The Age of Amy

by BRUCE EDWARDS

  "What are you doing?" said Lydia, panicking.

  "Very well," said the judge. Then he scribbled a few notes. "The court has reached a verdict. Bring in the other defendants."

  Two more spotlights beamed down alongside Lydia’s cell. Standing in the glow were Jake and Devin, each behind bars in his own jail cell.

  The judge stood up. "By the power vested in me as Supreme Justice of Boneheadedness, I find the defendants—"

  "Not so fast!" I said. "I wish to call one more witness. I call the Darrow 9000 to the stand."

  Balloons and confetti filled Darrow’s screen. It played sounds of cheering and noisemakers like it was New Year’s Eve.

  Clomp!

  "Order!" hollered the judge. He eyed me with deep suspicion. "This is highly irregular."

  "You’ve never heard of a surprise witness?" I asked.

  "And what, pray tell, do you intend to prove?"

  "Your honor, it’s true the defendants have behaved badly. They have been irresponsible and generally not very nice. But there’s a crucial aspect that has yet to be established: motive. I intend to present evidence that will show justification for their actions—evidence that only the Darrow 9000 can provide. And furthermore, may I remind the court that withholding evidence is a crime. Is it not?"

  The judge stewed for a moment. "Oh, very well. You may proceed."

  I approached the jury box. "Darrow," I said, "for the record, is it true you are incapable of presenting anything that is not factual?"

  "Affirmative," said Darrow.

  ". . . and that you have been programmed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

  "I do."

  I walked up to Lydia’s cell. "This poor girl has been forced to live in an unhappy situation through no fault of her own. She has testified that her father is currently serving jail time. Darrow, please show us the events leading up to her father’s arrest."

  Darrow’s presentation was like watching an award-winning movie. It included special effects, a dramatic musical score, and even a film countdown.

  5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

  FADE IN:

  INTERIOR - SUBWAY CAR - DAY

  A subway car is packed with commuters. LYDIA is standing, holding the overhead handrail. A handbag is draped over her shoulder.

  SUBWAY STATION

  The train rolls to a stop. The car doors open.

  A MAN runs through the station, chased by two POLICE OFFICERS. The man ducks into Lydia's subway car just as the doors close. The officers run past, unaware of his evasive action.

  The train leaves the station.

  SUBWAY CAR

  The man stands next to Lydia. Her back is to him. The man then reaches into his coat pocket and produces a clear PLASTIC BAG full of white powder. He gingerly lifts the flap of Lydia's handbag and places it inside. With the swaying of the subway train, Lydia does not feel the transfer.

  CUT TO:

  INTERIOR - LYDIA'S HOME - LATER

  Lydia's FATHER is preparing dinner in the kitchen. Lydia bounds through the front door, enters the kitchen, and kisses her father on the cheek.

  LYDIA (happily)

  Hey, Dad.

  She tosses her handbag onto the kitchen counter and runs upstairs to her bedroom. Her father notices that a small amount of the white powder has spilled out onto the counter. He looks inside the handbag and sees the plastic bag. He worriedly looks up at the ceiling toward Lydia's room.

  CUT TO:

  INSERT - NEWSPAPER HEADLINE

  "FAMILY MAN PLEADS GUILTY TO DRUG POSSESSION CHARGES"

  We hear the BANG of a judge's gavel.

  CUT TO:

  INTERIOR - STATE PRISON - DAY

  Lydia's father, in a prison uniform, stands in an open prison cell. The CELL DOOR slowly glides past in the foreground. We hear the SLAM of the cell door closing.

  FADE OUT

  "Omigod," said Lydia. "I never knew."

  I walked up to Jake’s cell. "This young man is mad at the world because he got burned by the System and his family imploded as a result. He recalled to us the day his father walked out on the family. What happened later, Darrow?"

  FADE IN:

  EXTERIOR - TRAILER PARK - DAY

  A MAN in a black suit knocks on the front door of a broken-down trailer. A sign above the door reads MANAGER. An obese WOMAN in a bathrobe and hair curlers answers.

  WOMAN (grumpy)

  What do ya want?

  MAN

  Afternoon, ma'am. Sorry to bother you.

  The man produces a family portrait of JAKE as a young boy with his MOTHER and FATHER standing behind him. His father is wearing a straw cowboy hat.

  MAN (continues)

  You know these folks?

  WOMAN

  The lady and the boy was here. Moved out two weeks ago owing me back rent.

  MAN

  They leave a forwarding address?

  WOMAN

  I told you! They was behind in the rent. They didn't leave no address.

  The woman slams the door in the man's face.

  The man walks to a BLACK LIMOUSINE and climbs into the driver's seat. As he closes the door, we see an official GOVERNMENT SEAL painted on it.

