Yours for Eternity: A Love Story on Death Row

by Damien Echols

  I love you and I miss you,

  L.

  August 12, 1996

  Dearest loved one,

  I just got off the phone with you and the thought of being in a bathtub with you is far too much to think about—wow I really love being attracted to you, it makes things like taking a bath or scratching your back take on a whole new meaning—do you like bubbles in the bathtub? I like just clear water—but very hot—till you almost pass out. We can lie in there together for hours and read to each other. I just love you so much!

  How do you feel about spending the whole day in bed? That would be the best—reading to each other, eating ice cream or toast all day—sleeping for a little while—and yes—you will be very close to me while we sleep—making love—then starting all over again. That is my idea of a perfect day.

  No one would bother us.

  *

  I like reading descriptions of people in your life. It’s funny, I would like to meet people who are close to you—but for now, it’s almost like how you described reading a book—I want to know them through you. I want to know how you feel about them—what they mean to you—why you love them, why you don’t. Like, I kind of know why you love Jason—but what was it that drew you to him to begin with? It’s funny isn’t it? Thinking about these things. Is it a look, a feeling, a gesture, does it take several events? It’s like Franny and Zooey—again—little things that make a huge impact. For me, it’s always recognizing a fierce yet calm independence in a person. So if I have the luxury, sometimes it takes a while of just watching them—if I am in the least bit intrigued. It’s funny though—I haven’t been even slightly intrigued with anyone or anything since we’ve become what we are. I struggled with that—because I don’t know what to call us—is there a word for it?

  David called me a zombie the other day. My friends Luis and Susan ask me about once a week if I am ever coming back. Isn’t it funny? I am now living in a world with you.

  Yours,

  Lorri

  August 13, 1996

  My Dearest Lorri,

  It’s hard to explain what I meant tonight when I was talking about losing you. I’ve lost everything in my life that has ever meant anything to me. It’s always been snatched away from me in one way or another. But I’ve always managed to recover. But you and this entire experience mean more to me, are more magickal, than anything I’ve ever known. And if I lost you, there is no way I could ever recover. It would be like someone cutting me in half, and trying to live through it. Sometimes I just get so afraid that you will be the crowning glory of all my losses. And it scares me more than anything ever has. I don’t even like to think about it.

  I love you,

  Damien

  August 14, 1996

  My dearest Damien:

  I do think we should live in some old Victorian house somewhere—a real haunted-looking house—maybe it should be in New Orleans—for some reason I’ve always felt drawn there—and you would have Rick and I would have Miss Fern.

  I just had such a mixed-up happy/sad conversation with you on the phone. Damien . . . you have to know that I am completely with you, I will never leave you. You must never think about that.

  *

  Don’t ever forget or lose sight of how we found each other. Don’t ever lose faith—it’s the strongest thing we’ll ever have! It is truly precious.

  Bye for now,

  Lorri

  August 14, 1996

  My dearest Lorri,

  The last IQ tests I had were when I was in kindergarten. The first time I took it, I was only half trying. About 2 weeks later, two men dressed in suits came to the school and made me take it over again while they watched, and I tried as hard as I could because I was scared that I was in trouble for not trying hard enough the first time. They finally called my parents to the school and called my teacher and therapist in to tell everyone what was going on. They said the reason I had to take it twice was because my score was so high that they believed someone had to have told me what to say, but I scored even higher the second time. After that, they would come back to school every couple of months to talk to me and ask me questions. I wasn’t afraid of them after the first time, because they always brought me candy when they came back. They would always make notes when they talked to me, and now I wonder who they were, what they were writing about me, and what happened to all those notes. They would never tell what my score was, but they explained that your IQ doesn’t show how smart you are—it shows how much you have the ability to learn. So technically speaking, a person can have a very high IQ but still be an idiot if they don’t use it. They said I had an extremely high recall ability, which basically makes me a parrot. I remember 85% of everything I read or am told (but I forgot to tell you happy birthday, so I’m still an idiot).

  *

  Since you described your room to me, I guess I should do the same. The walls are white, and the floor is brown. I have a small mirror over the sink, but it’s made of metal and it’s so rusty that it barely casts a reflection. I have a white metal table bolted to the wall. Actually, you can’t even see the table, because it’s piled so full of books and papers of every kind. It’s piled so high that stacks of stuff are constantly spilling over to land all over the floor. There is a concrete slab which is supposed to serve as a chair, but mine is piled high with even more books and paper, which is also constantly spilling onto the floor. I have a green wooden box sitting against one wall; it’s about 4 feet long, 2 feet wide, and 21/2 feet deep, a lot like an old trunk. This is also full of old books and papers (and serves as a house for the rats) and on top of it is piled even more books and papers. There’s also a concrete slab that serves as a bed, and next to it is a cardboard box filled with all sorts of assorted garbage. That’s pretty much what my room looks like—a garbage dump. I have a bad habit of hoarding things, no matter how meaningless, until it turns into one giant clutter. And even though my room is only 9 × 12 feet, it still sometimes takes me a couple of hours to find something that I may be looking for, and usually by the time I’m halfway through the search, I forget what I’m looking for because I become so entranced by all the other strange things I find that I had forgotten that I even had, like golf balls, plastic dinosaurs, Q-tips, pieces of multicolored origami paper, and much, much more.*

