Apology by Jon Pineda (books to read this summer .txt) 📕

crossed initially. It hadn’t taken long, given that there were more than a handful of them to carry Exequiel back to town.

They found Vin’s grandfather, who in an earlier version of his life had been a medical student. The old man, seeing the boy’s condition, covered his own mouth as if to hold the breath inside just a little longer. He remembered why he had given up his dream of becoming a doctor. Though his own parents had been deceased for longer than this boy had been alive, the old man could not shake the feeling that he had not only let his father down by flunking out of university, but he had, in essence, let this boy down as well.

“Abuelo?” Vin said.

“Give me a second,” his grandfather said.

The other boys were restless. They scooted around and switched positions. Their entire reason for being, up until that very moment, had been to look inward and summon strength they knew they normally didn’t possess, and now having done so, they felt entitled by having overcome their limitations. Everyone else needed to rise above his own constraints.

The old man, for one, needed to be doing something, but each time Vin addressed his grandfather, the old man just said, “Give me a second,” and the other boys could not understand why the old man was saying something like this. Couldn’t he see that seconds were not things that they could touch, that could be doled out?

The deliberations were cut short by Vin’s grandmother, who entered the house and dropped the large woven basket she had been carrying. Fruits rolled onto the floor and dispersed in all directions. She immediately asked Vin’s grandfather what had happened. The old man only sat down next to the wounded boy and did not respond.

The other boys paused in their unasked questions.

The old man held his own head in his hands. They felt sorry for this old man, though they didn’t know why exactly. Vin explained things quickly to his grandmother, as best he could, and his grandmother ordered the boys to lift their friend off the floor and carry him to her bed.

They were then to gather fresh water. Vin was to start a fire. Why hadn’t anyone thought to stop the bleeding, or at the very least, cover the wound from the flies? Some blood had pooled on the floor and left a dark oval. Vin’s grandfather did not stir until his wife came back over to where he was punishing himself and asked, “What are you doing?”

Exequiel opened his eyes. Vin yelled for his grandmother.

“Did you hear us talking about you?” the old woman asked Exequiel.

The boy glanced at her but did not speak.

Vin’s grandfather walked up beside her. Exequiel’s eyes widened.

“What is it?” the old man said. “Did I scare you? I can tell you that it is you who gave us a fright. I was not prepared to see what it was you wanted to show me. I was not prepared, and now I know I need to think on this. Maybe for the rest of my life I will be thinking about this day.”

The old man walked to the other side of the room and sat down in a chair and leaned over. The chair creaked as he gazed at the floor.

“Don’t mind him,” the old woman said, but Exequiel had stopped listening. He was already thinking about el más allá and the butterfly that had found him dying and had flown him back to his life.

seven

February 12, 200–

In regards to: Exequiel X. Guzman

DOC#331VA-77XX

Honorable Members of the Parole Board

Virginia Department of Corrections

P.O. Box 26963

Richmond, VA 23261

Dear Honorable Members of the Parole Board:

My name is Mario Guzman, and for three years, I have served as a pediatric cardiothoracic surgeon at the Children’s Hospital of the King’s Daughters in Norfolk, Virginia. I am the nephew of Exequiel Guzman DOC#331VA-77XX, and I am writing to you on his behalf.

It is my hope that after reviewing his record as an inmate, both his completion of numerous behavioral health programs, as well as his garnering a GED and an associate’s degree, you will find that he has exhibited a commitment toward bettering himself as an individual. In addition, my family and I are willing to provide him with all the support he will need to succeed.

I know my uncle has expressed deep regret for his past actions. Or at least, I feel he has. I don’t know anymore, actually. Can I be honest with you for a minute? There is nothing he needs to prove to you. Any of you people. I’m serious. It’s sickening, really, this process.

Your sole expectation seems to be that we build the case he is no longer a threat to society. That is truly fucked up. What if he was never a threat to begin with? What if this all started from a mistake that bloomed into where we are now?

Would it help to know that I used to wait for her? All I wanted was a chance to tell her something. I didn’t know what, exactly, but that didn’t matter to me then. I would sit near the far corner of the backyard, on the other side of their fence, hidden there, and sometimes they would let her out and I would crouch down and watch her, waiting. I didn’t feel terrible doing so.

Often she gathered small flowers, even dandelions, and as she did, she would sing to herself a kind of gibberish. I could never make out the words, if they were even words. I don’t care what anyone says, she was happy. But a different kind of happy. I saw it for myself. When I think about happiness now, I think of those moments of her singing to herself.

I’m sure you’re wondering if I ever had the chance to speak to her. Once, she wandered over to the corner where I was. It was almost evening. I felt like her mother was