This is the latest installment in the Chronicles from Parchman series, a monthly column by writer L. Patri, who has been fighting his wrongful conviction on Parchman’s death row for over thirty years. Listen to the voiceover if you want to hear Mr. Patri read this essay.

I am finding this to be the hardest story that I have written. So far, it has taken me more than six tries because each time I try, I find myself not being objective. I don’t want to be accusatory and place blame on anyone undeserving; I truly believe the judge who is presiding over my habeas appeal has been fair in his handling of this petition. I also know that this case is very complicated. In the words that state prosecutors used once or twice, it’s “convoluted.” So I fully understand the judge has a lot to consider before he decides how to rule.

Objectively, I believe that he must be leaning in my favor, as I believe I have placed many facts before him to do this. Objectively, I know that if he does rule in my favor, then one of the things he has to consider is what impact a favorable ruling for me will have on the State of Mississippi—Natchez in particular. I think he’s aware that if I am exonerated I will go after the district attorney, state district attorney, city and county law enforcement offices in an effort to hold them fully accountable for the more than three decades I have been on death row. I will hold them accountable for the pain and suffering and loss that I’ve endured during those years. The number of irreplaceable people that I have lost to death over the decades. The things I could have shared with them to make lasting memories together. No amount of money can compensate for this loss. No amount of money can compensate for how sleepless nights drain my body when I have nothing to think about except how I can’t control my own day to day living. No amount of money can compensate for three decades of living without being able to tell people or myself a direct answer about what is happening. No amount of money can compensate for always having to suppose a ruling might be in my favor because it’s taking so long, yet also knowing that it very well may not be in my favor.

It’s more than five years now that I’ve been in Federal District Court. So I’m constantly anxious for a ruling. Sometimes I’m so anxious for a ruling, that I don’t even care whether or not it’s in my favor, just so long as I get an answer.

Again, I want to be objective. I want to be understanding of the situation, yet I find it difficult that it has now been a full year, one month, and two weeks that I have been awaiting a single judge to read, review and make a ruling. It is possible I can be waiting for another day, another week, month, year, or five years, because there is no timetable for the judge to make his ruling. Yet I am not given the same luxury of time. When I filed my application to amend my habeas appeal petition, the judge set a scheduling order that detailed how much time I and the state prosecutors would have to respond to the briefs and motions; if we requested additional time, we would be given a deadline to do so.

Knowing this timetable, I calculated approximately how long it would take me to complete my habeas filing which was two years, give or take three months. However, the state prosecutors waited until I had filed my petition, saw what it said and what was in it as far as evidence (documented affidavits, etc.) and then they filed a motion to have the petition dismissed. They must have thought that the district court would go along with them the way the state court did and somehow ignore and dismiss what I am filing in district court. This took a year of going back and forth before the judge denied that garbage motion to dismiss; then, he ordered state prosecutors to file their response to my petition, which took prosecutors another year to do. They filed for extension of time motions before finally filing a 340-plus page response as part of the corpus of documents that the judge is currently reviewing.

This was the prosecutors’ way of further playing games: they are in full possession of what they used to put me on death row, whereas I was not given access to the complete files of my case. If it only took me six months to file the petition, then it should have taken them half of that time to respond and refute my claims. And it most definitely should not have taken 340-plus pages to do so when my petition was not half as many pages. Sometimes I try to do the math. It took me three months to file my habeas corpus petition legal brief, then another four/three months for the state prosecutors to respond to that brief’s filing. Then it took me eight/ months to file my memorandum brief plus respond to what the prosecutors had to say in my petition brief. It should have only taken the prosecutors equal time to respond to the memorandum. So what should have taken two and a half years, maybe three years, to complete all fillings for myself and prosecutors, actually took four years. We completed the filing one year and a half ago, and I’ve been awaiting a ruling that could come at any day, a year from now, or five years from now. I am stuck in this grey area.

There are times when I see the legal mail officer coming through the gated fences around the administrative building while I’m outside in a basketball recreation yard pen. I will stop what I’m doing until she gets close enough for me to ask who she has mail for. Many times, she will call us out by name. Each time I see her, I am hoping my name is one of the names she’ll call.

Objectively, I know the judge, being fair minded, has to read those 340-plus pages. I know he has to weigh and consider them along with the other pieces of the case that he’s weighing and considering. I know he has to take his time before he decides, but does that time need to be immeasurable? For someone in my situation who has been sitting inside of a concrete and steel cage for more than three decades, I can’t help but wonder just how long such a ruling should take—two years? Five years? Ten? As these years pass, will my health take a downward spiral? Will I live that much longer? These are the things that go through my mind. I find myself counting the time that’s passing the way I did today. It’s more than five years now that I’ve been in Federal District Court. So I’m constantly anxious for a ruling. Sometimes I’m so anxious for a ruling, that I don’t even care whether or not it’s in my favor, just so long as I get an answer. Obviously I want the ruling to be in my favor, but I don’t like just sitting in this cage waiting as the years pass me by, you understand. Yea, I know. It sounds crazy.

There are times when I see the legal mail officer coming through the gated fences around the administrative building while I’m outside in a basketball recreation yard pen. I will stop what I’m doing until she gets close enough for me to ask who she has mail for. Many times, she will call us out by name. Each time I see her, I am hoping my name is one of the names she’ll call. If I’m inside unit 29 J Building and sitting in my cell and I hear someone call out that legal maiI is on the zone, I will get up off the steel rack bed and go stand at the cell door. I watch as the same officer walks onto the zone, around the steel tables, and up the nineteen stairs to pass the mail out to whomever is getting it. I’ll just stand there. Watching. Hoping that she’ll come to my door, that she’s going to call my name with some letter from the court about how the judge has ruled. I find myself feeling disappointed that it’s not me she’s coming to see. Every time this happens, I have to readjust my mind and settle myself mentally once again into the waiting because I have no control over when my petition will be ruled on.

In some regards, I count myself lucky that I have many other things to occupy my mind and my time. I have people in my life who will listen to my doubts and concerns and tell me reassuring things that help me to remain positive and forward thinking. In this way, I don’t feel like I am waiting alone, even if I am the only person in this single man cage. There are some times throughout the day that I find harder than others, though. Early morning is one of them. Sitting alone in the early hours of the morning, I try to guess at why it’s taking over a year and half without a ruling. I watch and listen as others around me get legal mail of some sort and then I try to decipher what is happening to them in their rulings in preparation of if happening in my ruling.

I have days where I don’t want to talk to anyone or do anything except sit alone in this cell because I’m angry and I just want to pull at my hair and scream my frustrations at the walls, at the people around me. I get to a point some days that I lose appetite and don’t feel like eating so I curl up in a fetal position and stare at the ceiling or I sit on the steel top bunk and stare out the window. Seeing nothing. Hearing nothing. Losing track of time because at these moments, time means nothing. I would like to call family and friends but I don’t want to hear them ask me about my case. I don’t have an answer except, “I’m waiting.”

L. Patri is of Black and Natchez Indian descent, and he is the father of one daughter and a grandfather of five grandchildren. He was born on the river in Natchez, Mississippi, and for the past three decades, he has been challenging his wrongful conviction of capital murder. He writes in multiple and hybrid genres, including thought pieces, journalism, short fiction, letters, and memoir.

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