***
At midnight, I turned out the lights. The words from my victim statement swirled through my head. It didn't feel right, no matter what I wrote it didn’t feel like enough. The moonless night afforded no light as I twisted and turned rehearsing in my mind Kurt's annihilation in court.
“Zoey,” came a fervent whisper from the window. “Zoey, let me in.”
I rolled out of bed and walked to the window needing visual confirmation of the audio I refused to believe was true.
“Kurt?”
“I know I’m not supposed to be here,” he whispered. “I just needed to talk to you and after tomorrow …” After tomorrow he would be in prison.
“What do you want to say?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Please let me come in.” The darkness hid his face, but I imagined his lips curling at the ends as they did when he asked for something.
I exhaled. “Fine, but if you try to attack me. I will scream and you will end up in prison tonight.”
Kurt pulled off the fly-screen and stepped over the waist high windowpane carefully. Kurt was in my room. It had almost been two years since he’d been there, and yet the familiarity still lingered. I stepped away from him and turned on the small night-light beside my bed. Seeing him in the light, his eyes older, his frame stronger made me wish we were still in the dark, so I could pretend he was a shadow and not a person. I offered him the swivel chair and sat on the bed. “Talk.”
He sat down and leaned toward me, his hands on his knees in prayer pose. “I know that this is pathetic, but I wanted to say sorry. I want you to know how sorry I am. It was an accident, compounded by a lie and I’m so sorry, that it aches.”
“Are you sorry that it happened or are you sorry you got caught?”
“Both.”
I stared at him for a moment. “I’m surprised you’re being honest.”
“I’ve lied enough. Every day I got up and acted like I was OK was a lie. It was a show for my parents, for my friends, so that I wouldn’t have to go to jail. So I could go to college and move away from here and never have to think about you and what I did to you, but it would have followed me. Every time my phone makes a sound in the car, I remember the ambulance officer’s declaring you dead. I remember your bloodied face and the lie—that freaking lie—and I want to scream, but all the screaming in the world doesn’t make it go away.” A small sob escaped his lips. “Sorry is the most pathetic word in the dictionary, because it covers nothing. It’s a bandaid on an open artery.”
“And yet you’ve risked going to prison to say sorry,” I said, cocking my head to the side. I imagined myself in his place, if I’d thought I’d killed him. No I wouldn’t have lied, but would I have fudged the truth? Would I have infringed on the close relationship my father had with the sheriff?
“The device only goes off if I leave the outskirts of town,” he said, wiping his eyes on his sleeves.
“What if they programmed my address into the tracking device too?”
A smile tugged at his lips. “That’s why you were always the smart one. It didn’t even cross my mind.”
“Are you just doing this so that I don’t go as hard on you in my impact statement?”
He blinked hard. “I want to say, no. But the truth is, maybe. I’m so scared of going to prison … I don’t want to go to prison.”
Tears ran down his cheeks and left dark spots on his jeans. His hazel eyes were empty, his sandy hair disheveled, it shook me to the core.
“What do you want …”
“I want to go back in time. I want to ignore Junior’s text because it was all organized, we didn’t need to text each other. I want to keep driving to the party and have a great night with you. I want to take you to Junior prom and give you my promise ring and I want to look at your pretty face without those scars that I, me, I put on your face. You’re still so beautiful, but I want to take it all back and not ruin your life. That’s what I want,” he hiccupped, and buried his face in his hands.
My body felt like an iceberg, frozen by the size of Kurt’s grief. After a few minutes of watching him cry, a grabbed a tissue and pushed it into his hand. It should have felt good to see his suffering, but it meant nothing, and it changed nothing.
“I think you should leave,” I said, my voice hollow.
“I made things worse,” he said, his eyes searching my face.
“Just go.”
He climbed out the window and replaced the fly-screen. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he whispered.
I waved my hand at him dismissively. I switched off the night-light, and lay down on my bed. Kurt’s words stormed through my mind. The thing that bugged me the most, was that I wanted what Kurt wanted; I wished the accident hadn’t happened either. That was something no court could remedy.
***
“Miss Zoey Saunders, I’ll hear your statement now,” Judge Lawman says.
Instead of riding to the witness stand in my wheelchair, according to plan, I stand and slowly walk to the seat and sit down. Judge Lawman has seen me in the wheelchair, he is aware of my injuries, and has reviewed the phone records and the negative semen swab report ignored by the sheriff.
