Page 40 of Courtroom Drama
Because you care about her. And that doesn’t just go away. I’m sorry seeing me has brought it all up again.
My pen hovers over the paper, ready to chicken out again. This time, I force the thought into ink. I add:
But I’m so grateful to be near you again.
I step into the hallway again, and just as I am propping my door open with the doorstop, Cam’s door opens beside me.
“Hey,” he whispers, backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Hey,” I whisper back, hoping my face doesn’t give away how incredibly caught I feel.
“What’s that?” he asks. He glances over his shoulder toward the elevator where George sits around the corner and then points at the sheet of folded paper in my hand.
Instinctively, I scrunch the paper into a ball in my palm. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
He eyes me with a playful grin.
“Where are you going?” I ask, desperate to shift his focus.
He repositions the strap of his backpack on his shoulder and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, then eyes my closed fist, paper inside.
I nod. Right. I’ll ignore whatever bad decision he’s making, and he’ll ignore mine. I’m okay with that. More than okay. And while I certainly don’t want Cam to cause a mistrial with his antics, his sneaking off does give me a bit of comfort that it’s not just Damon and me rocking the judicial boat. It seems more than one of us is willing to push court-appointed boundaries for our own reasons.
Cam takes off down the hallway, and I slide the note under Damon’s door before scurrying back to my room.
20.
Jury Excursion (n., phrase)
a controlled and supervised event where jurors are temporarily allowed to engage in an activity outside the usual sequestration setting
not adate
It’s Saturday, which means no court. And in a surprising gesture, the bailiffs notify the jurors that we get a day out in the world. You would think we’d been awarded a basket full of puppies for our court-appointed service with how overjoyed we are at learning we get to go cosmic bowling, then to Outback Steakhouse for dinner.
I dress in one of the only casual outfits I packed that is not sweats: a burgundy cable-knit sweater that hits at the high waistline of my wide-legged jeans and white platform sneakers. I chalk my own enthusiasm up to the fact that for five days we have seen nothing but the inside of the courtroom, the shuttles, and the hotel. But I know more than a little of the excitement tugging at me is that I get to be out in the world with Damon.
We passed notes back and forth last night for nearly three hours until, finally, I drifted off with his sheets of paper splayed about the bedspread around me. He told me about a few of his tattoos and their meanings, one of which is a lightning bolt up the right side of his rib cage that he inked after losing a motocross race and corresponding bet. That the angel wings on his forearm are for Kara. He told me that reading the sugar-free gummy bear reviews online is an admittedly odd but favorite pastime of his.
THERE AREN’T MANY THINGS THAT MAKE ME LAUGH,he had written.THOSE DO.
He told me he plays video games, though was sure to addonly occasionally, as if it were a first date and he didn’t want to scare me into imagining him glued 24/7 to a controller. He told me his favorite game isArsonist Betty,where the player is a vigilante hero chasing an elderly arsonist around L.A. I must admit, based on his description, it sounds like something I’d enjoy playing.
He told me he likes to cook. That it’s a bonding activity between him and his mom, to chop and dice, roast and sear, in comfortable silence together in his parents’ kitchen. That a lot of what his family does now are activities in comfortable silence. He told me one of his favorite meals to make is curried lamb chops with sweet potato hash, and my mouth practically watered as I read.
I learned a lot through what he shared in those additional notes. I now know he and his mom are close again. There was a twinge of jealousy in learning he managed to find his way back. I thought of my relationship with my father and how it never recovered. Then again, recovery implies returning to a place of health, and I don’t know that we—my father and me—ever had that.
I shared more than I typically do, too. I told him about my parents’ ugly divorce. That, despite what happened with our families, it still took six more months and at least two more affairs. About how they don’t speak and haven’t been in the same room together in nearly nine years. How I doubt they will be again.EVEN FOR YOUR WEDDING ONE DAY?Damon asked back in one of his notes, and I affirmed,Probably not. Though in reality, even as I wrote the words, I had a hard time picturing a wedding at all, knowing I’ve never come remotely close.
I told him about Mel and our friendship, how important she is to me. About our near-daily nighttime ritual of white cheddar Popchips on our Los Feliz couch and the reality show of choice. He told me he has friends, but none like what I describe with her. His world is small, like mine. It gave me a pang of appreciation for Mel.
He ended the conversation around midnight withI’LL LET YOU GET SOME SLEEPand the last sentences that made my stomach free-fall—IT’S NICE THAT WE CAN TALK ABOUT OUR FAMILIES AND NOT HAVE IT BE SO RAW. THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE.
In those notes, we tested the waters, stretching a little further each time into the delicate pool of our history and the people held within it. And, to my immense relief, neither of us drowned.
The bowling alley is cleared out for us, and as we exit the shuttles, escorted by guards to our private venue, it’s like we’re celebrities rather than prisoners, as it sometimes feels.
I find Damon at the shoe rental counter. “Thirteens, please,” he says to the attendant as I step beside him. He’s also dressed down today in dark jeans and a worn red High West Distillery tee. I see the Park City, Utah, location advertised on the shirt and wonder if he’s visited. I wonder a lot about him.
