"To Danny"

A short story.

​I was in the yard today.

​They all said it was good to see me. "You've been holed up," Marko said, flashing his crooked, tar-stained smile. He always had the best sense of humor.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. A mixture of dirt, wet cement, and dew filled my lungs. Chirps and clanks harmonized in the distance—a sweet and sour symphony.

​I savored each sensation; today, after all, was my day. Head to the heavens, I stretched my arms to the side, embracing the orange glow of a falling sun. My shadow was redeemer-like. "I'm ready," I whispered.

​Back inside, I declined dinner. Rosa teased, "Oh, come now, it's not like it's your last meal or anything." I’ve truly grown to adore Rosa. But, oh, how she used to guard me! I’m grateful to have earned her trust. Twenty years later, it is still she who holds the key.

​"Did Danny call?" I asked. "Is he coming?"

​Rosa shook her head. A tear trickled down her round cheek.

​"Thank you for everything, Rosa." Her expression was something I’d never seen before. It was genuine kindness.

​The drip of liquids is a strangely melodic backdrop. I wonder if I’m the only one in this predicament who has ever noticed. I make out only one face through the glass: the only face that matters. It is Hannah.

​A calm has washed over me, and the strength and solidness of my voice surprises me.

​"Yes, I do," I answer. "To my son, Danny: I hope you find peace and I hope you find the truth. To Hannah, my daughter: I love you. I wish you a beautiful life."

​The drip is quicker than I thought. My voice is no longer strong.

"It stings," I cough.

I’m fading fast.

"I’m innocent," I say, but the words never leave my mouth.