I am an inmate, serving a life sentence at Chillicothe Correctional Center in Chillicothe, Missouri.
Let me begin by saying I'm not a victim. I don't blame a less than perfect childhood for bad decisions I've made. I was born to two young parents who loved me and two sets of grandparents who absolutely adored me. "Momma" was the best mother anyone could ask for, regardless of our circumstances, and always was until I lost her in 2017 to breast cancer. In the early years, my father loved as well as he could manage, but he was later forced to admit that drugs were his first love, not his family.
When I was around four years old, we moved to Texas so my father could work and be near some of his family. When I was six years old my sister was born. I swore that my mom had her just for me; a real live baby doll! I learned to feed her, dress her and bathe her. I just loved her so much!
We were all there, a remarkably close-knit family with hugs and kisses, coming and going. All holidays were celebrated as one big family at grandma's house; even birthdays. But when I was seven years old, we returned to Kansas City, Missouri. To this day, I am not sure exactly why.
I remember being around twelve years old and deciding I wanted to be a veterinarian; that is until I saw a litter of puppies being born! Then I quickly decided maybe not! My next career choice was made in junior high school. I was going to be an attorney. I was always a dreamer, ready to grow up and take on the world.
The irony was that I was very shy. I still am until I get to know someone. Once I warm up, I am told I never shut up! In fact, I am quite the rambler. I always say that I am packed full of useless information, fun facts, as I call them.
Once I reached my teen years, while living in East Kansas City, I found it difficult to fit into any group at school. We were poor so the "preppy" kids didn't want me cramping their style. Because I feared getting injured, sports were not for me, so the "jocks" were a no-go. I didn't listen to rock-in-roll or smoke, so the "outcasts" were not an option either.
I found I fit in with the kids in my neighborhood best. We all attended different schools for various reasons. We varied in ages from ten to seventeen years old and were all remarkably close. Our parents kept an eye on us as we went from backyard to backyard. Someone's dad bought a basketball goal so our hang-out was in front of their house, in the street. The boys would play ball and we girls sat on a wall, feet dangling, and watched. On summer days the ice cream truck always come around at just the right time.
As the boys got older, they started to explore life a little more. They came up with cars to just cruise around in. We girls were ready to see something other than the block we lived on, so we went too. We were young, free, and full of adventure. As I got older, the challenges grew harder. At sixteen years old, I moved in with my grandma, just a few blocks away from Momma, mainly to get away from my dad. His addiction to drugs was so bad at this point that I physically had to fight him over my mom's purse. He would sneak in to steal it, knowing when she would have gotten her paycheck. My mother's credit was ruined and she had no bank account so my dad knew there was cash in her purse. It was sickening and pathetic. Shortly after I left, my mother and little sister came to live with my grandma and me.
I began skipping school. I wanted to be where the happy people were, smiling and laughing, enjoying life instead of crying, arguing and in pain. I learned to smoke weed and drank a little but mostly I just enjoyed the company. We were all avoiding something as I think back; a dad, a mom, someone or something.
The guy who would later become my co-defendant and his family moved to our neighborhood. They were related by marriage to one of the boys I grew up with. (Most the kids I grew up with were boys.) They outnumbered the girls four to one so it was easy for me to become fast friends with my co-defendant's aunt. His family all lived in one three-bedroom house and there were always people running in and out. We could all go hang out, play video games, cook whatever we wanted, as long as we stayed clear of his mom and her boyfriend's bedroom. Things went on this way for years. The landlord would kick them out for tearing the place up, they would find another house a couple blocks away and do it all again. They didn't talk a lot about their business in front of me, so I didn't understand or grasp the caliber of people I was around. They fought a lot among themselves over money. We just stayed out of the way and even if the cops were called, they would all make up and be fine before the night was over.
On the night this senseless crime took place, my co-defendant was supposed to only steal a woman's marijuana from her and scare her so that she would not sell anymore around the neighborhood. I was told to go along, and I was to pretend the package was taken from me by a third party in an apartment building. I did so and when I returned to the car, my co-defendant was standing over the victim and she was no longer moving. I began screaming and asking "what the hell" he was doing.
There is eyewitness testimony that I was not there when the co-defendant murdered the victim. He reacted to my screaming by ordering me to "shut-up and get in the car." It was very dark and I could not actually see everything. I just knew that the woman was not moving. I was so scared. This was not the person I thought I knew. He was hyped up and anxious, so much energy in such a small space that I thought the car might blow up! I was quiet for the most part, he did a lot of yelling. I suggested calling my mother. I knew she would know what to do, but saying this made him hit the steering wheel over and over, asking me if I was stupid, so I stopped talking.
When we got back to his house, his step-dad took him aside. I sat on the couch completely numb. When his step-dad came back, he made it very clear that he knew where my mother lived, and I'd better "not forget it". He burned the car a block away from his house; that is how untouchable they all thought they were. There is eyewitness testimony that he was seen fleeing the burning car into the alley behind his house.
For the next couple of days, I kept my head down and my mouth closed. I was never out of sight of at least one of them. After a couple of days, I was allowed to go to work and on that very day detectives came looking for me at my job. I went down to the police station and have never walked on free ground since.
That was in October of 2002. I had never been in any trouble and was terrified. By the time the eight-to-ten-hour night had passed, I was exhausted and finally told them "I did it all, by myself". They immediately read me my Miranda rights and had me talk on video. The officers led the conversation because I did not know exactly what he did to her. But they did a good job of filling in the blanks on the video. They knew I was lying but they were eager for the arrest. I did not tell a soul the truth until my court-appointed attorney came to see me. It was his first murder trial, but he felt optimistic.
Yet here I am, serving a sentence of life without parole for a murder I did not commit. I have not spoken out until now because the threat of hurting my mother was always very much alive in my mind. After losing her in 2017, I knew that no one could hurt her now and I knew that she wanted to see me come home more than anything. It's because of her and a few people I hold dear to my heart that I have found my voice. It is time for someone to hear and believe in the truth. At my core, I am a woman still learning, still growing, and longing to live life. Free.