There is no escape. This is it. I am strapped into the restraints and the table is tipped horizontal. I was expecting to see windows or something allowing outsiders to witness this, but there is nothing. Just two guards now and a medical examiner. My arm is swabbed with alcohol which made me burst out an inappropriate laugh. Why would they swab my arm? Are they fearful that I might get an infection? Couldn’t they use the same needle for every execution? I think of more humorous questions as my anxiety increases. The I.V. is inserted now and I am terrified. The head guard walks up to me and asks if I have any final words.
Oh Shit! I completely forgot about the final words. I was so consumed with the fucking meal I forgot I had this too. I stare at him as if I was just informed of a pop quiz for a subject that I had no knowledge of. He stared back at me with raised eyebrows awaiting my response. What do you say in a time like this? Should I be profound? Is there possibly something I could say that would get me out of this? Has that ever happened? Somehow through the million thoughts streaming through my mind like a stock ticker I find clarity. My body relaxes and my mind stops. I find the words that I want to say and know they are not appropriate. I should say something profound, something insightful, something that these people will think upon by themselves on their way home and for the rest of their lives. But I say nothing. I close my eyes and wait for the darkness to consume me. He asks me again, but I do not move. I remain silent and still with my eyes closed.
A moment passes and I begin to feel my body go heavy. This is it. It has begun. Soon I will know what lies beyond this. Will everything go black or will there in fact be a white light? I am almost excited. The ultimate question is about to find an answer. My body becomes completely relaxed by the drugs and for a second I feel as if I am entering a dream. My final thought is about to be produced and as I had planned it I taste the small bit of peanut butter and jelly that was wedged between my teeth from a few hours before. I wanted my last meal to be something that would last me for the rest of my life and I was not disappointed.