  I love you forever,

  Damien

  August 15, 1996

  My dearest Damien,

  When I was seeing this movie—I was missing you so much—I kept imagining holding hands with you, while we sat there—reading those subtitles! I always sit in the very first row. The image on the screen is so there—huge—I love sitting there. I hope you know, dearest, that you will be seeing so many movies when you are with me—I haven’t been seeing them it seems for so long—but with you—I feel like there is much to show you that I love.

  *

  Oh! I forgot to tell you—I just found out yesterday that the 17-year locusts are out this year! Isn’t it perfect—in the year we found each other—I love it!

  Yours (forever),

  L.

  August 16, 1996

  My Dearest Lorri,

  Yes, it would be so much fun to actually be able to take a bath together. To just be able to lie there in the water, holding you, being lazy. I would also love to wash your hair, and to be able to dry you off when we got out. You would be the most spoiled person on earth; all you would have to do is lie there, and I would completely bathe you. No, I don’t like bubble bath, because it seems as if I can’t get clean unless the water is clear. I also love the water to be boiling hot. When I was at home, by the time I got out my skin was always red as a lobster, but I loved it.

  *

  Michael is rather odd. No, he wasn’t always the way he is now. Now, no one could force him to even harm an insect. He’s been through some very dramatic experiences the past few years—which leads to your next que
stion—who sought out who. He sought me out. He had been experimenting with different rituals and forms of meditation to open himself up to a higher form of consciousness, and he was going through a lot of things that he couldn’t understand, and when he would try to talk to people about it, they kept telling him, “You need to go see Damien, you need to talk to Damien.” Everyone here knows about me, but very few people know me. Most choose to stay away, because this is a very superstitious place. Ever since I have been here, they have called me “The Wicked Witch of West Memphis.” Anyway, he came to me and we got along very well. He has a hunger for knowledge even greater than my own. We learn from each other. Everyone else here is constantly playing games, and is only concerned with what they can gain or beat people out of, so we pretty much only ever talk to each other. Lately, he’s been doing just like you said Luis and Susan were doing, asking, “Are you ever coming back?” Only he keeps asking, “Where are you at?” The only answer I know is, “Lost somewhere in the spiral.” And I know that there’s no way out. Once you’ve danced the spiral dance, you can never return.

  What drew me to Jason? Because we were the only ones who could comprehend each other’s pain, we were drawn together because no one else could ever understand. The first time I ever saw him, he was sitting at a table all alone eating lunch, and his eyes had a faraway look, as if he was stuck inside his own head, and he was. We both thought that everything we would ever attempt would fail and turn to dust, that we were completely doomed before we ever even began, that no one would ever understand. We both felt trapped, and we clung to each other like a life raft in an ocean of misery. We had so many plans and dreams that we knew would never come to pass. An artist and a poet.

  I love you forever,

  D.

  August 19, 1996

  Damien!

  It is so amazing—that we are going through the whole lovely sequence of becoming lovers—each in our own way and together—the whole beginning—some kind of attraction—me, not really knowing how you feel—one day I read in a letter that you actually tried to catch my scent off a letter—you have no idea what effect that simple or maybe not so simple confession from you did to me—from that night on—I was lost—I had already fallen in love with you—but I’ve never been in love and actually wanted someone physically—you must know that—all of these feelings are so new to me—I honestly have never known the two things together. That’s why I’m so naïve about it—oh! But it’s wonderful to know that I can talk to you for hours and laugh with you or even cry with you and share our secrets—think the same thoughts—but then be able to become possibly very silent, take you into my body and into my soul and share the most incredible feeling and trust you so completely—so completely that you could completely have your way with me, and that I know I could be safe in your arms as I am in your thoughts—and to know completely without any doubt that every touch or kiss or act that you would inflict (or bestow) upon me would be so exquisitely wonderful that as with our constant search for knowledge of each other—or things that we want to know or teach or find for each other—the quest for that total physical/spiritual fulfillment (?) will never end.

  *

  I’ve been living all these years and I’ve never experienced this! I feel like such an explorer—see, right now I can’t even imagine what you are thinking—it’s like, what? Is she really this silly?? I’m afraid I am. Poor Damien. You really don’t know what you’re in for—did you ever imagine? What a silly one. Well, I’m sorry, but I find the whole thing crazily exciting.

  *

  Here I am, so far into this letter and I’ve just received three beautiful letters from you—and I want to respond to them.

