[ WP ] A conversation between a death row inmate and the guard bringing him his last meal .

The tray felt heavier today. Maybe it was because Simon had skipped breakfast again ( much to his late mother's chagrin ) or because all the accoutrements for a lobster dinner made a notable difference in tray weight. But really, it's because Simon was the last person they should've assigned to death row. 
 
 His supervisors had warned against it. He's got no backbone, they told the higher ups. Simon had even agreed, in his own wishy-washy committal type of way. It might not be for me, he'd said. He quickly added that he'd be willing to try anything, his mom had always told him to try new things ( and also to eat breakfast every day ). 
 
 `` Heya, Cal,'' Simon's voice wavered as he approached the cell. He kept his eyes downcast because, despite the gun on his hip and his starched uniform, Simon was unnerved by these men. Especially Cal. 
 
 `` Now Simon, what'd I tell you about eye contact, bud?'' Cal's chuckle was hearty, it warmed Simon like some kind of brown liquor. 
 
 Simon lifted his eyes to meet Cal's through the bars. 
 
 `` There it is! Looking a man in the eye is all about respect, you remember that Simon.'' Cal nodded at him approvingly and Simon hated that he swelled with pride. `` So what have you got for me today, eh? Smells special.'' 
 
 `` It's uh, lobster.'' Simon licked his lips as he lifted open the food hatch in the cell door. `` You know your um —'' 
 
 `` Last meal? C'mon, son, you of all people have got to accept I'm a dying man. It's my last hurrah, after all.'' He seemed so matter of fact. There was n't a hitch in his voice let alone a tear stinging his eye. 
 
 Simon slid the tray into the cell. He felt odd. He and Cal had developed a certain kind of report ever since Simon had been stationed on death row. The man on the other side of that iron door seemed more like a friend than an inmate sentenced to death. 
 
 `` Hey Simon,'' Cal cleared his throat as Simon was shutting the hatch. 
 
 `` Yeah, Cal?'' 
 
 `` Would you mind leaving that open? Would you mind staying? Last moments, and all.'' He was sincere, earnest even. For the first time since he'd known Cal, Simon hazarded that Cal was nervous. 
 
 Simon glanced up and down the hall. This was probably against a number of protocols but he was n't needed anywhere and Cal had no one. Simon shuddered. He would n't want to die alone. 
 
 `` Tell me'bout that girl. What was her name? Sherry? Did you work up the nerve to ask her out?'' There was a sound of a shell cracking and then cutlery on metal. Simon shook his head softly, he could n't believe he'd divulged such intimate details to a convicted felon. 
 
 He told the story of his spectacularly failed declaration of love to Sherry, the receptionist at his local gym. His cheeks were hot as he told the story; he'd plucked up the courage to ask her out at the aforementioned gym with a bouquet of roses. It was a public spectacle and a public humiliation as she looked at him piteously and said plain and simply, no. 
 
 `` I'm going to have to transfer gyms,'' Simon muttered. 
 
 Cal howled with laughter, choking a little on some lobster. He sniffed loudly. `` Jesus, Simon, you've got me in tears, pal. I thought I gave you better advice than that, for fuck's sake, man!'' He laughed again. 
 
 Simon smiled. Cal had told him numerous stories about his success with the ladies. `` You're suave, I ca n't pull off suave. I thought I'd be better off sticking with sweet and romantic.'' 
 
 Eventually the eating sounds slowed and ultimately stopped. Cal, with some hesitation, placed the tray back in the hatch. 
 
 `` Thanks for everything, Simon. I wo n't forget your kindness,'' Cal's face was solemn. 
 
 Simon felt his cool facade wavering. There had to be some way out of this. The system was wrong all the time, they could n't just kill Cal. This man — who listened to his lady troubles and coached him on his self-confidence — did n't deserve to die. He opened his mouth to say something but Cal beat him to it. 
 
 `` I got one more request for you, Si.'' 
 
 `` Anything.'' 
 
 `` My uh,'' Cal hesitated for what seemed like the first time since Simon had known him. `` My wife did n't happen to leave a message for me, did she?'' 
 
 Simon froze. He chose his words carefully. `` There were no messages for you. I'm sorry.'' 
 
 `` Not an'I love you' or a'goodbye' even?'' 
 
 Simon shook his head. `` No.'' He closed the hatch for the last time. His brisk footsteps echoed loudly in the empty hall. 
 
 Cal's wife had n't left a message since he'd been imprisoned. No one had heard from her since he was convicted of her murder 30 years ago.
