“And what did your mother do next?” I asked the young boy. Darren. Six years old. It’s my job to help him. He sat at the stand with a worried look on his face. You could tell that he was nervously tapping his foot on the ground. His body kept shifting up and down. Back and forth. He had a small body. He kept looking around the courtroom. He kept looking back and forth between the jury, myself, Judge Joseph, his mother and his father. His grandparents from his father’s side sat two rows behind his father. His grandparents from his mother’s side didn’t come. They hadn’t shown up the entire trial. They grew tired of their daughter’s constant drama and couldn’t handle it anymore. This was good for me. The jury looked at Darren with solemn expressions, each different from the last. This jury was extremely diverse, three white people, three Latinos, four African-Americans, and two Asians; one from the Philippines and one from South Korea. It’s important that I know these things for my job. I need to win.
I stood leaning down with both of my hands on the table in front of me, Darren’s father David sitting to my right. The good guy. He kept wiping his face and he was moving around a lot. I found myself many times throughout the trial telling him to calm down and stay still. He was a nervous wreck. His consistent distractions were both a blessing and a curse. One on hand he was slowing down the process of the trial, but his unwavering emotions definitely took a hold on the jury. They could tell he was hurting. They could tell he was scared. He just wanted Darren. He wanted nothing to do with Carla.
“Darren, what did your mother do next?”
Darren closed his eyes for about five seconds and took a deep inhale. The room was completely silent. Someone coughed in the back row, followed by a faint “excuse me.”
“She…..” he struggled to get it out. I felt so bad for the kid I didn’t want to keep asking him and badgering him for answers. Yes I wanted this win, but above all else I wanted him to be as comfortable as possible given the circumstances he was in. He’s still a person. So is David. That’s what makes my job so exigent. The tangle between winning a case and still making sure your client still makes it out in one piece.
“Take your time, it’s okay.” I knew he would eventually tell the truth about what happened that night. I knew deep down he wanted to be with his father, and only his father. We all knew. Carla too.
“She…..she grabbed the bag of oranges and started swinging them at daddy. Mom was yelling a lot and screaming at daddy telling him that she wasn’t scared. She wasn’t scared. Daddy was running around the kitchen trying to get away from her. Daddy kept telling Mom to calm down because I was sitting there.”
“What happened next?” The room was still silent. Carla was sitting with a look of faked disbelief on her face. It was clear to me that she wanted her son to lie in court. Spineless. Such a young boy. David told me his first soccer game was that upcoming Saturday. How cute.
“Mom threw the oranges at Daddy and the bag broke on the floor. She picked one up and threw it at Daddy. It hit the wall. I was crying a lot and Daddy picked me up and started taking me upstairs.”
“Then what?”
“Mom followed Daddy and me. She was still screaming at Daddy.”
Everytime the young first-grader stopped talking a deafening silence overtook the room. The jury were all staring at the boy. They were all paying intense attention. Watching his every move. This was good for me. An elderly woman took out some tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes with it, as if to not mess up her already runny makeup. Judge Joseph kept swaying back and forth in his chair. David was crying a little bit. You could hear faint sniffles from the six-foot-four software developer. Carla didn’t move. She hadn’t moved for at least twenty minutes. She could sense the end was near.
“Did your father take you to your room?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what?”
“Daddy closed the door and tried to lock it. But…but mom opened the door before he could do it.” The boy was on the verge of tears. His breathing was starting to quicken.
“What did your mom do next?”
“She….she was screaming at Daddy that he couldn’t run away from her, that….that Daddy couldn’t hide.” Throughout the trial Darren referred to David as “Daddy” and Carla as “Mom.” Everyone in the courtroom noticed this trend in the boy’s speech. This was good for me.
“Did she do anything to your Dad while they were in your room?”
“She…..she grabbed all my transformers and started throwing them at Daddy. Optimus P-…Optimus Prime’s head broke off. It just broke off after it Daddy and now I can’t….now I can’t play with Optimu-mus P-prime.” He started crying and pulled his shirt up to wipe his tears. At that moment I felt that everyone in the courtroom, including Carla felt like crying. I wanted to cry. I didn’t. A couple jurors were though. David still was.
“Take your time, Darren. It’s okay. Just breath.”
“She started hitting Daddy on his arms and was trying to hit his head.” I imagined the scene in my head. Carla was only about five-foot-three, maybe. I imagined that she would struggle to reach David’s head. Better for David.
“Where were you when she was hitting your father?”
“On my bed.” The boy sniffled. So did David.
“What happened next? Did your dad do anything to your mom?”
“He….pushed Mom and she fell to the floor.”
“How hard?”
“What?”
“How hard did he push her?”
“Daddy just wanted to get away. He didn’t want to hurt my mom.”
“I understand that, but how hard did he push her?”
“She fell and hurt her arm. She was holding her arm and screaming at Daddy. But she got up.”
“What’d she do when she got up?”
“She ran downstairs and called the police.”
“Did your father ever push your mom down the stairs that night?”
“No.”
The room was silent. Carla’s attorney sat with a stone-cold look on his face. Carla sat the same way. Throughout my entire conversation with the boy, there were no interruptions. Darren told the truth. I think the jury would have been able to tell if he was lying. David was shivering now. He couldn’t stay still. “David please stay cool right now,” I told him. “We’re almost there,” I whispered to him assuringly.
“Thank you, Darren. I know this was hard for you. I appreciate that you told the truth to us today, I am so sorry that this is happening to you. No more questions, your Honor.”
Darren walked down from the stand and returned to the crowd. The room remained silent. He looked into his father’s eyes as he walked by. He didn’t look at Carla. He sat down next to his grandparents. David’s parents. Once again the jury got to see Darren with his father’s family and not his mother’s. This was good for me.
