The judges’ bench is to the left and fairly centered in the room, directly in front of our rows. There is a smaller desk to the far left of that for the court recorder. The tables are average size with two chairs each. One was on our side the other next to the jury box. This wasn’t a large room. There are maybe a half dozen rows each for other occupants. The prosecutor requested a private setting today and at that moment I realized why, and I liked the idea. Even though I am angry and that carries me, my steam may run out and I may falter. I may show emotions that I have been harboring for so many years and I do not want strangers to see that. I wanted to be a beacon of hope and power. For anyone that may be or have been in my situation.

 The date is April 28^th, 2015. We are gathered at the courthouse to hear what the justice system has decided. This is the moment I have waited for, to say my piece. Even though I have so many things to say have a time limit. There are not enough words in all the languages of the world to accurately describe the impact this has had on my life. We are waiting in the lobby, and she sits next to me, probably the last time she will. This is the most crucial time, I think. For everyone here, I wonder what they are here for. A few waiting for justice. A few being held accountable? I look around at the people. I watch them fidget and glance at the clock. They take out their phones, get on social media, distract themselves before they enter the room.

Today we will not have an open court like most cases. There are few people allowed in and select members of the press. This is not the first time I have seen my initials on the top of court documents. I am glad I’m not waiting to be seen. The building is old, you can smell the generations leaning on the walls like we are today. The bench creaks and cracks when someone sits on it. I smirk at the thought of it breaking while occupied. I know it is wrong but it’s still funny. My luck it would be me that breaks the camel’s back.

 The questions were not of the average need to know to make a solid case, but rather an attempt at breaking what was left of my spirit. They were invasive and unprofessional. “Why didn’t you tell someone?” “Why did you wait so long to report?” “Are you sure you’re not just mad at him for something?” “Can you give me a specific date and time that the accused supposedly abused you?” “How about a detail or physical characteristic that only you would be able to describe?” That man was unbelievable, he had the gall asking! “No, I can’t tell you why or how or what!” I snorted. He asked, “why not?” “Because I was ten fucking years old! “How do you trust anyone after being told that they will burn in hell for disobeying adults!?” “And you’re damn right I’m mad, I am fucking furious, outraged, enraged, at this circus and you monkeys!” “You have the audacity to sit here looking down at me with your condescending questions and snide comments, all the while, sleeping like a baby knowing you are the defender of the scum of the earth!”  I tried, I tried to be professional and not give them any reason to doubt me. I am not built that way; I am not meant to be quiet. I am loud, proud, and ready to defend myself knowing I did nothing wrong. That was the moment I forgot who I was. I was completely overtaken by the need for revenge. Hatred and fear grew like wildfire.

 One of the most difficult parts of these glamourous meetings was the use of language. I couldn’t use words that softened the blow. I couldn’t use language that you would in front of your friends. Straightforward, that’s all I had to work with. Since then, I have become the bluntest person you know. I had to use the most precise wording, so as not to confuse the educated citizens of the jury chosen to make or break this case. The verbiage was overwhelming, a few things made my voice shake and others made me clench my jaw. Even the crudest, rude, and obnoxious person would hesitate before saying what I had to say in front of strangers. Those people wouldn’t even say it in front of their friends. There wasn’t much even she could do to save me from it.

Fair?

 "The names of these victims would never be uttered, they would never be recognized as survivors of the unthinkable. They will suffer in silence because of a patriarchal justice system that favors misogyny. Victims and families were not allotted the basic rights as a person. Simple things like protection, resources, or other commodities. A separate restraining order had to be filed because it doesn’t come naturally with the allegations. The lack of common sense was astonishing. While I agreed with having rights for the accused, if I were, the innocent ones deserve rights just the same. The accused get the right to a fair and speedy trial, right? Why are the victims and families not entitled to the same? Why does this person get more rights as the person under duress? To manipulate the system for their gain or to watch the victims suffer more?"

-Exhibit A

Justice?

 "The justice system is a travesty, embarrassing, the court has no gall. The judges, attorneys, investigators, etc. It offers nothing positive, no solace or comfort, not that it should, considering what it is. How do you comfort a perfect stranger in the second darkest moments of their lives? I say second because we all know what the darkest days were. That is why we are here right? They cannot possibly think that they know what is best for these people, women, and kids. The broken and beaten. The shattered souls were barely held together by the mere hope of the judicial glue to keep them whole. That is not enough for some, hope is a four-letter word, that on occasion, leaves us emptier than before."

Episodes

Through the editing process, I will be posting bits and pieces for readers. 

Feel free to comment and watch the creative process! 

Thank you for the support. 

Welcome to the Exhibition.

Welcome to the Exhibiton of the book "Exhibit A." I waited 10 years to write this story and I finally found a way to use my voice. In essence, I found my voice and for what purpose I need it. 

I need to help people in any way I can. This story is a mixture of fact and fiction. Truth and lies entangled. The truth on these pages hurt and are not at all easy to speak about. My goal is to be a voice for someone struggling, someone who needs to know they are not alone or wants a place to escape. 

I hope to achieve this by both book and blog. Happy reading.