Easter

Ten years ago, at Easter, I visited Mike on death row. We sat in a steel booth, separated by thick glass. We ate food from the vending machines. Mike was manacled. Mike was arrested when he was 19. He’s always looked older than his age. I asked Mike what he recollected of Easter when he was a boy. Colored eggs? Easter bunnies? Easter dinner? Mike paused a full minute. He said, “I only remember my feet gettin’ washed.” Since that visit, Mike’s death sentence has been vacated. Set aside. He’ll be a free man before long. What will become of Mike?