“The members of Government wish to express their sympathy to the family of William Bennett. We are all sincerely apologetic that an execution was the only way to go about punishing Mr. Bennett, but the treason he committed could not be overlooked.” Dad said into the microphone. He stood up on stage like a solider and straightened his tie. He stared blankly at the audience, looking at no one in particular.
The executions are always set up outside, even in the winter. A wooden stage faces rows and rows of folding chairs brought out of their dusty closets for the occasion. Those who rested on these chair whispered silent thoughts to one another.
It’s always the same every time; people are so predictable. We show up, Mom, Dad, and I, in black. Mom and I take our reserved V.I.P. seats. Dad goes up on stage and shakes the hands of influential people. He introduces himself as the Elect of Texas. People stare. He’s a superstar.
In history class, we learned that when we were still a democracy, everyone got to vote for a leader, called the president. The president had so much power, and everyone loved him for it. He promised things that would make them happy and they loved him for it. He declared war on other countries and they loved him for it. Dad is like a modern day president of Texas. Except it’s different. Texas is like some sort of wacky cult and my dad is their God. Lies can make a person very popular.
Lies are Dad’s sun. His job is the Earth. His reputation is Jupiter. His income is Saturn. Where do I fall in there? No where. I’m just drifting somewhere in the solar system. One things for sure though, I’m not rotating around his sun, around his lies. His lies have no gravity for me.
Arriving at the red carpet in a sleek and speedy cop car is William Bennett. Escorted by city jail guards, he makes his way to the stage. He is sporting some lovely chains, the jewelry of prisoners, no doubt crafted from the finest metal for the occasion. To compliment his accessories, he wears a dashing neon orange jump suit that really pops. There he is folks, Mr. William Bennett!
Another day, another “social event.”
When I was small, I didn’t understand why Mom and I had to travel all around Texas with Dad to go see people die. Five-year-old me walks up to her dad and opens her mouth. Before a word comes out, she thought better and decided to ask her mom. She runs to Mommy.
She says, “Hey, Momma, how come we always go to executions?”
Nervous Momma answers, “Well hon, because families stick together.” Mom chews on her bottom lip, walks up to the sink and starts rubbing at dirty dishes.
A little feeling inside my head says, “Lie,” and I believe it, because the little feeling always knows the truth. I don’t ask any more questions.
A few years later, I watched T.V. in a hotel room, alone. There was a news report on an execution that took place earlier that day. The camera turned to me, Dad and Mom. Dad stood in the middle of us, an arm around each of us, smiling at us. A reporter talked about the “family man” and then I understood.
“Every body loves a family man,” she said.
Government isn’t very creative. Even with all the new technology, they stick to old torture methods. Really old. Today we’re in for a classic hanging. Hangings aren’t as bad as some other things. When the crimes committed are really bad, sometimes they even chop off their heads.
Our hotel room that time had three rooms. It had a master bedroom, a bedroom with two twin beds and a kitchenette with a living area. I was thirteen and Mom and Dad thought I was asleep in the twin bed. In the living room Dad said, “This just can’t happen anymore. Do you have any idea what I’ll be in for if the press finds out my own daughter can’t handle a simple execution?” I could hear his angry feet pacing the floor. The public was encouraged to think executions were good things; ridding the world of crime etcetera. For someone to not like them was just ridiculous.
“Hon, we really can’t help it if she gets a little faint when these things happen.” I beamed. My mother was actually sticking up for someone. And not just anyone, me! Mom doesn’t do well with bullies; she can’t stand up for herself. Wonder where I got it from.
“Sierra, ‘a little faint’ is an understatement!” Dad hollered. “She turns as pal as a ghost, gets so dizzy she can’t stand and her eyes almost roll into the back of her head!”
Nothing from Mom.
“If we want to escape attention from the press, we are going to have to toughen this girl up. Now.”
The next day I was introduced to Japanese horror films.
Poor Mr. Bennett tripped up the stairs on to the stage. His bumblebee eyes darted to and fro, looking for an escape that didn’t exist. Or maybe his eyes would betray the body they belong too. Knowing there is no way for all of William Bennett to run away, they might just pop out and run away on their own.
“As long as the whole body isn’t getting out of here, we might as well,” the eyes might think. They might not care about the well-being of the body that has trusted them and served them for so long. As long as their not harmed, what else matters?
A man who spends way too much time at the gym held Williams hands behind his back. William and Dad both stood on stepping stools, William’s under a long rope with a noose at the end, Dad’s facing William. Ceremonially, Dad hung the noose under Mr. Bennett’s chin. His job done, Dad stepped back to enjoy his work. William’s step stool was removed from under his feet. And that was the end.
I don’t know what Mr. William Bennett was thinking in his last moments, but how could I? I can’t imagine what a man I don’t know would choose as his last thoughts. Maybe his wife and kids. If he has any. Maybe he doesn’t. What then? His mother and father? They could be dead. Maybe he’s happy he gets to join them. He could have been wishing he was dead for a long time now. This execution could have ended a miserable, helpless, trapped life. Or not. He could have had a wonderful life, filled with joy. After all, the only crime he committed was writing a nasty editorial about Government. Now that Mr. William Bennett is dead, he can’t tell any one these things. No one could have answered those questions the same as him. I guess I’ll never know because Mr. William Bennett is dead.
Blurry closing words were spoken and Dad bid farewell to officially official people. He came over to Mom and me and wrapped his arms around us. I sighed as the camera men came our way. Before we even broke apart of our awkward embrace, we were bombarded with reporters.
“Mr. Lindberg, can you tell us more about the crime this man committed?” said a lady with a black bob.
“Do you feel this execution was justified, Elect Lindberg?” asked a man with an overly groomed mustache. I tuned out the voices and got ready for hours of standing around, looking like an all-American family. Dad was sure to answer every question that came his way to please his people. I drifted off until hearing my name yanked me back into reality.
“Excuse me, Ms. Natalia Lindberg? Yes, hi sweetie. I saw during the execution, you got a little queasy there for a bit. What exactly were you thing then and does that happen often?”
My first thought was how the woman called me by my “public name.” I don’t have Dad’s last name. My parents aren’t even married, even though the world thinks they are. Officially, my mother and I share the last name De Luca. But if that got out, the people of Texas wouldn’t be very happy to hear their elect hasn’t even married the mother of his child. And no one besides my dad calls me Natalia. The only reason that’s my name is because my dad said if my mother wanted to name his child an Italian name instead of a Swedish name, it would have to be holy. And “Christ’s birthday” is just about as holy as you can get, so I was named a name that means that. Momma and I refer to me as Natalie. It sounds like nah-tuh-lee instead of na-tal-yah. And it’s not ugly.
I processed the question and froze up. I thought I had hid it so well, how could she have noticed? I could say I had some bad meat for lunch and haven’t been feeling well. I could pretend I don’t mind seeing people die two or three times a month. But I didn’t say anything. I kept my mouth shut because anything I said wouldn’t be convincing and would get me into trouble. I waited for Dad to back me out. And he did.
“You know, poor Natalia hasn’t been feeling herself lately and we should really get her back to the hotel for some rest now. So enough questions for today, thank you all.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand and tugged us in the opposite direction.
“I love you two,” he said, loudly enough for the press to hear. I tried to ignore it and tell it that my Dad loved me, but the little feeling in my head screamed, “Liar, liar.” My heart sunk because the little feeling in my head is always right.
Your beginning to me seemed...unsuspenseful? What about starting with a description of Mr. Bennet? I'm sorry for being so vague! Just something I noticed.
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