Dating : Sentenced for life

It is a glorious spring morning- bright blue skies, lush green grass, and lovely wild flowers. What more can one want. I park my car in the same spot as I always have and walk into the reception at sharp 9 o’clock, my usual time. There is the same nervous young nurse in front of a big sign that says White Lily assisted living. The familiar uncomfortable silence envelopes the lobby. After all these years, one would think I would have gotten used to the curious glances and hushed whispers. But even after all this time, I still end up feeling self conscious and check if there is anything wrong with my clothes. There is not even a piece of lint on my dark blue suit.

I smile at the nurse behind the desk and ask, “Good morning Dear! How are you today?”.

This is not the first time she has seen me but she still turns white and quickly says good and continues to ramble, “Today, is a good day for her, Mr. Giovanni. She has even eaten her breakfast and taken her medicines. She is doing very well. Let me take you to her.”

I smile at her and for some reason it petrifies her even more. To put her out of her misery, I reply, “I know the way, I’ll just go by myself. Have a nice day Miss”.

Recently, the jury had found me innocent of all the crimes I was guilty of. I guess there must have been reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury. If you ask me I just did what had to be done. I didn’t chose the profession, it chose me. If you are a small boat in the sea, the best way to stay alive is to ride the wave. That’s exactly what I did. My biggest strength and weakness is that I have never had regrets.

My twin sister on the other hand was different. She always did whatever was expected of a young lady. She was perfect. Is perfect. She graduated Summa cum laude from high school and college. She was offered an apprenticeship under a famous painter in Italy. She might have even become a famous painter had she pursued it, instead she adhered to the family traditions and married a respectable man. She gave birth to a baby boy in a year. Unfortunately, her husband died in an accident when the boy was 5. From that day, I took care of her family and her boy became my son-Robbie. He adored me and he told the whole neighborhood he would grow up to become like Uncle Billy. I think this was my sister’s biggest fear. It sure did come true.

I knock on her door and I hear her say come in. I walk in to see her holding a brush painting a portrait of me.

She says, “Perfect timing, I had forgotten how your ears look like.”

She kisses me on my cheek and makes me sit on the stool near the window. I ask her, “How was your morning?”

Tilting my head with her hands, she says, “Fine I guess, these people don’t let me eat bacon anymore. Please tell them to let me eat it. You know how much I like it. I also don’t like this brand of orange juice, it has to be freshly squeezed and no pulp. They always mess it up. Look up a little bit”.

I sit there while she speaks about the despicable nurses, boring fellow residents, and cute volunteers. She goes on and on about the gossip at the home and keeps adjusting my face. I look at her and am taken back to the time when we were kids. She is still the same Cecelia.

She slaps me lightly to claim that I am not listening to her to which I reply, “I heard everything. Mr. James is interested in Mrs. Black but Mrs. Black is already courting Mr. Henderson.”

This is not the first time I have heard this stories, this would not be the last. It is lunch time already. We decide to have lunch at the patio. Today is Chicken soup and grilled sandwich. We don’t speak much during lunch. In our family, our father did not like people talking while they were eating. I have never heard her speak during lunch. I give her cannolis from her favorite bakery. She is thrilled, she gives me a hug and a kiss in return. Small things always made her so happy. After lunch we take a stroll in the garden where she introduces me to some people and they are friendly enough.

We come back and it is time for the final touches of the painting. Every time I see her painting, I still stand amazed at her talent. It is her turn to enquire about everybody. She begins with my wife, my kids, my grandkids, and then my wife’s family. I tell her about everybody and she gets happy.

Then she becomes very sad and looks at me and tells me. “Do you know, Robbie has stopped visiting me. Did I say something to upset him? I don’t remember what I said to him. I am his mother, if I don’t tell him who will? He listens to you. Why don’t you convince him to come visit me. I want to see him. Tell him, I have decided not to eat anything till he comes.”

She looks at me with those beautiful blue eyes which are brimming with tears. My mind goes blank. Again one would think I would have gotten used to this but every single time my throat goes dry, I start sweating, and I turn white.

She senses something is wrong and asks me, “What happened? Is everything alright? Is he fine? What are you not telling me”.

I take her hand into mine and tell her, “We were on our way back home from the game. I felt now that he had taken all the responsibilities, he should also get all the perks. I insisted he should be the one in the big car. He was really happy. He sat in my car and I followed him in his. They must have thought it was me in the big car. They ambushed it and Robbie died in the shooting. I am so sorry.”

She lets go of my hand. There are tears streaming down on her face. Her lips are shaking and she lets out a scream and collapses to the floor.

I sit beside her and she grabs my collar and says, “I begged you a million times to leave him alone. I told you he is not made for your business. You promised me you would protect him. What happened? How could you? He was just a boy.” The way she looks at me in that moment makes me feel shameful of every single cell in the body.

I cry with her repeating, “I’m sorry. I am so sorry. It should have been me”.

She lets go of me, stands up and says, “Yes it should have been you. You are dead to me.” She takes her brush and destroys the portrait of mine. She throws it across the room.

She starts screaming, “Get out of here. I never want to see you again.”

I pick up the portrait and walk away from her and as soon as I exit the door, I see the the nurse waiting by the door . She looks at me and then rushes inside to take care of my sister.

I am outside. I have just been found guilty by the only jury I care about. I drive home with the painting in the back seat. I open the door and quickly come downstairs to the basement. I lock the door and cry inconsolably. I have let down the one person who never let me down. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish it was me in the car. It is my fault. I may have been found innocent by the courts but I am guilty in my Cecilia’s eyes and I have decided to serve the sentence for life. She is the one good pure thing in my life. The thought of not seeing her everyday is too unbearable. I have not lied to her till today and I am too old to change now. So everyday I visit her hoping against hope that she doesn’t ask me about Robbie. Alas! she asks me everyday and I have to tell her about the death of her only son and plead for forgiveness every single day. I have to face her wrath. That is the only way I can live with myself. I stare at the painting which used to be my portrait. I slowly go to my table pick up my hammer and a nail and slowly walk over to the wall to hang this portrait beside the rest.