  INSERT - SEAL ON LIMO DOOR

  "U.S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE"

  BACK TO SCENE

  The man looks over his shoulder to ANOTHER MAN in the back seat.

  MAN (toward back seat)

  Sorry, Mr. Secretary. They're not here.

  The man in the back seat is wearing a straw cowboy hat. He is JAKE'S FATHER.

  JAKE'S FATHER (discouraged)

  We'll have to keep looking.

  The limo drives off.

  FADE OUT

  "Well, I’ll be," said Jake. "Who’da thought."

  I walked up to Devin’s cell. "Since the day he was born, Devin has been showered with money. He’s ruthless and greedy, and doesn’t care who gets hurt so long as there’s a profit in it. They say ‘money is the root of all evil.’ Is there more to it in this case?"

  FADE IN:

  INTERIOR - HOSPITAL - DAY

  INTENSIVE CARE UNIT

  A newborn BABY is in an incubator. Monitoring sensors are stuck all over its tiny body. The baby's NAME is on the incubator.

  INSERT - NAME ON INCUBATOR

  "DEVIN"

  HALLWAY

  Devin's MOTHER and FATHER cling to each other as they watch Baby Devin through the ICU window. His mother is in a hospital gown, his father in work clothes.

  A DOCTOR approaches them.

  DOCTOR

  Are you Devin's parents?

  FATHER

  Yes, doctor. How's he doing?

  DOCTOR

  I'm afraid he's going to need a transplant. We have a donor ready and we can begin immediately. However. . .

  The doctor looks at a piece of paper in his hand.

  DOCTOR (continues)

  Your insurance has declined to pay for the procedure. Here's what it will cost.

  The doctor hands the parents the paper. The father and mother nearly faint after reading it.

  DOCTOR (continues)

  I think you had better talk to one of our financial counselors.

  The doctor exits. The mother cries on the father's shoulder.

  A figure emerges from the shadows. It is Devin's uncle, GEORGE.

  GEORGE (to Father)

  I know you've been struggling financially, and I've been no help. Under the circumstances, I'm willing to assist you now, but there are conditions.

  FATHER

  I'm listening.

  GEORGE

  First, no one is to know about our arrangement, especially Devin. Second, I will loan you the full amount, at say, 30% interest.

  FATHER (shocked)

  What? That'll take me twenty years to repay.

  GEORGE

  Business is business.

  MOTHER

  And what do we use as collateral? We don't ow
n property or anything of value.

  GEORGE

  Yes you do: Devin. Should you default on the loan or miss a single payment, your son moves in with me, and I raise him as my own. Deal?

  The father and mother look at each other, then through the ICU window.

  ICU INCUBATOR

  Baby Devin sleeps. We hear the BEEPS from his monitoring equipment.

  FADE OUT

  "That’s one bad-ass uncle," said Devin.

  I approached the bench. "Your honor, these defendants aren’t criminals—they’re victims. I’m not saying what they’ve done wasn’t wrong. Kids our age make plenty of mistakes, but we grow out of it. I, therefore, demand they be found not guilty by reason of immaturity." I glanced over at Lydia. Our eyes met. She smiled. "The defense rests," I said.

  I was pretty impressed with myself after making that speech. Somewhere inside me, I found a depth of understanding I never knew I had. Atticus Finch would be proud.

  The judge stood up with a mean look on his face. "Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?" he said. "Well, I decide innocence or guilt in this court, and I find the defendants . . . guilty as charged!"

  The judge raised the gavel up over his head and was about to slam it down, when Darrow’s screen suddenly lit up.

  "Overruled!" said Darrow.

  Everyone turned toward Darrow’s screen as it played one last video.

  FADE IN:

  EXT - BONEHEAD BOOTCAMP - DAY

  AMY, DEVIN, JAKE, and LYDIA stand at attention while SERGEANT SHEEP barks out commands to them.

  SERGEANT SHEEP (shouting)

  Alright, you social rejects. Get this through your bony heads: I own you!

  "You’re out of order!" the judge shouted at Darrow.

  You will obey my every command. . .

  The judge pointed his remote control at the screen, but it had no effect.

  disorderly conduct will be subject to disciplinary action. . .

  "You’re in contempt of court!"

  and there will be no deserters in my camp. Is that clear?

  AMY, DEVIN, LYDIA, JAKE

  Sir, yes sir!

  Darrow froze the video on a close-up of the sergeant’s angry face, then displayed text over it:

  FRAUD!

  FRAUD!

  FRAUD!

  "Your honor," I said, "or whatever you are, the Darrow 9000 has proven beyond a reasonable doubt that you are, in fact, not a judge and have no authority to pass judgment on anybody. I declare a mistrial, and demand the defendants be released at once!"