  About the IQs—I think our intelligence is very similar—I, too, retain so much of what I see and hear, like what I explained about details and seeing movies—but I sometimes can’t remember simple words to explain something—even though I know them—and sometimes I can’t remember names. Strange what I do retain and can recall. Like I can tell you who sang just about any song that was played on the radio when I was growing up—the director of most (not recent Hollywood) films and anything else he or she did—what year it was made—who was in it, so on and so forth. But I choose to know nothing about my profession—I care not for architects, designers—I like to keep my money source and my loves separate—that’s why I don’t really care about my job—except that it allows me to draw. I really dislike money—but in a way I’m starting to have more respect for it—because it is my link to you right now—so I will take better care of it.

  Back to intelligence (what do you mean—“it could improve my focus”—whatever could you mean?) I’m sometimes amazed at how intelligent you are—sometimes you write something and I am just blown away—I am completely sucked in by your mind. I love it—it’s like a constant source of information and insight.

  *

  It is very funny you should think of me as a ghost—I was very taken aback when you said that on the phone. Sometimes, I feel I am a ghost. I always have—I’ve never quite felt I belong in this time—or anytime—I’ve always had a problem “placing” myself—but don’t feel uncomfortable about it. Only one other person felt that way about me—and I received a letter years after he left me (he was a very dear friend who helped me when I was very distraught in Ohio—the one I screamed at from my car).

  He said he was always puzzled at me—couldn’t get it straight, he didn’t believe I was really alive as he was—that I was put here or came here from a different time—that I had “haunted” him as a ghost would. That’s why I was so insistent that you explain—I’m still trying to figure it out and I can’t find Andy to ask him—he has disappeared. Probably forever.

  *

  Something I didn’t mention from before—I received your certificate from the church! What was that? Did you complete a course? Have you spoken with this pastor or the “brother”—are they nice? Did you learn interesting things??*

  Yours forever,

  Lorri

  August 20, 1996

  My Dearest Lorri,

  So I’ll be seeing lots of movies with you, huh? Actually, I probably won’t see any because I would much rather watch you while you’re watching the movie. To watch your facial expressions, to feel the tension in your hand, all without you being aware of it. I would look completely absorbed in the movie, but every part of my attention would be focused on you. That would be sublime, to feel the movie through you.

  *

  The 17-year locusts—we have to memorize every tiny detail about this year, so that the next time they are out, we can remember, and see how much we’ve changed, how much we’re the same. Maybe it’s a symbol—now we have 2, the yin/yang and the 17-year locust. We must remember. 1996. The next time will be in the year 2013. Isn’t that amazing? Envision looking at the dark grey sky that is filled with huge swarms of the 17-year locusts. Imagine their humming, as loud as thunder. Doesn’t that seem wonderful?

  It’s so hot in here tonight. I’m pouring sweat, even my hair is wet. And the mosquitoes are horrible. The air conditioner must be out. I didn’t think anyone was capable of throwing me off track, but you have proved me wrong. Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You started it, it’s not my fault!!

  Yours for eternity,

  Damien

  postscript, 2014

  It’s funny; there were many things we experienced together while we were apart. Movies had always been a source of inspiration to me, and so I wanted to share that part of my life with him. We could see the same TV channels, so we watched the same things at times. Movies were shown over the weekend at the prison over a closed circuit channel. Sometimes I was floored by their choices; I remember they showed Eagle vs Shark, although I didn’t see that one. . . . Damien had definite ideas about what a good movie was: It had a monster in it. I’ve never been a monster movie girl, nor did I ever see blockbusters, or movies with superhero
es, or films based on comic books. I was stuck-up. I’d put too much time and energy into my education to waste time on “fun” movies.

  Damien got out, and the first movie we saw together was the remake of the classic 1980’s horror film Fright Night. It was horrible. I didn’t know it at the time, but he couldn’t really see movies, or read books, or write. He was too exhausted, and he didn’t have the concentration or whatever combination of things it takes to do such things. He wouldn’t for almost a year. But in the fall I asked him to see The Artist with me, at the Angelika [in New York]—it was the Oscar winner for 2011. The entire time, Damien writhed and twisted in his chair as if he were the Marathon Man. I told him he would never, ever see one of “my” movies with me again, and I meant it.

  Now, two and a half years into our lives in the free world together, I see movies with Damien because it’s fun. We see all the new horror films; Dark Skies, Mama, and we see every new blockbuster that comes out, even the ones that start out with the Marvel or DC Comics logo.

  He does not see my movies ever, and it’s fun.

  Lorri

  August 24, 1996

  My dearest one,

  I just got home, I received your shirt today—it smelled so wonderful—I was completely lost in it—Damien, you smell so—the only thing that came to mind was cloves! How can you smell like cloves? It’s agonizing—so, so close to you—smelling you, I found one of your hairs on it and almost went into a swoon . . . This is heavenly. Thank you so much! This means so much to me. This means so much!!! I had to go lie down on my bed and think of you—sometimes I get so deep in thought of you that I start seeing these incredible images. I can’t believe I am wearing something that has been next to your lovely skin. I will treasure it until the day I die.