EXECUTION DATE

It was Fall when his execution date was set. He refused to talk about it so we didn't. 

Around that time, I had started teaching a class at the college a couple of nights per week - a creative writing course that I did not feel qualified for. Of course, Ray thought I was incredibly qualified. Most days, I could tell Ray’s mood by how often he told the guards that I was a writer.

“Well, prof, do you like it?” Ray asked the first time I showed up after a class.

“I do. Being a writer is so hard. It sounds so pretentious and self-important to describe it… that I never do. But, in my class, I can. I can say it over and over, to all of them, ‘writing is hard’ and they all look back and smile reassured.”

“It’s like how they always say that the students are often teachers, as well…”

“Right.” I point my index finger at him and smile. He is visibly touched to see this response.

“A smile!”

“I smile all of the time, you know…  Just not that often around here.” I gesture around the room. It is obvious what I am saying with the wave of my arm. All of the buildings look like stacks of moving boxes. Beige as far as you can see out the window… taupe on every wall.

“Yeah. Well, that may be the case but I enjoy seeing you smile now and again, as well. Can you give your old uncle a smile now and again?”

My body feels stiff suddenly and my demeanor changes. I know he can see the change. He adjusts in his seat and cracks his knuckles - practically solid green with tattoos.

“Why didn’t you tell her no?”  I demand.