Steadfast

"How are you, Henry?"
A question I must have heard a hundred times.

"How are you my son?"
Without an answer, she forced herself to smile. Wrinkles near her eyes however expressed the sadness she tried to contain. Pausing for a moment, she placed the phone down on her lap.

"Have you had breakfast?..."
Still no answer.

Up she brought on the table a small wooden basket.
"...I brought you your favorite"
Blueberry muffins. Aroma filled the air.

I would know. Cause I was there.

"It's a little burnt on the side, I can still remember when you were little, how you would pounce to them on the high chair, slam your fists on the breakfast table... oh how eager you were for them..."

"Thursday."
He answered. After a hundred visits, he answered.
It was faint. I heard his voice from the phone on the woman's hand.

"Thursday..." I heard it well.
Her lips trembled. Was it joy?
Finally, she heard his son's voice. For a long time, he remained silent. Or was it fear? Fear for what he has to say or what is to come.
"I want you to be there..."

She could only listen to him speak.

"I did it. I killed him."
"No...no, what are you saying? You didn't do it. I know you. I know you more than anyone else. And I know you're not a murderer."
Her hands held tighter on the phone.
"I am. I took his life, took him away from his family. And now I must pay. Pay for all the sins I've done in my life. I know I was never a good son. I disobeyed. I rebelled. I wasted my whole life doing what pleases me. I never cared about you, or dad. but you never changed. Not one bit. Every night I would come home late, I would find you sleeping by the door. It must be tiring to wait for me."
His voice remained firm.

Yes, it may be, but she never grew tired. Day after day she would visit him. With cookies or bread she baked herself in that old oven. Henry rejected them. He would only stare through the thick glass window that separated them. He would hold the phone close to his ear and listen to his mother. He would not answer.

I would know. I was there.

It made me mad. But I didn't have any right to be. It was her choice. She could've just left her son.
Start a new life. Forget about everything that has happened.
But she didn't.

"Dad got tired of me. He passed away without warning. You stayed. No matter how bad of a son I was, you stayed. And I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I caused everything for this once happy family to fall apart. Will you forgive me?" He asked.
The look in his eyes was enough for me to know what he said over the phone. I could see the old lady nod her head as tears flow down on her cheek.

"Thursday. Before I die, I would like to set things straight. For the last time, I want to do something right. Mom, I want you to be there."
A prompt was heard throughout the hall saying Visiting Hour is Over. Noise filled the room as chairs moved and people stood, embracing one another for the last time. She could only watch his son through the glass as he stood up, the chains that bound his hand and feet made a silent noise. Slowly he walked past a steel door escorted by the guards.

Days were in haste.
It all seemed too fast.
Or I haven't had much sleep.
The night of August 8, Thursday.
There we were standing behind a large glass wall as we watched Henry lie down that elevated gurney. The usual curtains was not before the glass wall. They tied his arms and legs down with nylon yards built along with the platform. The old lady's grasp on my arm crushed my bones. I could hear her silently cry in her white handkerchief.
In a switch, the gurney turned Henry to face the glass wall. His eyes were sunk, he looked weaker at every breath. Yet he had this determined stare.

He smiled.
"Mom..." He called out.
With her hand on the window, she cried and whispered, "Yes, my son?"
"I have a gift for you. Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow,
wake up, open your window, close your eyes and take a deep breath.
Turn around, your present will be there waiting."
I never understood what he said. Although it was clear even from the speakers that amplified his words to us.

He looked at me and said, "Sean, take care of my mother for me"
In a switch, the gurney once again turned Henry back facing the bright lights on the ceiling. Individuals in white took control of the panel. They attached two white cords both at the side of his head above his ears. We knew it was painful. He struggled violently. The nylon yards that bound him sunk on his skin.
A press of a button, and the drip chambers connected to the intravenous lines pinned into his bloodstream released a liquid one by one. Chamber after chamber, the struggle decreased, until a flat line was heard. The glass window blurred until we couldn't see the other side.
Henry, executed at 24, lived his life on the edge.
He was a friend. I knew him since we were little.
I don't know what got into him. Until now it is hard for me to understand. With his last will in my hands, I read his final words.
I couldn't do it.
What is wrong with you?
I can't do it. You expect me to inflict greater pain
on your mother by taking away her precious memories of you?
You said you wanted to make things right,
What is this?!
No, I said.

Days grew worse every minute. The old lady, stayed by the door of her home as if she was waiting for someone. She grew weak, ate less and became terribly ill. Many times I would catch her crying herself to sleep watching Henry's 8th birthday celebration. Many times has she fallen asleep with dry tears. Many times has she whispered in her dream, what did I do wrong?
She would wake up at the middle of the night, call her son's number just to hear his voice again.
"Hey, this is Henry, I can't pick up right now. Leave
a message"
For days, I watched her mourn for the loss of her son. They say it gets better. But I don't see it.
No one deserves to go through this. No one.
I stood up on my own feet and re-read Henry's will. I've decided. I called the number, it was a number for a medical facility specializing in neuroscience. It was as if they already knew what to do when I call.
Before I knew it, the individuals in white came in the house. They were the same individuals that executed Henry. It was dark that night. Lights came crashing down. Along with them they rolled odd equipments into the old lady's room.
I panicked.

Just when more of them came, they grabbed a hold of me and dragged me out of the house. It was bright outside. Almost bright that I cannot anymore remember a few things that happened at that moment. They made her faint with just one shot of their deviantly looking armaments. One thing I noticed, they conducted the same procedure before Henry was executed, without the IV drips. That thing they attached to the sides of her head.
They took his stuff away. Henry's stuff. They threw all of his possessions in a box. That giant box that looked like our oven. All that went through it became ash in a matter of minutes.
At one point, a man sat down with me and gave me bottle. I thought it was aspirin. But he told me, they were tablets they made out of Henry's memories. One dose, and all my memories concerning Henry would be removed. It was the new execution program. Soon everyone who knew Henry can just buy a bottle of this medicine if they want to remove him from their memory. Not only us were hurt with what happened to his life.

They had to make a special procedure on the old lady, for she shares more memories with Henry from the beginning. They had to track down every single moment she was with him, from birth to his death. Henry also made other arrangements with them, not just to remove him form her memory, but alter certain parts.
They may have taken the drug. I didn't.
Morning came. The light lined on the gaps of the closed windows. She opened her eyes. Slowly she got up from her bed with strength. Walked to that closed window and let all the morning light in with one push. The birds were chirping. The leaves were rustling. It's a beautiful day. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. Let that cool breeze embrace her.
I stood by the door.

She turned.
"How are you, my son?"
This must be the first time I ever heard that question.

I would know. Cause I was there.