Dear Momma

Dear Momma,

I swear I didn’t want to.

I swear it was an accident.

They will come for me, they will question me and question me, and, god, they will find the truth.

I may be many things, but a liar is not one of them.

I will keep nothing from them. Not the weapon, not the bodies, not my love of that beautiful girl whose life I wish I did not cut so short.

But please don't hate me, Momma. Please don't forget me. Please don’t let them take you from me. 

I will tell you the story now, before the papers catch hold of it, and the whole world knows. I want you to know it in full, straight from my lips.

I suppose I am a villain now. But you did not raise me to be, so please know that none of the fault is yours. You are as innocent as sweet Janey.

It’s hard, Momma, knowing what I’ve done, because I know how many people I have hurt. And I know that I deserve punishment, but I’m so, so afraid. I don’t want to leave you. Will you leave me? 

Say you won’t. I can bear prison, even death, but to see only your back as you turn away from me would be a Hell set aside for the greatest of evil. I am not the greatest of evil, am I, Momma? I wasn’t trying to hurt her. It was an accident, born of wine and anger, not hatred. I hate no one, only myself. And only now that the blood of another human being runs through my fingers.

Please hear how it happened and don’t judge me. Please. 

I met Janey last year. She was beautiful and she saw my pock-marked skin and misshapen nose and found me attractive anyway. She slipped her little hand into mine and asked if I wanted a drink.

And there I stood, an ugly, stupid man, lost in the beautiful eyes of a woman who would become the love of my life (second only to you, Momma).

For one blissful year, we were inseparable. That is why you heard little from me. I was occupied by the sweetest thing that had ever come into my life. Sweeter than Grandpa Charles’ Summer wine. 

My bed was Janey’s, my time was Janey’s, my life was Janey’s. She took everything from me and somehow gave me everything, too.

But like Grandpa Charles’ wine, sweet as it was, our love was soured by time. What once existed between us quickly faded into lost kisses and harsh words. I tried to hold on to her, but she was a wild thing, and she found new lovers to replace me.

And that made me so angry, Momma. It would make any man angry. I have never been replaced, as one replaces a dress or an empty bottle of cologne. That meant I was meaningless. 

Please understand that I did not hate Janey, or even the men she cavorted with. I still loved her, but I wanted her back.

So, I planned. I planned for many months how I would rescue her.

And the night of execution finally came. I was so scared, Momma. And I am scared now to admit to you that Janey was not the only one I killed. But she was the only one I cared about killing.

Janey went to dinner that night with two men of less than exemplary character. I knew this because a friend of mine worked at the hotel where they stayed, and he told me everything. I went to the hotel, sat at the bar, and I waited. And, oh, I know it wasn’t right, Momma. I know you taught me never to do so, but I drank until I couldn’t tell one hand from the other. I’ve seen how people act when they are drunk, but I did not know the anger that would fill me as my mind fogged and my senses were lost. 

I made my way up to where Janey was, my heart heavy with what I thought I must do: kill the men she was with, save her from her own self-destruction. I saved her, Momma. So why does the guilt eat me as much as it does? Why do I know what I did was wrong?

I did it with a knife. The same blade Papa gave me for my tenth birthday. I had it hidden for years, because I hated the way it glinted at me, wickedly, like it wanted to be used for bad things. But when I began to build my plan, I knew I wanted to use that knife. It was quick. I didn’t want any suffering. I entered their room, and while they slept, I slit their sex dampened throats. They bled out and died before my Janey could even scream. 

Then I took my love in my arms, and we slipped through the cool of the night, enveloped in darkness. I carried Janey home, bound and gagged so she was silent. When I took the duct tape from her lips, and the mask from her face, I could see she was angry. I didn’t understand why. I saved her, Momma! Didn’t I?

I hated the way she couldn’t bear to look at me, the way she seemed disgusted by my very presence. I became all too aware of my flaws.

She said she was going to go to the police. I asked her why and she looked at me like I was a stupid child. 

“Damn it, Phil, don’t you understand?” She screamed at me, so loud I wondered if our neighbors heard. “You killed people tonight! You’re a fucking murderer!”

“Please don’t scream, Janey. Please don’t swear,” I begged her. Then I began to cry, because I suddenly understood. I saved her, but I shouldn’t have killed those men. I killed people, Momma! 

Janey began to throw things. A vase, a book. Cruel, cruel words that she had never said to me before. She said I was ugly, a beast, garbage. 

I don’t know how it happened, but my anger overpowered all my other senses, and the next thing I knew, Janey was on the floor, her beautiful face crushed by a violence that I didn't know was in me. Her blood was on the walls, on my hands, and on my lips as I leaned down and kissed her one last time.

She is still there now, as I write you this letter. I don’t have the strength to move her, and I want her in my sight for as long as possible, if only to have the memory of her beautiful body for that much longer before it fades to fragments and dreams.

But you need to know, Momma, before they come to take me away. I have already called to tell them what I did. And soon I will be led away to some dark cell to be forgotten.

I’m sorry, Momma. I’m so, so sorry. You deserved better, and I will never be able to give you what you needed: a good man to be your son.

Forgive me,

Phillip