These Small Moments

Looking at him gave me a vision of a future I couldn't have, deep brown eyes that held my every dream of a better life. I was a dead man. My end was in sight, but the mere sight of him filled me with a feeling more painful than the threat of death. Hope. Hope for a way out of this mess, hope that there was anything that could change my fate, and above all else, hoped to love and be loved once again. In the face of certain demise, even the barest hint of his crooked smile could force me out of my resignation. Death row was a terrible place for hope, why did I let him torment me so? It was simple really

He saw me for who I was.

He was the only one left that did. My imprisonment was not fair, not right, but everyone had written me off as a monster. Nobody believed that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sometimes I barely believed it myself. That's what happens in isolation, when you have no one to rely on, no one to help you in your worst moments. You begin to doubt yourself, you begin to wonder if anything you believed was ever real in the first place. He made me remember myself though, a tether that kept me from drifting away.

He came almost every morning at five to deliver a breakfast of stale bread, jelly, and a paper cup of milk. It tasted like ambrosia though, knowing I had received it from him. I wasn't allowed to socialize with the other prisoners, so this was the closest I ever got to genuine human contact.

“Morning, Ethan,” he said. Sometimes that's all he said. He spoke little, but his voice poured out of the corner of his mouth like melted butter when he did. He slid my tray under the bars of my cell. I wished I could take the tray directly from his hands, if only to brush my skin against his. I knew he could see something in me, even if he never voiced it.

“Thank you, Eric,” I said. I dared not say more. What was there for me to say? Even if he did see me as I saw him, there was no way to act on it. Better to stay in the confines of the story I told myself. I couldn’t bear it if I confessed my heart and soul to him, only to find out I was wrong about him. I ate my food in silence and returned the tray.

“See you at lunchtime,” He said. How I yearned for these fleeting moments of contact, how I burned up inside until I could see him again. There was nothing to distinguish one day from another, save for Eric. My weeks were measured in the space between his visits. The two days a week he was gone from my life were more excruciating than the promise of a needle in my arm. The only other thing that marked the passage of time were the infrequent updates from my lawyer, none of which ever meant anything for me now. Eric filled my thoughts until he came around again for lunch.

“Afternoon, Ethan,” He said. He smiled this time. I knew he wasn't a morning person, because he never smiled before noon. That little smile was everything in the world to me. He slid the tray under the bars again.

“Thank you, Eric,” I said. I took the tray of the usual lunchtime slop. I ate in silence once again and slid the tray back to him. This was my routine, our routine. Every day playing out the same way might have bored another man, but for me it allowed a level of certainty about my life. I always knew when I'd see him again, and I always knew when I would wait for his return. I took solace in the small moments for they were all I ever had. Until he stopped showing up, that is.

The next day I waited for his morning visit as usual, but one of the other guards brought me my tray instead. I didn’t know this one's name and I doubted he knew mine. He wouldn't look me in the eye, just like everyone but Eric. This wasn't his normal day off and I was filled with unease. Had something happened to my beloved? Some terrible twist of fate to wrench him from my life? 

“Where's Eric?” I asked the guard. He sneered at me, offended for making him acknowledge my existence.

“What difference does it make?” He said, each word soaked in his disgust for me. I didn’t care though, I needed to know where Eric was.

“He always comes, please just tell me why he's not here,” I pleaded.

“How about you just eat your breakfast and calm down?” he said. He slid the tray under the bars, but I knew I wouldn't be able to eat. 

“I don't want your damn food, I want to know where Eric is!” I shouted, then I tossed the tray at the bars. The cup of milk splashed over the front of his uniform.

“Fine, you can starve for all I care. Fucking freak,” he spat. He grabbed the tray and left. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, all I knew was that Eric should be here and he wasn't. I crawled into my bed and hugged myself. I tried to calm down, but I couldn't hold back the tears. If I didn't have these small moments with Eric, then I had nothing at all. I held out the smallest bit of hope that he would come around again to bring me lunch, but no one came at all. No food, punishment for my outburst. It didn't matter, I couldn't eat anyway. The food was only worth eating when delivered by loving hands, hands I longed to feel wrapped around me. 

Hours turned to days and there was still no sign of my love. The apathy I felt before he came into my life was settling in again. Isolation that rotted me from the inside out. I had lost him and yet I had never really had him to begin with. I mourned what was and what could have been. I resolved to tell him how I felt, in the hopes that one day he would return to me. He had to know what love for him lived in my heart.

No one spoke to me after he left. I suppose I didn't really want them to anyway. What good is conversation when it comes from those who saw me as less than human? There was no reason left for anything other than the small hope of seeing him even once more. How my heart soared when he finally returned! I hadn't even bothered to look up at the sound of the guard coming with my breakfast that morning. I knew it wouldn't be him, so what did I care who brought it? I heard the scrape of the tray on the floor and his voice shook me from my apathy, just like it had the first time I laid eyes on him.

“Morning, Ethan,” he said. I bolted up out of my bed and the sight of him almost sent me to tears. I remembered my promise to myself, to tell him how I felt, but I was speechless. I hadn't expected the chance to actually follow through. The moment was interrupted by one of the other guards before I could speak.

“Eric, you're back! How you doing man, how's Tess?” He asked. Who was Tess? Something nasty and snarling welled up within me.

“Oh hey, Tim. I'm good, Tessa is doing alright considering. Can I show you a picture?” he said. I inched closer to the bars to try and sneak a peek as well.

“Yeah of course,” said Tim as he walked closer to Eric. “Oh man, she's adorable.” I caught a glimpse of the photo and saw that it was of Eric, a woman, and a newborn baby. 

No.

This couldn’t be.

Eric was my love, my salvation.

How could he do this to me?

Did he not know the pain this would put me through? My blood ran hot and there was a deafening rumble in my ears. Eric was too close to the bars. I could make him understand the pain he had inflicted on me. I could make him understand.

I reached through the bars and grabbed him by the shoulders. I pulled him into the bars of my cell as hard as I could and his head smashed into the metal with a meaty clunk. Blood came pouring instantly. Kept slamming him over and over again until I was certain I had made him understand. I finally let go and his body slumped to the floor. My rage passed and all I had left was regret for what I had just done. I never meant for things to turn out this way, but he had left me no choice. He should have known this would happen. He should have known how this would make me feel. I had to do it, but I regretted it all the same.

Tim was in my cell now, still shouting and beating me with his nightstick. I didn't fight back. Everything that mattered to me was gone now. No amount of physical pain I could endure would ever equate to the loss I felt in my heart. Better to be beaten to death here than to live another moment in a world without my love. A swing from Tim finally drew blood, my blood that still burned for the man on the floor. It dripped into the puddle that had formed around Eric. I allowed myself a smile. In a way, we were finally together, an intertwining of the blood. It was the only way it ever could have been.