By Brooke Anderson, Contributing Writer
Today I anxiously await the mail to arrive. Although I only recently sent out my last letter, I never know when I may randomly receive a note from Bobby Wayne; our correspondence is never consistent, nor timed. As soon as the mailman steps off the porch, I quickly examine the pile of mail on the entryway floor to see if any are postmarked from Mobile, Alabama. My spirits sink a little when I notice only one bill and an advertisement from Safeway. No letter from Bobby. Oh well, there is always tomorrow. However, the familiar and persistent voice in the back of my head reminds me that with every passing day he inches closer to his execution, causing each day and each letter to be quite sacred. After all, at 33, Bobby has been sitting on death row for 14 years, and the national average is currently 17 years before execution. I decide not to linger on that statistic today and remind myself that at least he will receive a letter from me shortly, which I know will help to lift his spirits as his letters do mine. Recently he was struggling with the fact that his TV broke (which is one of his only connections to the outside world), and that “(his) days right now is dim.” In the midst of these feelings he wrote, Continue reading