Life Isn’t Fair, What Are You Going To Do About It?

I arrived at the kitchen and Tony was already there. He looked depressed, worse than I’d ever seen him.

“Hey, what’s up?”

He gave me a pathetic look of desperation.

“I lost my last appeal. The public defender didn’t even show up and the judge wouldn’t reschedule.” “What do you mean?” “I’m getting executed at the end of the week.”

I stood there, shocked. I knew this day might come, but for some reason thought it wouldn’t happen. We looked at each other, there wasn’t much to say.

“Is there anything else you can do?” I asked feebly.

He shook his head and looked away. I wanted to help but had no idea what to do or say.

“If you don’t want to work it’s ok, I can handle everything.” “No, I want to work, I need to keep my mind busy.”

I gave him a concerned look. We worked the whole day in silence.

For the rest of the week, Tony became quieter and more depressed. I felt helpless because I was. I couldn’t imagine what he was feeling.

The day before his execution Tony didn’t show up for work. He had been moved to the death house already. The chef and I received his order for his last meal. The chef seemed sad about it. It was the first time I saw him show emotion.

We didn’t talk about it, we just did our jobs.

That night I talked to Carlos in our cell, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“It’s just not right, how can they kill him for something he didn’t do?” “He’s not the only one in here who’s wrongly accused. Probably not the only one who has been wrongly executed.”

I gave Carlos a disgusted look, how could he say something so cold and matter of factly?

He could tell I was upset, but he had been in too long for it to affect him anymore.

“This system is here to protect the innocent and punish the guilty. If it worked as it should that’s what would happen. But this system is run by people, people are biased and make mistakes.” “But it’s not fair.”

I agreed with Carlos but I couldn’t help feeling angry. It just didn’t make sense.

The next day I made lunch like usual trying not to think about what was coming. But eventually, the time came. I looked at the list of food for Tony’s last meal.

Fried catfish, cornbread, pepperoni pizza from Pizza Hut, french fries, onion rings, and a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

As I cooked the food I used more care than usual, remembering what Tony told me about the perfect way to fry catfish. When I was done I felt good about the way everything was cooked, but terrible about what it meant.

I wrapped and covered the plates with care and said a special prayer for my friend. The guard came and checked the food and took it away. It was surreal how everything seemed so normal, yet felt so bad.

I cleaned up and went back to my cell. I sat there and thought about Tony, I couldn’t think about anything else. As I sat there lost in thought I heard a noise coming down the hall. I looked to see what it was but I wish I hadn’t.

Two guards were pushing the stretcher with Tony’s body covered with a white sheet.

It was done, he was gone.

I couldn’t help but cry, at the loss of a friend, and the horrible injustice that took his life.

The same feelings of fear and hopelessness I felt on the outside were amplified on the inside. I decided then and there I wasn’t going to live like this anymore. When I got out I was going to make changes.

No more hoping and wishing, no more letting other people control me. I was always worried to stand up for myself or upsetting others. But the pain and self-hatred I always felt didn’t make me a better person. It made me weak and pathetic.

I served the rest of my time and used it to make a plan for my release. Although I was determined to make a change it wouldn’t be easy. I was now a convicted felon. When I thought about what I would do with my life I had no clue.

There was only one thing I really knew, the only thing I was good at. Cooking.

Luckily restaurants don’t have issues with hiring ex-cons, that was my ticket out. Out of sadness and despair.

In the past, I viewed cooking as just a job. A low-paying waste of my life. Now I saw it as my saving grace.

When I got out I found a job in a good restaurant. I always worked in dive bars and corporate restaurants were making money for the boss was more important than cooking good food. I found a chef who was competent and passionate.

I’d never been in an environment like this before. It was still the same kind of crazy hectic environment I was used to, but the people in the kitchen had a passion for food and the skills to back it up.

It took me a while to get the hang of the pace and precision that was required, but I loved every second of it. I had a goal for the first time in my life. I was going to open my own restaurant and use the same care I used for the last meals on every meal.

It took years to get to the point where I was good enough. And all the ups and downs were hard, but I kept going because anything was better than going back to my old life.

The day finally came. After months of work and planning and preparation, I opened my own restaurant. I managed to assemble a rag-tag group of people to help. They weren’t the best, but they believed in me and were willing to work.

I had more pressure on me than ever before. I have a restaurant to run and employees that were counting on me. When things get hard, and I begin to question myself, I think about Tony.

And I remind myself of something Carlos to me.

“Life isn’t fair, it doesn’t go the way we want, we can’t control what happens, we can only control how we react. What are you going to do about it?”

Thanks for reading, here are the other parts of the story.