Soapbox Diner: Distain

Soapbox Diner

Distain

11.17.07

And the day is done. I plucked my eyebrows into two perfect, delicate little bird wings that rest themselves in half-arch above my eyes. I carefully brushed my lashes to unbelievable lengths and combed them out to individual marvels of mascara engineering. I glossed my lips a respectable shade of red - neither too shocking nor too subtle to be appreciated. I sideswept my hair into a lovely Jennifer Love Hewitt coiffure.

I squeezed into spanx and a padded push-up bra - latched on the last row of hooks for added shapeliness, then misted myself with Lolita Lempicka. I wore my sparkly emerald cut tanzanite earings that flash green like my eyes and pink like my Jackie O. jacket.

I am nothing if not an expert at girl-armor.

I got into my car and drove to the court. Bottle of water and tissue in hand, I took a deep breath, leveled my chin and pushed my shoulders back as I exited the elevator on the third floor. And the sun shown through the clouds and lit the marbled dome of the mezzanine where we stood, me and the first enclave of his family and supporters.

His aunt, cousin, and a family friend greeted me. Cousin said God bless you. Aunt J wrapped her arms around my shoulders as she whispered, "In case we don't get a chance again, T wanted you to know he doesn't blame you. He said to let you know he still loves you." It was 12:50, ten minutes before the session was to begin.

More family continued to shuffle into the darkly wooded and book-lined room for another 45 minutes. The attorneys continued to arrive for an additional 30 after that.

It's hard to look composed when you're sitting across from people who you used to welcome into your home; there now arranged acrossed four rows of benches on the defendent side of the gallery. It's equally hard not to look too cold and uncaring as you instead stare straight ahead.

"Don't you have anyone here with you, dear?" asked his mother.

"Thank you, no. I am here alone."

"Oh, that's a shame."

At last my advocate arrived and sat beside me. The one good thing she's done since this all began. She shielded me from the glare of Mr. T's Ex, who ever-so-typical to her unwanted, intrusive self, smarmed herself into this aspect of my relationship with Mr. T, too.

We were docketed to be the second sentencing on the calendar, but the jail was late bringing Mr. T up from the hold. And so we sat through the first case and then another. The wife of the first stood as her husband's sentence was passed down, Attempted Rape III. As the Judge detailed the terms of his sentence, she bellowed out to His Honor, "You asshole!" before storming out of the room in a huff. Because it wasn't her husband's fault that he attempted to use force to commit adultery with an unwilling partner, of course.

She cried as His Honor the Asshole then cited her with contempt, imparting to the Judge that she was sorry, but he couldn't do that to her, she had no money for an attorney and had just started a new job. She couldn't possibly miss time from work so soon after hire.

I laughed on the inside. Of course it wasn't right for me to laugh, as this distraught woman was obviously experiencing a pivotal moment filled with fear and anger. But I wasn't laughing at her. Rather, I laughed at the mental image of Ex creating an equally appalling scene of loathsome lack of self respect and composure when it came time to bear witness to "her man's" unjust punishment.

The second case was presented and the defendant got 12 months. He apologized to his victim and blamed the alcohol for his behavior. "Honest, Judge, I'll never do that again."

Crazy Ex continued to stare with a harsh, cold look of malice in my direction.

And then the guard burst through the iron-wraught jail entrance into the court, shaking the tables and benches. Behind him was T, clad in his red jumpsuit and rubber slippers, chained at the ankles and wrists.

The next 10 minutes were a blur of undefined electricity that ran through me head to foot. My knees began to shake and my breathing was ragged. There he was, sitting, facing directly at me.

He wore his tinted glasses that I bought for him that Christmas, so I couldn't see his eyes. Was he really looking at me, or was he just positioned next to the door so that it appeared that he was? I think he was. There was just one instant when I thought I could read in his body language his characteristic, "I'm sorry I fucked up" posture. But then it was gone.

And our case was called, and the attorneys took their places. T was unchained and walked to his table, seated between his two lawyers. The prosecution spoke in hushed timber, followed by the defense. Ex glared menacingly again, and then the Judge asked if I wanted to speak.

I didn't. But his family did, one after another, mother, cousin, aunt, sister and friend. They detailed how T had made mistakes in the past, but he took care of me. "He supported Miss SBD for two years," said the mother. "He loves Miss SBD and her son, and he loves children. He loves kids so much, he volunteers for my Foundation," said the Aunt. Sister added, "T and I are 12 years apart in age, but now that I've finished college with my Masters, we're very close." Cousin babbled something no one could understand and one of the other prosecuters turned around and asked me if she was high or something. Probably - she's the family "case". Friend, whom I had never even heard of let alone met in the two years of T and I were together, said, "T's a good guy and is well-known in the community."

And then the Ex spoke. "Your Honor, I'm T's friend and Ex. We lived together for 8 years and have been friends for 10. I know he's not a rapist and I can't believe you would sentence him on the word of that," please pause for dramatic and suspense-filled effect, "woman. She's a liar, Your Honor, because I know he could never do something like that."

The Judge finally interrupted her with a curt thank you and began to read his rap-sheet. Buglary, car prowling, breaking and entering, car prowling, possession of stolen property, hmm, Domestic Violence.

God, I wanted him to say, "Coincidentally reported by and against you, Miss Ex."

He didn't say that though.

And then the moment I waited two hours for. "Mr. T, do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?"

Again there was the pause. It was all slow motion as he opened his mouth, thought better of it, slid his chair closer to the table, and then back again to stand.

"Your Honor, I have nothing to say."

That was it? That's why I showed up today? To see him stolidly set his jaw in distain? To see in his posture the attitude I spent two years getting to know as his frustrated, angry impatience that someone else was to blame for his life not going as he had planned?

I waited for something. I don't know: An apology? An admission? A promise to learn from this? An acknowledgement of responsibility for himself? An acknowledgement that his actions had cause pain to every single person who showed up to support him, and even those who didn't? Something. Anything. Instead I got the response I always got from him: Blame for not being the woman he wanted me to be, and blame for not making his life what he wanted it to be.

And then I stood up, walked out, and went home.

Who links to me?

sbd v. 11 @ 2002-2007