K. Randis - Spilled Milk

I thumped my pen anxiously on the paper and looked away. Even after two years of court, that thought still screamed in my head.

I also do not think it’s fair that my siblings and I had to grow as much as we did not knowing a father’s love. Without him in the home, a drastic change has occurred. We never stop laughing with each other and we joke around and are loud and carefree, not nervous and timid.

It was not until I got my very first boyfriend that my attitude started to change. At his house, there was no yelling or screaming. I remember on an occasion where his little brother spilled a glass of milk at dinner, and I gasped and jumped from the table. Everyone looked at me so weird, because I expected his father to go into a rage like mine would have done. But he never did, and it was unusual behavior to me, and the more I was surrounded by it, the more I realized that it was MY house that was unusual.

My mind flashed to how many times my brothers had flinched at the sight of Earl’s hand being raised, even if it was just to stick a fork full of food in his bearded mouth at the dinner table.

Who knew that Adam could tell such hysterically funny jokes instead of being so quiet? And that Kat wanted to be a cheerleader instead of hiding in her bedroom closet, etching new scars across her wrists? The first time Kat showed me her scars, she was almost proud of them. “I wish they would just… go away,” she would mumble now, rubbing her pink polished fingers over the damage.

There is, however, the constant fear that he will someday return to our home, and everything will be back to the way it was. I fear the day I am in a public place and see his face in a crowd. I do not want to ever feel the heart dropping dread I have for this man ever again.

I bent my head down and read the finishing words to my letter.

Your Honor, I am requesting that you serve David Nolan with the maximum amount of time allowed by law. If there is one decent thing that that man has ever done for his family, it was that he left our lives. And now that he has, please do not let him come back .

I re-read it two more times and flipped the pages over to make sure everything was perfect before tucking it into my book bag.

“Hey, how’s it coming?” Jason pushed the door open carrying a pizza box and two plates. He moved a pillow aside and put the box down between us. My stomach growled in response.

“Good. Finished.” I pulled two slices apart and handed him one. “Can I ask you something?”

Jason grunted between bites.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I know I didn’t want you to come to the trials and stuff, you know, so you didn’t have to listen to those things.”

“Yea, that’s okay. I understand.”

“I know. But can you come with me to the sentencing?”

Paul had started this journey with me. His mom offered me support the whole way through, inside and outside the courtroom.

I couldn’t imagine Jason not being there for when this chapter of my life finally came to an end, especially with how understanding and supportive he was the entire time. Jason took me back in a heartbeat after our fight, just like Gina told me he would.

He bent forward and planted a greasy kiss on my lips. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

I didn’t have to point out Earl when we entered the courtroom since he was the only one there in handcuffs. Jason never saw him before, even all the childhood pictures I had were devoid of his face due to some skillful scissor work.

“Not what I expected,” he whispered as the judge was announced into the courtroom.

“What’d you expect?” I whispered back.

“I don’t know. He just looks… normal.”

Judge Wilkin addressed the court to say why we were there. After a few formalities she spoke about the impact statements.

“There were thirty-two in all, and I read every one. But I must say.” She glanced at me sitting in the back row of the courtroom. “I find it unbelievable that a glass of spilled milk is what gave one little girl more strength and poise than I have ever seen in this courtroom.”

She shuffled papers in front of her. “With that being said, it is the court’s decision that David Nolan spend no less than eight years with a maximum of sixteen years in a correctional facility.”

Heathers mouth dropped and Rob’s head shook back and forth; disbelief portrayed on everyone’s faces. David was sentenced to the maximum amount of jail time allowed by law for his crimes.

I was tackled by almost everyone as I buried my face deep into arms, tears, and hair. Everyone was crying, and smiling, and nodding their heads. A few of the jury members looked over at me as I mouthed Thank you. A surge of relief encouraged me to smile for the first time inside the courtroom. Finally, Earl was going to a place where he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

I would be almost thirty five years old by the time he would be released if he served the maximum time. I knew parole and other factors went into what his actual release date would be, but right in that moment, my face lit up the courtroom as David was escorted away.

Jason squeezed my hand three times to say I love you, and I squeezed his back. We made our way to Heather’s office. “For the first time I am leaving this courthouse with a smile,” I said.

“I don’t believe it. It’s great, don’t get me wrong. But wow you must have made an impression.” Heather pulled me off to the side as we approached the front lobby of the courthouse. “Brooke, can you come to my office for a minute? I want to show you something.”

I looked at Jason. “Go ahead, I’ll be right there.” He kissed my cheek and followed my mom outside.

Heather pulled a file from a tall oak bookcase on the back wall of her office. She flipped through some papers and pulled one out. “I wanted you to read this. I thought you should know.”

“What is it?”

“An impact statement we got. For you.”

The letter was printed, and I didn’t recognize the name at the top.

“I’ll give you a minute.” Heather’s weak smile and quick shuffle out the door made me think I didn’t want to know what the letter said, but I started reading anyway.

Dear Honorable Judge Wilkin, it is with deep regret that I write this letter nineteen years too late. When I was twelve years old, and coming from Molly’s side of the family, I was asked to babysit Adam and Brooke Nolan from the time they were three and four years old.

I glanced up at the name again, it still didn’t look familiar.

It was great money, and I loved taking care of them. When Molly’s shift at the hospital changed, David Nolan started to drive me home from babysitting. I’ll never forget the first time he walked into the living room naked, touching himself. I was terrified. He told me that he could teach me how to feel good, but if I told anyone he would make sure that everyone knew about our secret. For eight months I was trapped. I was asked to do unimaginable things with him and to him while Brooke and Adam played in the next room. I finally told an older cousin what was going on; I wanted help. That cousin told me to never repeat what I just told him, and that it would put our family to shame if I did. My father’s relocation of a job is the only thing that saved me since we had to move away.

I never told anyone else what happened during that time in my life. I never sought counseling or help as I got older. I moved several states away, putting thousands of miles between me and my past. When I heard about what happened to Brooke, I blamed myself. I attempted suicide, and wound up in a mental health institution for over a year. I thought that if I had been a braver boy than I was, if I had told just one more person, or done something more, this never would have happened to her. I blame myself for the years of torture I am sure she had to withstand, and I can only hope that she gets the help she needs to grow into the healthy and successful woman I know she’ll be.