|
HOME POETRY SHORT
STORIES THE
WRITER BUDDHISM EMAIL  Click to join WritersCafe's online discussion group.
|
Short Stories | |
|
The Best Days Shortly after he delivered a sharp punch to my crotch, my young son's laugh filled the living room like birds chirping. Doubled over, a dull warm pain filling my abdomen, I couldn't help but laugh too. "Nah, you can't hurt daddy!", I had said, and I bet him a hamburger that I was right. He added cheese, and extra ketchup. *** Her fingers were long, slender, and cool intertwined with mine, and I can still feel her hair floating up from the puffs of moist breeze, brushing my neck. We walked quietly, smiles painted on our faces, twigs snapping beneath our boots. Chilled and winded, we stopped among a tight grove of trees to catch our breath, straddling a fallen log. "You're out of shape, fat man," she smiled. I huffed and slapped my belly with both hands. "I can still out-walk your frail little body. Look at your legs, they're shaking." Her bare legs below the hem of her shorts were trembling slightly from exertion. "Oh that?", she patted her legs, "I'm just so anxious to run that my body is begging me to leave you here on this log." "Oh, I'm not tired," I lied. "I'm ready for twice this." "Really?" She lowered her chin and glanced upward to meet my eyes, the picture of innocence. "How'd you get to be in such good shape, old man?" I moved closer, the material of my jeans brushing against her legs. "Exercise." My hand touched the side of her cool thigh, now prickling with gooseflesh. "Lot's of good, quality exercise." We made love for over an hour among the trees and sounds of rushing stream, until both of us were too exhausted to hike any further. *** "Throw it! You can do it!" I cupped my hands to my mouth to make the sound travel toward him, overcoming the rushing waves and squawk of pelicans combing the beach for leftovers. My son had his feet planted up to his ankles in the sand, the surf lapping at his shins every few seconds. He held a small flat stone in his hands. "Like I taught you, buddy, fling it out to your side! Wait for the wave to pass!" "Ok, dad!" His little tongue protruded involuntarily from the corner of his mouth as he wound up to throw. His arm arced powerfully, and he released the rock at the perfect moment. It sailed far in front of him, scraping the surface of the water, then gaining altitude, and hopping several times before disappearing at last. "Perfect throw, buddy!" I was so proud of him. He was beaming. "Mommy! Did you see that one? It did it three times!" He was so excited that he tried to jump, forgetting that his feet were deep in the slushy muck beneath him. Still laughing, he fell, bottom first, into the water. *** I watched them sleep, and they looked so serene. Side by side they lay, and I remembered watching her nurse him when he was an infant just five years ago. How their eyes looked deep into each other, connected in something so mystical that I was always jealous. I combed my fingers through his hair, watching it fall back where it belonged, except for one small tuft that stuck up, defiant. I smoothed it down, and felt so much love for him. My buddy. I reached out to touch her skin, longing to feel the warm softness in her cheek, but she was cool to the touch. I kissed her eyes, the bridge of her nose, her lips, her chin. I willed her to wake up. To inhale deeply, stretch, open her eyes, and smile when she saw that I had come to see her. But she laid still, my son beside her, both of them mostly naked from their clothes being cut from their body and flung into the hazardous waste can across the room.
Still, even in death, they were the most precious things I had ever seen. *** His day in court lasted longer than I would have liked. There seemed to be no end to the charade his legal council had devised. But the end was finally near—I could feel it. There would be no more "temporary insanity". There would be no more tampering of evidence claims. There would be no inadmissible security tapes. There would be no more hope that he might go free. I love to remember his face, right before I convicted him of murdering my wife and son. The recoil from the gun I had pulled from my coat sent a quick shock of pain through my arm. The sound was deafening, and the ringing in my ears filtered out most of the screams around me, the sound of my weapon hitting the floor, and the pop of the bullet that tore through my shoulder. Still, due process never felt so good, and the look on his face one second before the bullet tore through his temple was exactly what I needed to see: guilt, conviction, and for the first time in the whole trial, fear. *** "Joseph Denny." It was not a question. My heart raced at once, filling my ears with a muffled pounding that threatened to cause me to faint. I buried my face deeper into my pillow. My eyes were still shut, and I tightened them, unwilling to open them and see the gray wall in front of me. "Joseph Denny, we're here to walk you down. Steady now." A familiar electric buzz echoed through the cell, followed by a deep metallic clang. I could hear, but not yet see, the heavy bars sliding in their track, the footsteps of three men, maybe four, entering one by one. One last deep breath. One last embrace of my memories. I rolled over on my bunk to face the men who had come to escort me and opened my eyes. My nose burned when tears filled my eyes just then, seeing the faces of these men instead of the faces that I had tried to dream into view. I stood. "Joe, I'm sorry. I've got to do this." The man in front looked at the floor for a moment, steadying himself to continue. "Joseph Theodore Denny, you have been sentenced by the authorities of this state to be killed by means of lethal injection, to take place no later than 11:59 pm on this night." The men behind him shuffled their feet. I knew them both. "Joe, do you have anything to say before we go?" I would leave them all on the bed behind me—my wife, my son, my perfect life, my hopes, my ambitions, my dreams. I wanted to remember them just like I had remembered them in my sleep just then. I wouldn't take them with me—I didn't want them with me to watch me die, not like this, not in this place. I turned back to look at the crumpled bedspread and whispered the last words that my mouth ever formed. "I'll see you soon."
|
||
|
If you encounter any problems with this site, please send email to kevin@writerscafe.net. All content, information and design © 2006, Kevin L. McDonald, All rights reserved. No information from this site may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author. |
