Page 103 of Courtroom Drama
I stay until Gen goes down for her second nap of the day, with the promise of a return on Sunday for lunch, when Caleb can join.
50.
Double Jeopardy (Fifth Amendment clause)
prohibits anyone from being prosecuted twice for substantially the same crime
dues have already been paid
Nearly six weeks later, I sit in traffic southbound on the I-5 on my way home from Sagebrook Farms. There, I spent nearly two hours with Athena, an all-brown Tennessee walking horse who I took to immediately. I hadn’t ridden since my fall at Sagawa. After the trial, I felt the urge to do it again. And the fact that it smells like Damon there is a bonus.
Traffic comes to a full stop two miles from my exit. I sigh, accepting this route as the wrong choice, the evening rush hour creeping earlier into the afternoon each day. I can’t drive anywhere without thinking of Damon thanks to the digital road signs. Sometimes they’re straightforward. Sometimes they’re funny. Sometimes they are so obviously Damon that my heart aches as I drive by, wishing I hadn’t looked at all.
My phone beeps, and I glance at it in the cupholder. It’s a text from my mom. I glance up at the line of unmoving cars and, knowing I shouldn’t, pick up my phone. I can’t help my smile as I take in the picture she has sent. It’s Gen, who’s crawling now, perched on her knees opening a kitchen cabinet.Time for locks!my mom’s text reads. We text nearly daily now, mostly her sending pictures and videos of Gen and me reacting to them, but more and more I also share glimpses of my life with her. Speaking with a therapist these past few weeks has helped me come from a place of understanding rather than expectation with her.
... and baby gates and toilet clamps!I type back along with a laughing emoji.
The situation with my father has been harder. He’s seemingly less capable of looking backward to understand what got us here and, moreover, that “here” is not an idyllic state. I’ll be okay if it doesn’t work out.
My phone pings again, and this time it’s Mel:Margot’s at it again!she’s written, with an accompanying link from BuzzFeed titled “Margot and Harry Step Out!” with a picture of the two of them, hand in hand, dressed to the nines at a Sea Save benefit. All I can do is shake my head.
I replace my phone in the cupholder and refocus on the road, still jammed.
Margot and Harry have apparently been together since well before the trial, though they managed to keep it quiet until the day it ended, when they released a joint statement about their coupling. “We did not ask for this, but love found us anyway,”it read.
Internet sleuths did eventually make the same connection I did during the trial as they poured over court records and Margot’s testimony in particular. It became a highly debated point online, how Margot referenced a piece of storyline from one of Joe’s early movies in her testimony and what it might mean. Many, many TikToks were made of Fruit Roll-Ups and pinto beans being eaten together in the same bite.
They didn’t believe her before, and they certainly didn’t believe her after. But I’m inclined to believe they were never going to.
After inching forward a few hundred yards, I look up at the digital traffic sign ahead because I can’t not look, wondering what it will be today. Perhaps something basic like a seat belt reminder or notification of a traffic delay. Maybe a funny pun referencing the Adele concert tonight.
I take in the digital sign overhead, the same one I’ve driven past hundreds, perhaps thousands of times. The same one thousands of drivers have potentially seen today. I stare at the sign for a long while, as if trying to make sense of it, though I already have.
Will you take a chance on me, or should I just keep chasing penguins? D.
Damon.
Six weeks after our last interaction, he makes this public declaration. I look around at the other drivers, unaffected. Of course they’re unaffected. This sign is for me.Onlyme. He is thinking about us still.
I realize I’m not over my relationship issues. I may never be, fully. But I don’t know anyone who isn’t some semblance of broken. My eyes pool.
I pick up my phone to text Damon, as traffic is again at a full stop, realizing quickly we never did exchange numbers. I tap at the steering wheel, wondering how I might get to him, knowing I’m no longer willing to accept anything less than him.
I arrive home twenty minutes later, eager to find him. I spent the remainder of the drive thinking of ways I might track him down, cursing myself for not exchanging numbers when he asked. I could find a directory for transportation engineers who work for the city. Maybe I could contact Tamra (as the only juror I did exchange contact details with) to see if she did the same with him. I could google him, which I have once again successfully avoided doing, this time post-trial.
But before I can do any of these things, my brain and body halt when I see the brute of a man standing at the lobby entrance of my apartment building.
He’s already here.
I’m overcome with a rush of anxiety, fear, excitement... I’m not sure which is accurate.
I park and approach him as he leans against the lobby door.
“I thought I was the one who shows up atyourdoor unannounced,” I say.
He huffs. “Thought I should shake things up.”
I take in every bit of him. He looks different after six weeks apart. His hair is cropped shorter, his skin a bit tanner than when I saw himlast. But he’s still gloriously the same, dressed for the unseasonably warm December day in dark jeans and a light blue Henley, the contrast making his eyes look more green than blue. Before me, I see the man from the trial, the boy from my past. I see all of it, like the still frames of a life where ten years didn’t go missing.
