K. Randis - Spilled Milk

“The judge sits at the front.” Heather pointed to the tallest mahogany bench at the back of the room. “That door behind her bench is where she’ll come in. The smaller seat to the side of her is where any witnesses will sit. If you’re looking out at your lawyer, the jury will be to your left, in those rows of benches.”

“Will I see him?”

“Yes, he’ll be sitting right here.” She pointed to the one desk. “Your lawyer will be right here.” She tapped the other desk. “Anyone supporting you that isn’t subpoenaed will be sitting behind your lawyer. Anyone supporting him will do the same. Kind of like when you go to a wedding.”

“What if I don’t want them to?”

“If it’s anyone you know, you can let them know it’s uncomfortable to have them in the room while you’re testifying. That’s perfectly fine. Go ahead and sit up there on the witness stand so you know what to expect.”

My sneakers echoed across wooden floor of the box and I sat facing Heather. “Like this?”

“Yup. You can adjust the microphone when you get up there if you need to. What do you think you’ll feel like when you tell what happened to you in front of people you don’t know?”

“Scary. I haven’t even talked to people in my family about it really, and I have to tell complete strangers.”

Heather nodded and smoothed her suit jacket. “It will be difficult, I won’t lie. You’ll be talking about very personal things. But you can look at your lawyer or me when you’re answering a question if it’ll make you feel better. You don’t need to look at David at all. They’ll ask you to point him out one time, just to identify him.”

“How come none of my siblings are testifying? He hurt them too. Not in the same way, but wouldn’t that count?”

The frown on Heather’s face told me she agreed with me. “The police interviewed your siblings, yes. But they’re very scared of him. We wouldn’t want to make them testify if they aren’t able to, we don’t want to do anything that would hurt the outcome of the trial.”

I was confused. “Why would anything they say hurt?”

“If a child is unsure they want to testify because they are afraid, sometimes they will say one thing when they feel safe, but when they’re confronted…” Heather pointed to where Earl would be sitting. “They freeze, or they recant what they said, say it wasn’t true because they feel bad, like it’s tattle tailing. It’s hard for people your age and younger to testify against someone who is supposed to love and protect you.”

“Not even Adam will?”

Heather shook her head. “You have the weight of the world on your shoulders, I’m sure. You’re the only one who can do it.”

Heather followed my gaze to where Earl would be sitting. “There will be what’s called a bailiff, most likely two of them, standing near him. They’ll be in police uniform. He won’t get near you, that I can promise. There is also going to be a court reporter sitting right in front of the judge’s stand. It’s their job to write down everything that people say.”

“There’s going to be a lot of people in here.”

“Yes, there will be. But this is a safe place. No one is here to judge you or tell you these things didn’t happen. The only one’s doing that will be the defense.”

I stepped down from the witness stand and gazed up at the fluorescent lighting that lit up the room. The bright lights and people were definitely going to make me feel vulnerable.

“What if I say the wrong thing, or don’t know an answer.” There was so much to remember, all eyes would be on me. If I mess this up, he could walk free.

Heather bent at the knees to be eye level with me. “There is no wrong answer when you tell the truth. If they ask you a question and you don’t know, you’re allowed to say you don’t know. If you don’t remember, then say that. The questions the defense will try and ask you are meant to trick you, but if you’re telling the truth, there won’t be anyone to trick.”

“Okay. And you’ll be here?”

She squeezed my hand. “I’ll be here.”

I threw up before we got in the elevator to go down to the courtroom. If my stomach was any indication of how the rest of the day was going to go I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed. The waiting room off of the courtroom was packed with people I knew. They smiled encouragement from across the room and whispered among each other as light from the early morning sun blasted through the only two windows in the lobby. There was no elevator music, no self-help pamphlets, not even a fire extinguisher in sight to stare at to pass the time.

Then they called my name.

Over fifty pairs of eyes redirected their attention to the white door when I walked in. I made it to the witness stand on auto pilot and recognized the familiar shape of the seat from the day before. Foggy words poured from my lawyers mouth; my heart was in my head. I glanced at the jury. One man smiled. I smiled back. Was that wrong? Can I not smile at them?

I was sworn in, I raised my right hand and my lawyer approached the bench. Rob cleared his throat, moved his tie to the side. He was ready. “Please state your name.”

“We’ll start off with small questions. Easy questions. Let the jury get to know you,” Rob had said a day earlier. “It’ll build up your confidence, and we need to establish what kind of person you are to the jury.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

Rob smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Brooke Nolan.” The microphone screeched and I pulled it closer to my face and cleared my throat. “Brooke Nolan.”

Was that really my voice? I sound so young.

Easy questions. Too easy. We flowed through my life; where I went to school, my relation to the defendant, when I moved to Pennsylvania.

“Can you explain the relationship between you and Mr. Nolan.” Rob raised his eyebrow. Things were about to get ugly.

“There wasn’t one, really.” I looked at the jury, then down at my hands.

“During the length of time you lived in New York, did Mr. Nolan ever rape, sexually molest, assault, or inappropriately touch you?”

“Yes.” I couldn’t look towards my supporters in the room because Earl would be in full view. I didn’t want to look at the jury because I was so ashamed I didn’t think I could hold it together. I silently begged Rob to keep eye contact with me.

“Please give the jury your details about any incidents in New York.”

“He molested me. He would come into my room before bed and-” I trailed off and looked up at the fluorescents. I didn’t even know if I was allowed to say body part names in the courtroom. The words seemed vulgar. “He put his hands down my pajama bottoms.”

“Did he penetrate you?”

I looked at the judge. It seemed so inappropriate to be saying these things in front of so many adults. All eyes were on me, waiting to hear what words I would use.

“Yes.”

“Please tell the jury what he penetrated you with.”

I closed my eyes. “His fingers.”

“During the length of time you lived in Pennsylvania, did Mr. Nolan ever rape, sexually molest, assault, or inappropriately touch you?”

“Yes. Twice.”

“Brooke I know this is very difficult for you. So when you’re ready, please give the jury information about those two incidents.” He paused, cleared his throat. “In as much detail as you can.”

There were more than two times. Way more. The legal system all came down to what you could prove and what you couldn’t. If you don’t have a witness, some DNA, or a video recording it was hard to prove. Heather told me we were taking a gamble, we had none of those things. We had my word against his. My truth and his.