The Burrow

"But how is your soul, sweetie?"

It's wonderful to have someone to ask a question like that.  TBG was concerned.  I'd spent all day in court, listening to she did this and he did that and they weren't the other.  It's a friend's personal matter, and, though I offered a small amount of testimony and rebuttal evidence, I'm not the main attraction. 

"Why did you stay all day?" he wondered.  I was finished by 10:30; I got home just before 6.

I asked myself that question several times during the afternoon.  That which is so obvious to me must be proven, step by step, email by email, text by text.  I try to imagine myself as the judge, listening to strangers, trying to decide who is credible and who is inept lying.

Yes, lying.  I had my illusions shattered when false testimony was given after an oath was taken.  Swearing to God ... for me it was a benign and meaningless reference, once I didn't mind averring.  It meant what it meant to me and to my listeners, and that was okay for me.  But this oat was sworn by a religious person, one who goes to church on Sunday, whose parenting style came from a program recommended by her church elders.  It had to mean something to her.... or so I thought. 

What she said was untrue, and I proved it today with pictures and physical examples.  It was obvious to me that I was telling the truth.  But there's the pesky matter of that judge.

He sits on the bench, listening to tales of woe.  He was interrupted four times today in order to break for hearings on Orders of Protection; he was the on-call judge.  He went from our tragic situation to a more immediate ones, hearing explanations and reading threats and agreeing with one woman that yes, perhaps marrying the man after he'd been convicted of shooting two police officers might not have been the smartest move she'd ever made. 

He listened and took a note or two.  His face is inscrutable, except when he's peeved that his cold is bothering him once again.  He's respectful to the witnesses and his court staff.  I wish he would just let me tell him, in ten words or less, what is wrong and what he should do to fix it.

Instead, I sat quietly, listening to testimony, checking my email, doing a crossword puzzle, finishing a Sudoku, waiting on the Group W bench in the hallway as the judge heard the third and then the fourth set of petitions for safe keeping.  I came to the conclusion that it's a sad day when you have to go to court to solve your problems.

I wish they would just listen to me.