I’m fourteen years older than Steve. He was born in 1960, in El Paso, Texas. We had lived there about six years by then, a record for us as a family, we moved a lot. We managed to stay there about two more years before we moved to Deep Springs, also in Texas, to live with our mother’s parents on their farm.
There are four other brothers and sisters, but before I say too much more I need to point out that Deep Springs is a pseudonym for another town. Almost everyone and everything in this story has been given a substitute name for a variety of reasons.
We moved all over the country when I was a child, from the East Coast to Canada, as far west as Arizona, finally landing in Texas. I was the oldest, three other sisters were born during the moves, then two other brothers while we settled in El Paso. Steve was the last of the six of us, and was barely two years old when we moved to Deep Springs. The family stayed there even longer than we lived in El Paso, but I left the house in 1965 when I started college (also there in Deep Springs). I moved to Houston in 1970, when Steve was ten. As a result, I really had very little contact with him except at an occasional family reunion, and really almost none once he was an adult. Much of what I know about him, I’ve learned since he was incarcerated.
All of that is leading up to this statement. Steve is not a perfect human being, but who is? He made some mistakes in his life, and he’s been in the wrong place at the wrong time occasionally, but he didn’t do what he was accused of. I’m thoroughly convinced of that. My job in the book is going to be to convince you too.
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