Reginald Blanton's Statement About His Execution Date

Death Salivates
October 27^th 2009
Execution Date

2pm. 7-16-09. I just woke up. I had slept for exactly 8 hours. I am a night owl. Yet, I was not rejuvenated. I did not feel balanced. I told myself that something was happening in the Universe. In the distant dark galaxy of my being I felt something approaching. I’d had an earlier hunch but dispelled it with my exhale. I grabbed all my senses; all of my energy and brought them inside, concentrating it. Concentrating on soothing the waters of what I thought was a turbulent mind-body. Here I was, doing the same thing today. An hour went by. I was frustrated because my meditation yielded very little. I decided to conclude my meditation with the Tripod Pose, a Hatha Yoga posture where I ease into a headstand, feet in the sky, while focusing on my breathing. This pose is designed to calm your mind-body. I felt it might do the trick. It has always worked in the past.

I heard the gate pop. Then there were jangling keys as somebody made their way upstairs to

2 row where I was encaged. I brought my attention back, like, “Get back over here!” Like that. Then my sense went back outside. “Blanton! What are you doing? The Major wants to talk to you,” said the Sergeant. I eased out of my posture and into another called Child Pose before getting up and telling the Sergeant I had been meditating and needed some time to brush my teeth. I brought my attention fully back and noticed that I was nervous. I knew what it was. Damn! I knew what it was…

I gave the Sergeant my jumpsuit, sort of spun while shaking out my boxers to try to keep from having to degrade myself by stripping completely naked and having to turn around and spread my…well, you know. The Sergeant wasn’t tripping today. He told me to just come on. I didn’t like that. He was being a (little) nice. That was not a good sign. Not good at all…

Damn!

We get out in the hallway and he asked me if I knew what this was about. But it was the way he said it. He said it like he knew what it was about. Damn. I told him I did. I saw the nurse and asked him if he had my morphine shot. Ha, ha, um, ha, *ahem*. That did not make me feel any better. I tried though. I just decided to stay quiet the rest of the way.

We get in the Major’s office. I sit down and cross my legs, looking him square in the eye, all sorts of emotions flowing through me: Anger, embarrassment, sadness…”What’s up, Major?” I asked. In a slow and somber tone he told me that I had an execution date and he was going to explain a few things to me and have me moved to Death Watch. He said that he’d just found out himself. All I could see in my mind was my Queen. All I could feel is what she would feel. I thought I was going to be sick. I tried to hide it. I knew what time it was. I knew this was coming. And after the march we just had outside of the courthouse in San Antonio, I knew that the D.A.’s weren’t going to hesitate to immediately set a murder date for me. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. It just wasn’t. Maybe I was naive. Me, the “realist”, naïve. The courts were going to see the injustice and refuse to let me be railroaded. Yet they railroaded me. It was like the many stories I’ve read about battered women. She’s getting beat by her husband. She knows that he’s going to keep on beating her. He’s vicious. She knows he’s going to stop. He’s a good man.

Everything was suddenly happening so fast. Everything was surreal. Yet I had been preparing for this for 9 years.

No! You cannot prepare for something like this. You just can’t. 28 years young. Just the other day that one officer cried when she found out how young I was; how much I remind her of her own kids. I hate too much life where the said only dwelt death. I have too much life pouring out of me to prepare to die. Die? Die for what?! Ya’ll are trying to kill, wrongly, a loving, beautiful man. Not a killer. Not a monster. A man with a family. A beautiful, loving wife. A beautiful, loving step-son. My Mama. My people. My people need me. You are trying to steal me away from the people who need me.

The Major tells me about the number of witnesses I can have; talks about a last will. A last will, ya’ll! A “last will”?! What about my will to live?!

The Major talks…I drift in and out of even being there at all. He talks about disposition of any trust funds, disposition of personal property. He talks of my last meal; how they won’t get me any lobster or shrimp, or T-bone steak. He was trying to make light of the situation. But there was nothing “light” about it – at all. It was heavy; heavy like my consciousness. “Lobster ?!” I don’t give a damn about a last meal!