  The judge was fuming. "Alright!" he shouted. Then he took off his white wig and threw it down on his desk. "Cases dismissed!"

  Clomp!

  After the echo of the gavel faded out, the courtroom was silent. Then Lydia began clapping her hands. Devin and Jake joined in to applaud my success. The sound of three people clapping may not seem like much, but to me, it felt like a standing ovation in a sports arena. For the first time in my life, I had actually accomplished something important.

  Having been defeated, the judge didn’t share their appreciation. He sat down and put his wig back on. "Next case!" he shouted. "The People vs Amy Dawson!"

  I heard the sound of rattling chains above me and looked up. A jail cell was dropping down over me. I jumped out of the way just as it came crashing to the floor.

  "How do you plead?" screamed the sheep.

  I frantically turned in all directions, looking for a way out. I didn’t dare run into the darkness, not knowing what was out there.

  "The door!" cried Lydia, pointing to the one used by the sheep to enter the courtroom. It was my best hope for escape, even though what lay beyond it was just as much a mystery.

  Chapter 10

  At Your Own Risk

  With my ear against the backside of the door, I heard nothing coming from the courtroom. I was tempted to peek inside to see if anyone was still there, but I didn’t want to provoke a rematch with that screwball sheep. That also meant not knowing if my friends had been released from their jail cells.

  Maybe spying through the key hole would show me something. I reached for the doorknob, only to find that it had moved to the opposite side of the door. Not only that, the door’s fine wood paneling was now a painted veneer with a door knocker mounted on it.

  I was so concerned with what was happening behind the door that I hadn’t noticed what was on my side. I was outdoors, on the stoop of an apartment building that faced a city street.

  Everything looked oddly familiar to me; the tree-lined sidewalks; the bus stop benches. The dawn was just peeking over a block row houses across the street. I had seen them before, too. It was like every object, from the street signs to the manhole covers, was reaching out to me. It didn’t take me long to realize that I was back in the old neighborhood I knew as a child!

  The city hadn’t changed a bit. The playground where I spent so much of my youth was still down the street. The candy store I raided each day after school hadn’t moved. Even the striped awning at Vito’s corner delicatessen was there.

  The street teemed with cars, busses, bikes, and jaywalking pedestrians. It was all typical for that hour of the morning, except that the traffic was at a standstill—I mean, literally standing still. People stood frozen like statues. No leaves fell from the tree branches. A pigeon in flight hung motionless in midair. It was like staring at a giant postcard; as if time had stopped for everyone and everything but me.

  A newspaper by the apartment door confirmed that I was indeed back in my old neck of the woods. The date on the front page revealed even more: that I was also back in the time I lived there!

  There was no mistaking the door in front of me as the entrance to our old apartment. I lifted the door knocker and tapped lightly. No answer. Suddenly, the door swung open by itself.

  I wiped my feet on the welcome mat before going inside. "Enter at your own risk" was printed on it in bright, red letters. For sure, it was the same one I kept under my bed at home, only it was brand new.

  It was quiet as a funeral parlor as I stepped through the doorway. Long shadows streaked along the wall from the morning light through the window blinds. There was a piano in the corner, a Parcheesi board on a card table, and family photos on the fireplace mantle—my picture among them.

  Flashbacks to happier times filled my head. Just touching the furniture awakened memories I had kept buried inside me for years. Although everything was in its proper place, one all-important ingredient was missing: there was no laughter, no playful chaos, none of the ruckus that used to drive our neighbors crazy. I imagined the sound of my sister gabbing on the phone for hours; my brother practicing his screechy clarinet; my mother singing Sinatra tunes from the kitchen.

  Then I heard a sound not manufactured in my mind: the clicking of typewriter keys behind the wall. It was my father working on his book.

  "Dad!"

  I ran to my parent’s bedroom and swung open the door. The typing stopped the moment I entered the room. No one was there. My dad’s typewriter, its keys motionless, sat on his desk.

  Reams of manuscripts were spread across the unmade bed. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Steam poured out through its open door. The unmistakable fragrance of Dad’s shaving cream hung in the air.

  Then a new scent beckoned me into the kitchen: the tantalizing smell of frying bacon. I followed the sounds of sizzling grease and clanging pots and pans. I pushed through the kitchen swing door, expecting to see my mother standing over an avocado-colored stove with her Snoopy apron on. Again, no one.

  A plate of crisp bacon crackled on a table set for five. Each plate was piled high with scrambled eggs, hash browns, and a home-baked muffin. I could smell the fresh-brewed coffee steaming in my dad’s favorite cup.

  The piano started playing in the living room. I raced back through the kitchen door, hoping, this time, to find a real, live person. The music stopped. I stared at the empty piano bench. The only sound was the swish of the
swing door behind me.