Waiting To Be Heard - A Memoir Part 59

Accusing the defense teams of slandering Patrizia Stefanoni's forensic scientists, Mignini quoted the n.a.z.i propaganda minister Joseph Goebbels, who famously said, "Slander, slander, something will always stick."

Manuela Comodi tore apart the independent experts' testimony. "They betrayed your trust with false facts," she said. "Their whole manner was aggressive when they should have been impartial."

She added, referring to Raffaele and me, "They are young, but Meredith was also. They are young, but they killed. They killed for nothing, and it is for this reason that they must be condemned to the maximum sentence, which, luckily, in Italy isn't the death penalty."

Carlo Pacelli, Patrick's lawyer, again emphasized that I was a "sorceress of deceit."

Intentionally or not, Francesco Maresca, the Kerchers' lawyer, ended with a shock tactic. Although the Kerchers had asked that no pictures of Meredith's naked, wounded body be shown without clearing the courtroom of reporters, Maresca projected the images on a screen. He said he wanted to show how Meredith had suffered, so the court wouldn't let us off on a "technicality."

Though they couldn't afford the airfare to attend the appeal, Meredith's mother and sister would be in Perugia for the verdict, he said. "They will look you in the eye ... and with their look they will ask you to confirm the earlier sentence."

It was painful to hear the prosecution and civil parties suggest that justice could be rendered for Meredith and her parents only by putting us in prison for life. That's not justice! Please don't confuse the two! And justice had already been denied by the prosecution itself, when they let Guede get off with a lesser sentence than he merited.

Raffaele's lawyer Giulia Bongiorno brought up another way that justice had not been done. She spoke of the phenomenon of false confession, saying, "This is what happened to Amanda Knox."

She compared me to Jessica Rabbit in the movie Who Framed Roger Rabbit?: "I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way."

Luciano, who referred to me as "this young friend," said, "Amanda isn't terrified. Her heart is full of hope. She hopes to go back home. I wish her that," he said. "I feel I'm going to cry ... She is so brave, Amanda."

Not knowing what would happen was driving me mad.

I wanted to go to James's senior guitar recital at UW; to be at my twin cousins, Izzy and Nick's, sixth birthday party; and to see my little sister Delaney graduate from middle school. I wanted to go outside whenever I wanted, to feel the gra.s.s, to eat sus.h.i.+.

In my journals I'd draw lines down the pages. On one side, the things I'd do if I got out now. On the other, things I'd do if I got out when I was forty-six. On the left, I wrote:

Move into an apartment with Madison.

Graduate from UW.

Visit Laura in Ecuador.

Write.

Become fluent in German so I can talk with Oma.

Go camping and hiking with my family.

Pay my family back for everything they've spent on getting me out of here.

One day get married and start a family of my own.

On the other side of the line:

Request a transfer to Rome, where living conditions for prisoners with long sentences are better.

Prepare for my Supreme Court hearing and try to have the trial restarted from the beginning in a different venue.

Try to graduate from UW at a distance (even possible?).

Write.

Stay in touch with family and friends as much as possible.

Earn five years off my sentence for good behavior.

Get prison job as a cleaner, librarian, or grocery distributor.

Send earnings home to help pay my parents back.

Hardest was my life-imprisonment list. It was the same as the twenty-six-year list, except:

Stop writing letters home.

Ask family and friends to forget me?

Suicide?

The appeal had gone so well. Losing would be all the more devastating. I was afraid I might stop breathing in a claustrophobic panic. I wondered if I'd ever be happy again.

The appeal was my last chance. If I were to be condemned again, I didn't think the Supreme Court would exonerate me.

I knew that my mother's perpetual optimism masked her real feelings. She'd be even more distraught than I if I were convicted. I imagined her going home without me, completely broken, and I knew that, in that moment, when I couldn't be there, I would want somehow to comfort her.

Dearest Mom,

I love you. I'm writing this letter in case you come home and I'm not there with you to receive it, just in case we didn't win and I won't be coming home for a long time.

I want you to know that I'm okay. I love you and I know you love me. I'm okay because I'm not dead inside, I promise, and I don't want you to be dead inside. The s.h.i.+t we can't control, the things that make us suffer, challenge us to be stronger, give us the opportunity to survive and be stronger, smarter, better. We are the only ones who know just how much we and our lives are worth, and we must choose to make the most of every pa.s.sing moment, no matter where we are.

I've thought of ways to make my life worth it, and I want you to remember exactly what makes your life worth it. Don't be lost-don't lose yourself. Read, walk, write, dance, breathe, because so will I.

I'll be seeing you tomorrow in court. I'm ready. I'll be paying attention and reflecting on what to say in the end. You'll have to tell me, now that it's over (by the time you receive this) what you thought.

I can't wait to see you. I love you so much.

Please hug Oma for me.

Remember it's only you who can make your life make sense. Thank you for always reminding me the truth about love.

I love you always,

Amanda

Chapter 35