I smooth my black skirt and adjust my white blouse, which I am rocking since I’ve put on a little weight. I clear my throat, and read. “Judge Lawman. I’m here today to tell you how Kurt’s actions have impacted my life. It’s hard for me to walk. I live on what I not-so-affectionately call the baby-food diet because I can’t digest anything that hasn’t been pureed. Worse than that, is my body’s waste disposal, which has essentially rendered me an eighteen-year-old baby. I wear a nappy most the time, to prevent accidents. My pretty face is gone, I will bear the scars of Kurt’s actions till the day I die. It is not just me that has been affected by the accident, my family not only suffered when I was unconscious, they suffer in different ways now trying to care for me.”
I took a breath to hold back the threatening tears. “Since coming back to life, I’ve wanted Kurt to know what I’ve been through. To have him be stuck in a prison that he can’t escape. I want him to experience what he has done to me … I thought prison was the solution, for him to get eighteen months incarceration in exchange for the eighteen months he gave me.” I put down my notes and look into Judge Lawman’s eyes, which crinkle kindly as he listens. Despite his shaved grey hair, he looks too young to be a judge.
“But prison is not justice. If Kurt spends eighteen months in prison then all you’ll have on your hands is two teenagers who collectively have lost three years of their young lives. Justice would be going back in time and giving me back the last twenty months of my life to be a teenager. Justice would be me being able to go to prom and graduate with my classmates. Justice would be removing these scars. But you can’t do that—not even a plastic surgeon can do that. Justice is about equity, but I can’t find any equitable way to resolve this.
“There are those who say my life is ruined. I’m eighteen and I can’t tell when I need to pee. But my life is not ruined, it’s merely different to what I’d imagined. It’s different to most people my age. That has also afforded me other opportunities that most kids my age don’t have, like telling my story to kids in schools; to tell them that this.” I point to my face. “This is the result of texting and driving. It’s going to take me time to love this face, but I believe in miracles. How could I not with my recovery?
“Maybe justice for Kurt is going to schools with me for eighteen months, or sharing his own experience without me. Maybe it’s community service of another form. All I know is that putting him in prison won’t benefit anyone, perhaps making him work in the community might? Thank you.” I fold my speech.
“Thank you Miss Saunders,” Judge Lawman says.
“May I say one last thing?” I ask.
He nods.
I look Kurt in the eyes. “For the record Kurt. I forgive you. Don’t lose any more time regretting the accident, I don’t.” I slowly make my way bac
k to the wheel chair.
Mom squeezes my hand. “I’m so proud of you.”
I nod. I’m proud of me too. Things finally feel right.
***
Judge Lawman asks Kurt to stand. Kurt’s hands tremble as we all await the verdict.
“Under law, I can give you up to five years for texting while operating a vehicle. You made your situation worse by lying, and blaming the victim for your crime. I believe you need to be punished and am giving you a suspended eighteen month sentence, during which time you will assist Miss Saunders in raising awareness of the dangers of texting and driving. If you are found using a phone while driving or miss one appointment to fulfill your community service, you will serve the full eighteen months in prison. And to save time, I’ve read over the Saunder’s civil claims and award them all medical costs. You will need to find a job, and pay for your mistake. Court is adjourned.” He swings his mallet and makes a wooden clack, before leaving.
Kurt’s lawyer shakes his hand. “That was a better result than I expected. Don’t screw this up.”
Mr. Tyrol steps in front of me blocking my view of Kurt. “It’s not often that I am challenged by what justice means. Thank you, but make sure he earns the grace you just gave him.”
“Grace is free unmerited favour,” I respond.
“I better watch you.” He smiles. “There may be a budding lawyer in our midst.”
Mom and dad hug me. Dad isn’t happy about the sentence but he’ll make peace with it.
Kurt’s gaze catches mine. He smiles at me and his lips dimple in the corners. I see a glimpse of a new future, but I push it aside.
The future is not as important as enjoying right now.
About Susan Fodor
Susan Fodor is the author of The Silver Tides series.
A dreamer. Wife. Mother. Friend. Dessert enthusiast. Theologian/Pastor. Australian. Passionate.
Bi-lingual—English/Hungarian.
Overly involved with fictional characters.
Avid supporter of International Talk Like a Pirate Day.
Has eclectic taste in music, food, and clothing.
Enjoys taking random photos of Tuvok her cat.
And always has time to look for the best in people.
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