My day in court

The following is an excerpt from Part One:



A buzzing sound breaks the icy stillness. The barricade opens. A dozen feet scuffle up the cement stairs, in front of my home unsavory home. A handful of guys, the ones who were hanging around the day room as I passed through, make their way past. They disburse to the other five stalls that line the second tier of the notorious N-Nancy block. The name attached to the letter is to avoid confusion with the morbid M-Mary block at Rhode Island’s ACI Intake Service Center.

A handsome young Hispanic man brings up the rear of the group. He swings our door open and pulls it shut behind him. His clenched fist extends in the knuckles up position. “Hey, how ya doin’ men? We jus’ all saw you on TV.” The look on his face is cordial, but his tone is matter of fact. I return the gesture with my fist. As our knuckles tap in mid air, I respond, in equally as nonchalant a demeanor.

“Really? How’d I look?”

He stares vacantly. “Like you, men.” A noncommittal grin spreads across his face while he leans his bottom against the desk.

“Hummmph,” I grunt, and wait patiently for him to take the next initiative. What is probably a few seconds seems like the final stretch of the Kentucky Derby. At last, his sultry bronze-tone lips take action. “Well, aah, you got some a these guys ov’r her purdy worked up.”

“Really? How do you mean?”

“Didn’ chew hear ’em men? As you walked by? A couple of ’em was sayin’—”

“Uh, noooo, I didn’t hear them. Aaaaand, I’m not really interested in knowing what their comments were, if it’s all the same to you.” Abruptly, I raise an eyebrow and half smirk while shrugging my shoulders, as if to semi-apologize.

“Oh, sure men, no problem. Ahhh, they sain’ on TV that you an’ this other dude, men, you uh, you have some adopted kids. Uhhh, whuzit, a boy an’ a girl?”

“Yes, one of each.”

“Oh yeah, an they uhh, they sain’ you both molested ’em?”

“I have no idea; I’m not following the story.”

“Oh.”

Silence besieges us once again. We stare at each other for a long moment. Finally, his penetrating black irises slowly fade into a downward glance. He turns away and begins to fidget with some strips of paper and a two-inch pencil with no eraser strewn on the desk. I let out a little huff through the back of my nose and he glances up again. I go on.

“Aah, listen, I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” With a forced grin, I shift my sight away from him, and nod slowly. “You know, the media is having a field day with this, and everybody has an opinion and a comment. And believe me when I tell you that none of it is the least bit flattering. And yes, I do know what the accusations are; and no, I am not the least bit interested in what anyone’s opinion of the situation is, especially not these inmates and most especially not any of the assholes who work here. I have absolutely no idea whatsoever why I’m telling you all this, but we have never had any sexual interaction with any of our children. We adopted these two kids on nine-eleven, two thousand one, and in the…”

I spring each finger of my left hand out and then proceed to the ones on my right hand, counting, “two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight; in the seven years since we’ve known them, neither one has been capable of telling the truth a day in their spoiled-rotten life. I have no reason to suspect that that would change now. They are dysfunctional, hate-filled children. They are angry because of some foster kids that we took in. The only thing I care about right now is to have my day in court, to set the record right.”