K. Randis - Spilled Milk

“You’re here today to testify against your father for raping you, and you have organic chemistry equations stuffed in your pockets?” His grin was ear to ear.

“Yes.”

My explanation resonated with the jury. I had testified for over three hours for the defense. Every direction he tried to pull me in I changed it around. I hated that I cried so many times in front of strangers, but as I took my place in one of the wooden chairs outside the courtroom when I was finished I realized I wasn’t ashamed anymore. I was hurt and I was betrayed, but I was not ashamed.

The trial lasted two days, just like the first one. Both lawyers gave their closing arguments, and the judge charged the jury with what they needed to do to come back with a verdict beyond a reasonable doubt.

“What does that even mean, beyond a reasonable doubt?” I asked Heather.

“Just means that we have the burden of proving he did it, he doesn’t have the burden of proving he didn’t do it. They need to believe, all of them, that without a doubt based on what we told them, he’s guilty.”

I thought that since there was only verbal testimony as evidence for both sides, automatically there would be doubt. The pub we frequented to wait just like last time was just getting ready for dinner hour as I crammed in next to my Aunt Jean and Gina. Rob loosened his tie and heather replayed some of Earl’s testimony that she could remember.

“So David says, As soon as Brooke mentioned sexual abuse, Aunt Jean just took it and blew it out of proportion so Rob says She blew the sex abuse…out of proportion ? And David says Yes .”

Aunt Jean gasped, “I absolutely did not…”

Heather held up a finger. “Hold on it gets worse. So Rob says So she made the sex thing a big thing? David says, A really big thing. Rob turns to the jury with a look of surprise and goes That should have been kept small I guess? I never heard a lawyer call out objection so fast!” Heather shook her head as she laughed.

“Yea, well there are a lot of charges against him. It would carry out a heavy sentence, so the longer they deliberate the better it looks for us.” Rob bit into a corned beef sandwich as his phone rang. “Excuse me, probably my wife.”

“How you doing, you doing okay?” Gina stroked my head, “Can I order some wine? I need a drink.”

“No time.” Rob shut his phone and pushed his plate away in disgust. “The jury came back. They have a verdict.”

“Already?” Heather sounded panicked. “It’s been forty five minutes Rob.”

“I know.” He grabbed his briefcase and we shuffled out of the booth.

Everyone tried to keep their composure as we scanned through security in the lobby but there was an undeniable sinister cloud that followed us down into the court room. Since the jury came back so soon, we could only assume that they did not decide on a guilty verdict.

We were the last ones to file into the courtroom and I slid into a bench closest to the door. When the jury walked in and took their place, the room slowed like a movie scene as the judge asked the foreman, the bald black man, if the jury had reached a verdict.

“We have, your Honor.”

“Very well. On the count of rape by forcible compulsion, how do you find the defendant?”

Gina fell to the floor in sobs as the foreman read out the first guilty.

“On the count of incest how do you find the defendant?”

“Guilty.”

“On the count of corruption of a minor, how do you find the defendant?”

“Guilty.”

Cries of joy and pain rose from the benches where I sat. Gina, Mom, Heather, Aunt Jean, all trying to squeeze me as I hung my head, relief washing over me like the parade of guilty verdicts.

“On the charge of indecent assault without consent how do you find the defendant?”

“Guilty.”

Judge Wilkin interrupted the verdict process and pointed to a bailiff. “Could someone please remove that woman?”

Gina refused to hold back her sobs. “Oh you did it, Brooke. You did it.” The bailiff approached and Gina stood up voluntarily. “I’ll go, I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

“Now then.” Judge Wilkin cleared her throat. “If we can continue. On the count of endangering the welfare of a child, how do you find the defendant?”

“Guilty.”

In total, when the foreman sat down, they had found him guilty of nine felonies and twelve misdemeanors. Twenty one charges in all, found guilty on every single one of them.

Not one time did Earl flinch, yell out, or otherwise change his expression. I watched him stare straight at Judge Wilkin as if she were telling him his shoe laces were untied. Unfazed, somber even, he must have realized that he had been caught. His secret was out, and the jury had believed me.

It was over.

Judge Wilkin thanked the jury and spoke to Earl as the officers bound him in handcuffs. Chaotic chatter filled the elevator and Rob smiled and nodded to me. “No, no don’t thank me. She’s the one who blew this thing out of the water. I’ve seen grown men crack under the pressure that defense attorney put on you.” He winked at me. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

While everyone crowded around Heather’s office, I reached for another tissue. “Mom, I need to go home. I need to tell Thomas.” I paused until Gina looked at me. “And Adam, and Kat. They need to know he’s not coming back.”

“Me and you kiddo, we did it!” Gina rocked all over the car as we sped away from the courthouse. “Oh, I am so happy for you. Thank the Lord, thank God you got the justice you deserve.”

I pushed a C.D into my stereo system and sounds of the Dixie Chicks filled the car. Gina turned it up when she realized what song it was and started to sing along, “Cause Earl had to die na na na na naaaa naaa naaa.”

Lights disappeared behind us on the highway as we approached the county jail just off the main interstate. It would be Earl’s new home away from home. I beamed at Gina and stuck my hand out the window as we passed, passionately giving the jail the middle finger.

Court was over but I still had to wait two months to find out how long of a sentence he would get. Each charge carried a minimum and maximum amount of time and since there were twenty one counts, the time could greatly vary.

“You, everyone in your family, anyone who knows your character should write an impact statement.” Heather’s voice broke up as I walked across campus so I pressed my phone to my ear.

“What are they for? Like what should they say?”

“Victim impact statements are just letters written by anyone who knows you well about what they think should happen to David, based on what they know of the situation. The judge takes them into consideration for sentencing. You get a lot of people to vouch for you and insist he be put away a long time, it’ll just be better for you. It doesn’t mean it will definitely help, but we encourage people to write them. You need to write one too.”

“All right. I’ll let everyone know.”

Over the next few weeks I collected more than twenty five impact statements. Mine was the last to be added to the pile. Exams and projects piled up as the end of my sophomore semester came to a close. Jason offered to go grocery shopping so I could get my letter done. Two hours later, I sat cross legged on my bed to re-read what I wrote:

I do not think of myself as being heroic for telling on my father. I did not tell with the intent of making our lives harder. I simply wanted him out of our lives so we could live, and grow, like children are supposed to. Not in fear. I don’t think it’s fair that I lost my virginity to my father.