MEALS ON WHEELS

How dare he? How dare Lawrence Brewer  order two chicken fried steaks, a meat lover’s pizza, a triple-meat bacon cheeseburger, three fajitas, fried okra, and for dessert a pint of ice cream and peanut butter fudge. Who in their right mind could eat all that food? Never mind that he was within his rights. Never mind that he chained James Byrd Jr. to the back of a pickup truck ten years ago and dragged him mile after mile after mile. And for what? Because he was black? Never mind that James Byrd Jr.’s last meal undoubtedly paled in comparison.

Not that I disagree with the Texas Department of Criminal Justice—don’t get me wrong, the death penalty is too controversial for me to take a stance on one way or the other—but I do agree with the decision to give death row inmates the same meal served to general population; after all, when presented with his feast, Lawrence Brewer let his food go cold and his ice cream melt.

Here’s a narrator’s viewpoint from Giles Smith’s short story Last Request :

Every now and again, you’ll send the meal up and they’ll eat it, and then the phone call comes through from the judge and they get a reprieve. All very dramatic. Well, good for them. But often it’s only temporary and, a month later, you’re cooking the same meal for them all over gain. This can go on a while. There’s one up there now who’s had his last meal five times.

As for myself: I can’t recall my last meal from the house I once occupied. I do remember asking “What are we having for dinner?” and being offered a leftover cold piece of pizza; however, these past few months I’ve been eating meals fit for a king—home-cooked meals (elk porkchops, perch & bass, stuffed peppers … ) prepared with love by my mother.

Speaking of mothers and prison related short-stories, Lee Smith’s Fried Chicken is definitely worth reading. 

Have a great weekend everyone, and thanks for the comments.