Chapter 8: The Night She Stayed Awake
They didn't take me back into the big courtroom. A woman with a badge that said CHILD ADVOCATE walked me down a short hall to a smaller room that was supposed to feel less scary. It did, a little.
It was the judge's chambers. The walls were still wood paneling like the courtroom but there was a desk instead of a bench, and a couch with a quilt folded over the arm. The American flag from behind her bench was in the corner now, on a pole. The light was the same warm yellow, but softer because of a lamp on her desk.
I was still in my dusty pink sweater. I'd been picking at the cuff.
The judge wasn't in her robe anymore. She had taken it off and had on just the white collared shirt, sleeves pushed up a little. She stood when I came in.
"Hi again," she said. She smiled, but not in a big way. "I'm Judge Keller. We met out there, but it's quieter in here."
I nodded. My hands were clasped tight in front of me.
She pulled out a chair for me at a low table, not her big desk. There was a plastic cup of water already there, and a box of tissues. The child advocate sat in a chair behind me, not next to me.
"Do you want some water?" Judge Keller asked.
I nodded and took a sip. My breathing was loud in my ears.
She sat down across from me. She looked at my sweater for a second.
"I like that sweater," she said. "That pink. It's a nice color. Is it soft?"
I looked down. "A little itchy," I said. My voice was small.
She smiled again. "Sometimes the pretty ones are," she said. "You can take off your shoes if you want to sit cross-legged. Whatever makes you comfortable."
I didn't take my shoes off. I kept my hands in my lap.
She didn't have a notebook. There was a small camera in the corner with a red light on. She glanced at it.
"So there are some people watching us on a TV in another room," she said, calm and plain. "Your dad and your mom and the lawyers. They can see and hear, but they can't talk to us. And nobody in here will tell you what to say. I just wanted to ask you about a night you remember. Is that okay?"
I swallowed. "Okay."
She waited a beat. She didn't rush me.
"Can you tell me about a night you stayed awake?" she asked. "Just what you heard and what you saw."
I stared at my hands. I was clasping and unclasping them. I could feel my chest move with my breathing.
"At my dad's apartment," I said finally. "The light in the hall was on."
Judge Keller nodded slowly. "What did that light look like?"
"It came under the door," I said. "A yellow line. On the carpet."
"And what did you hear?"
I took another sip of water. My hands shook a little.
"The TV was loud," I said. "In the living room. And his phone. He was talking loud. And the ice in the freezer. He kept opening it."
I paused. I breathed in and out.
"I stayed under the blanket," I said. "I didn't move. I listened to the clock. It was ticking. I counted."
"How long did you stay awake?" she asked, quiet.
"Until the TV went off," I said. "Until it was quiet. Then I heard the door click."
I didn't use big words. I didn't know how to explain it any other way. I just told her about the line of light and the sound of the ice and how my legs hurt from holding still.
She didn't ask me what it meant. She just let me talk in little pieces, with pauses in between. When I stopped, she waited to see if I had more.
"Thank you for telling me that," she said when I was done. "I know that took a lot of focus. You did a good job describing what you saw and heard."
She leaned forward a little.
"I want you to know that what you said is important and it will be part of my records," she said. "I'm not going to tell you what I've decided today, because I still have to think carefully about everything. But I heard you clearly. Okay?"
I nodded. My eyes were wet but I wasn't really crying like in the courtroom. Just breathing.
"Okay," I said.
She stood up. The child advocate stood too and put a hand lightly on the back of my chair, not pulling me.
"Ms. Alvarez will walk you back to your mom," Judge Keller said. "We are all done in here."
The red light on the camera blinked off.
When they opened the door to the hallway, my dad was there near the water fountain. He had been watching on the closed circuit. His face was red and his hands were in fists at his sides. He started toward me and said my name once, sharp.
The deputy by the door stepped in front of him before he could get close.
May you like
"Sir, you can't approach," the deputy said. "You need to stay behind the line."
My dad stopped. He looked past the deputy at me, his mouth tight. He didn't say anything else. The advocate's hand stayed on my shoulder and guided me the other way, toward where my mom was waiting by the bench. I kept my hands clasped and kept walking.
