J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

“I do, sir,” Jennifer said softly. She could feel her face reddening.

“Speak up!” the judge said sharply. “We need a good recording of your confession for the media.”

“I do, sir,” Jennifer repeated, this time her voice seeming too loud for the small room.

“You cut your own clothes and hair, then injured yourself to make it appear that a member of our community had attacked you?”

Jennifer took a shuddering breath before answering. “Yes, sir.”

“Please describe how you did it.”

Consuela stood up. “Is this necessary, madam Deputy? It’s all in the plea agreement.”

Brooks’ smile wavered for a moment. “The people demand a full accounting of her crimes.” He motioned toward the camera at the front of the room.

The judge moved her head back and forth a couple times as she mulled it over. “If the people deserve to hear it, then she can tell it.” She nodded to Jennifer. “Answer Mr. Brooks’ question.”

Jennifer closed her eyes for a moment, then recited the words Consuela had put down on the plea agreement form.

“Joe Hamilton and I never got along,” she lied, feeling her cheeks turn hot with anger and embarrassment. “Where I come from, people like him know their place, and he shouldn’t have had that job. It got to be too much for me, and I couldn’t get permission to look for another clinic to work in.”

She looked up at the ceiling, feeling hot tears roll down her face once again. “That night, I parked in the dark part of the lot where the cameras don’t work. I didn’t want there to be video of what I did. I took a knife and cut off my hair, then cut my cheek. I ran at my car a few times to make it look like someone had beat me up, and I cut and tore my clothes.”

Brooks shook his head sadly for the camera, then asked. “And you lied to investigators about someone from the Hispanic community attacking you? You lied about being raped?”

Jennifer’s breath caught in her throat at his words. She forced herself to nod.

“We need to hear the words,” the judge admonished from her bench.

“Yes, I lied,” Jennifer said, letting her head fall forward. Her hair, which had started to grow almost long enough to style, fell to either side of her face.

“You admit to racist grudges against the African-American and Hispanic communities?”

“I do”

“Explain them.”

Consuela again looked to the judge, but did not stand.

Jennifer paused again to remember the words Consuela had coached her on. After taking another long breath, she recited, “I come from a racist culture, where people who don’t look like me are discriminated against. I have let those feelings hurt the people around me my whole life, and for that I beg for forgiveness. I condemn those beliefs now, and I am ashamed of my past and of the United States’ racist culture and policies.”

“And now?”

“I recognize the evil that resides in my own heart, and with the help of the Republic, I will expose them to the cleansing light of our new nation. I will become a fully functioning part of our new society, and I will forever know the shame of my past.” She lifted her head and gave the camera the smile she had practiced for so long in front of the mirror that morning.

Brooks nodded wisely and pressed his lips together with masterfully displayed regret.

“Your Honor, the people are satisfied with this confession.”

Mark walked wearily into their apartment, then closed the door and threw the dead bolt. He smelled onions cooking in the kitchen, which brought a tired smile to his face as he put his bag and coat on their hooks in the hallway.

Jennifer’s hair, which she had taken to dyeing a light brown since she had begun leaving the house to do community service, swayed to the rhythm of her arms as she chopped vegetables for their dinner. The thin, pale line of the scar running from her cheekbone to her upper lip stood out on a face reddened by the heat of the stove.

She jumped as Mark entered the room, almost falling as she tried to swing around toward him. Her husband gave her a sad smile as she slowly put the knife down on the cutting board.

“I’m sorry, sweetie,” he said soothingly as he put his arms around her and gave her a hug. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” Jen suppressed the urge to shrink from his touch. Even now, months later, it was sometimes hard for her to let anyone come close to her, even Mark.

“It’s okay. I was just thinking and I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she said as she pushed her hair back with the back of her hand. “I got a call from that attorney again.”

“Hamilton?”

Jennifer nodded. “Joe’s suing the clinic for the ‘distress’ of the whole situation, and I have to go in for a deposition in a couple of weeks.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll call that guy down at Legal Aid.”

Jen only answered with a quick shrug. She pointed to the table, where a salad waited for him. “Start without me. The rest will be ready in a couple minutes. How was work?”

Mark sat down, picked up his fork and tossed his greens around the bowl for a moment. Finally, he looked up and watched as Jennifer scraped the vegetables into the wok and started moving them around with a bamboo spatula.

“I’ve been moved,” he said.

Jennifer looked back toward him. This required her to pick up the pan and turn her entire body. “Moved?”

“Easy there. Don’t drop dinner!” Mark said half-jokingly. Jen got around pretty well after several months of Ramon helping her get some movement back in her neck and shoulder, but she still couldn’t do some things that others took for granted.

Jennifer turned off the burner and set the pan down. “Well? Moved where?”

“Zhong’s decided that it’s too much trouble having me in the office after… well, after our problems. Says he keeps getting requests to put someone else into my slot.”

“Requests?”

“From… from People Services.”

Jen shook her head angrily, but said nothing as she scooped the steaming vegetables into bowls. Picking them up, she walked to the table.

“After word got out that you’re married to racist redneck, is that what you mean?” She immediately regretted her words, and the look on Mark’s face demonstrated just how much they had stung.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” she said softly as she put his bowl in front of him. She put her own bowl down and sat at the chair next to his. “Nobody would blame you for leaving me after the last few months.”

Mark reached over and gently hugged his wife. This time, it was easier to not flinch. “For better or worse, remember?”

Jen nodded as she picked up her fork and picked at her own salad. “So, what does this mean for work?”

“They’ve found me a place in the highway department. I’ll be back on desktop support.”

“Well, at least you’ll be around people more.”

“Yeah, but it’ll mean more time away from home.”

Jen threw down her fork and brought her hands up to scrub at her face. “Which means it’ll be even harder for me to get out. Another clinic refused to take me today, and my case worker says that if I don’t get more service hours in, they’ll revoke my plea agreement.”

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t know. Consuela isn’t taking my calls.”

“Can you do anything else to get the hours?”

“The case worker said that nobody will take people like me. I’m pretty sure she wants me gone just to get me off her plate.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Mark said. He reached for her hand, but stopped when he saw her flinch.

“I love you,” he said after a moment of searching for better words.