K. Randis - Spilled Milk

“First time was in the summer…”

I went through the motions and tried not to listen to my own voice as I recalled every painstaking and humiliating detail. I laid everything out on the open floor darting my eyes between the jury, my lawyer, and the judge. I didn’t know who I was supposed to be talking to because everyone seemed to be listening.

My lips started to tremble and bounce so furiously when I tried to say the word penis that my lawyer asked if I needed a break. Instead I washed my face in my own tears and gritted my teeth when I was done explaining.

Rob nodded and hung his head for me. “No further questions, your honor.”

The defense lawyer wasted no time. Her black heels paraded across the floor as she bolted out her first question. “Brooke, isn’t it true that you were angry at your father for not buying you a car?”

“A car?” I didn’t mean to repeat her, but the question was so out of left field I wasn’t sure I heard her right.

“Yes, a car. Isn’t it true you were angry because he wouldn’t buy you a car when you got your license?”

“No.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Do you recall an argument, the summer you claim you were raped, where your mom wanted to put a car on your fathers insurance?”

“Yea, I think so.”

“So you admit there was an argument?”

“Yea, but not from me. From my mom. I knew my dad couldn’t buy me a car, so when I got my own my mom put me on their insurance. It was easier and I just paid her the money.”

My answers clearly were not going in the direction she wanted them to so she changed lanes. “You mentioned before that you were an honor roll student in high school, is that correct?”

“Yes. I was.”

“Your Honor, I’d like to present the witness with records from the high school.”

The judge nodded. “Proceed.”

She whisked a piece of paper in front of me. It looked like the report cards we would get when I was in high school.

“Brooke the highlighted section of those grades correlates with the dates you claim to have been raped. Could you please read off the grades to the jury?”

I moved my finger across the page. “98, 96, 99, 92.”

“Those grades would qualify you for distinguished honor roll, wouldn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“Brooke please tell the jury when you started your first menstrual cycle.”

I could feel the heat in my face flare up as my lawyer shouted out. “Objection, your Honor.”

“Sustained. Next question Miss Lourdes.”

“The night of the second incident which you claim you were raped, isn’t it true you had an argument about sleeping at your boyfriend’s house?”

“I wanted to sleep there, yea.” I felt like she was backing me into a corner, trying to unleash a motive I couldn’t understand.

“So you were mad at your father for not letting you sleep at your boyfriend’s house, and you coincidentally were raped that night?”

“No. It’s not like that-”

She held up a hand. “Simple yes or no will suffice.”

Panic rose in my chest. This lady was trying to make it seem like I was a pissed off materialistic teenager with daddy issues. Her next question didn’t skip a beat.

“Do you recall when social services came to your school to talk to you?”

“Yes.”

“Did they tell you that anything you said would be confidential?”

“Yes, they did.”

“And what did you tell them, when they asked if your father ever did anything sexually inappropriate with you?”

“I told them I had a dream he did.”

“Thank you. No further questions your Honor.”

Once again I panicked, she never even asked me to explain why I said they were dreams. I cringed at how easy it was for them to twist answers to fit what they were looking for.

Rob stood up at the redirect. “Brooke, please explain to the jury why you told social services they were dreams.”

“I was scared, I never told anyone before. I thought they would put us in foster care.”

“Did they tell you they would keep your conversation confidential?”

“Yes.”

“And what did social services send to your house two days later?”

“A letter, saying I told them about the dreams I had, and everything else I told them.”

“Not very confidential was it?”

“No.”

“And didn’t Mr. Nolan confront you about the letter that was sent home?”

“Yes.”

Rob looked up at the jury and held up his hands as if to say Good thing she didn’t tell them she was being raped, huh? “No further questions at this time.”

When I was told I could step down my legs threatened to melt into puddles beneath me. Tunnel vision masked my way out and the jury fell behind me in a blur. By the time I pushed open the white door my eyes were so blurry I reached out to the first person who grabbed me and hysterically fell to the floor.

Mom testified next. I curled up on one of the hard wooden chairs next to Gina and put my head on her shoulder. I remembered what Heather told me about my mom’s testimony. “We can’t paint the picture that she knew there was abuse in the house.”

“But she did know,” I insisted. “She was just in the other room when Dad would throw someone against a wall or go tearing after us up the stairs. Maybe she can say she didn’t know about the sexual abuse, but she had to know about the physical abuse.”

“We can’t use it. If we paint it like she knew, they would deem her an unfit mother or accomplice. Your siblings would be pulled from the house, I could guarantee it.”

“So what can she testify to?”

“Your father’s temper, your relationship with him, things like that. The fact that she’s disabled helps. It shows she couldn’t intervene even if she wanted to.”

“What about Gina?”

“She’s a star witness. You called her to pick you up from school the day after, remember? We have school records of the time you left, and we have her as a witness that you could barely walk up the stairs when she brought you home. Plus she’s seen your fathers temper first hand, as an outsider, when she would drop you off.”

“And my mom’s friend Ellen, what can she say?”

“David called her right after you guys fled to New York. He said on the phone ‘ Brooke must have said’ then hung up. It’s very incriminating that he pinpointed you as someone who said something when he didn’t even know what was going on yet or where anyone was.”

“My Aunt Jean. She was the one I told first, when I went to New York, so she’s going to testify about what I told her?”

“Exactly. And how you acted when you were there, your demeanor, that kind of thing.” Heather nodded. “I know I said it would be an uphill battle, because we have no DNA, no witness that was right there in the room with you, it’s your word against his.” She closed a file that was sitting on her desk. “But you have a damn good voice, and we’re gonna make it sing.”

Evidence was presented for two days before both lawyers made their closing statements to the jury. Rob met us upstairs when he was finished and the jury had been given their instructions. Throbbing pulses raced through my temple and I rubbed the bridge of my nose as I fought to stay awake. Rob checked his watch. “Now, we wait. Anyone hungry? There’s a pub on the corner.”

I ordered a sandwich just to have something in front of me since everyone was concerned about me not eating. There was no way I could stomach food right now, and it made it easier to listen to Rob talk to Heather as I pretended to eat.

“I hope they have an answer soon,” said Mom.

“We don’t want them to call us back too early, it’s not a good sign.” He whispered and munched on a chip. “Short deliberations usually come back with an innocent verdict. It’s the lengthy jury deliberations that have the guilty verdicts. It takes them longer to justify sending a man to jail then it does to set them free.” Heather nodded in agreement.