Shoulder Guy were sitting on a bench about ten feet away from me. They both looked at me, Ski Cap Guy licking his lips while Broad Shoulder Guy punched his right fist into his left palm.
When I got to the front of the cell, the woman behind the podium said, “You’re Sean O’Donnell?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. O’Donnell, you’ve been charged with grand larceny. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an attorney?”
“No.”
“Very well. The court will appoint one for you. Can you speak English? Do you require a translator?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t need a translator.”
“Are you injured?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you of sound mind, and otherwise fit to appear before the court?”
I put my hands in my pockets and shifted my legs.
She looked up from her paperwork and took off her reading glasses, glaring at me impatiently.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m fit to...”
“Very well. Take a seat. You’ll be called before the judge in a few minutes.”
Their measurement of time was a lot different from mine because at least another hour passed. The woman at the podium continued calling names, and one by one men walked purposefully over to talk to her and then moseyed back to an open spot on one of the benches.
A new guard appeared from around a dark corridor. He removed keys from his waistband, opened the door and called out, “Jose Gonzalez?”
The man marched quickly to the front and out the opened cell door. The guard shut the door then followed Jose Gonzalez down the corridor and out of sight. This happened several more times until I heard, “Sean O’Donnell?”
I waved. “That’s me.” And I started walking towards the door.
Broad Shoulder Guy stood between me and the door, and as I walked past, he said in a mock-soprano voice, “Sean O’Donnell, that’s me.”
I must have been tired because I made a rookie mistake: I looked at him. For just a second we made eye contact, and the look on my face said: Leave me alone.
“Don’t be givin’ me no screwface, O’Donnell,” he said. And as I walked by, he intentionally shoulder-blocked me, this time harder than before.
I lost my wind for just a second. As I blinked and gasped, Broad Shoulder Guy strutted towards the back of the bullpen.
I got up to the door, and the guard grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said as he pushed me ahead of him, and followed me down the corridor.
We walked up two flights of steps then the guard took the lead and unlocked another door. He led the way down a short hallway and opened a wooden door with a small window running along the side. It let us out along the side of a mostly empty courtroom.
The room was pretty large. There was seating for at least forty or fifty, although only a handful of those seats were taken. Along the far side wall was the jury box, which was totally empty. The side closest to me had wood benches with about five sorry-looking guys occupying them. More benches. The guard gestured for me to sit. These benches were wood coated with glossy shellac. I sat down and the guard stepped away.
At the front of the wide room with high ceilings was the bench. A court stenographer sat on the side and sitting tall at the top was a crusty old, female judge. She had short brown hair and even from where I was sitting I could see way too much makeup on her face and huge bags under her eyes. But it was the expression that said it all: her top lip and bottom lip didn’t touch. Whether she was speaking or listening, her two lips seemed to push away from each other like magnets that no matter how hard you tried you could never quite make them touch.
I sat on the bench waiting. A name was called and a guy to my right rose up. He sidestepped towards me and I backed up to let him pass. He walked around the bench and to a small table where the public defender, a middle-aged guy in a middle-aged suit, stood waiting. The public
When I got to the front of the cell, the woman behind the podium said, “You’re Sean O’Donnell?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. O’Donnell, you’ve been charged with grand larceny. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have an attorney?”
“No.”
“Very well. The court will appoint one for you. Can you speak English? Do you require a translator?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t need a translator.”
“Are you injured?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Are you of sound mind, and otherwise fit to appear before the court?”
I put my hands in my pockets and shifted my legs.
She looked up from her paperwork and took off her reading glasses, glaring at me impatiently.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m fit to...”
“Very well. Take a seat. You’ll be called before the judge in a few minutes.”
Their measurement of time was a lot different from mine because at least another hour passed. The woman at the podium continued calling names, and one by one men walked purposefully over to talk to her and then moseyed back to an open spot on one of the benches.
A new guard appeared from around a dark corridor. He removed keys from his waistband, opened the door and called out, “Jose Gonzalez?”
The man marched quickly to the front and out the opened cell door. The guard shut the door then followed Jose Gonzalez down the corridor and out of sight. This happened several more times until I heard, “Sean O’Donnell?”
I waved. “That’s me.” And I started walking towards the door.
Broad Shoulder Guy stood between me and the door, and as I walked past, he said in a mock-soprano voice, “Sean O’Donnell, that’s me.”
I must have been tired because I made a rookie mistake: I looked at him. For just a second we made eye contact, and the look on my face said: Leave me alone.
“Don’t be givin’ me no screwface, O’Donnell,” he said. And as I walked by, he intentionally shoulder-blocked me, this time harder than before.
I lost my wind for just a second. As I blinked and gasped, Broad Shoulder Guy strutted towards the back of the bullpen.
I got up to the door, and the guard grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s go,” he said as he pushed me ahead of him, and followed me down the corridor.
We walked up two flights of steps then the guard took the lead and unlocked another door. He led the way down a short hallway and opened a wooden door with a small window running along the side. It let us out along the side of a mostly empty courtroom.
The room was pretty large. There was seating for at least forty or fifty, although only a handful of those seats were taken. Along the far side wall was the jury box, which was totally empty. The side closest to me had wood benches with about five sorry-looking guys occupying them. More benches. The guard gestured for me to sit. These benches were wood coated with glossy shellac. I sat down and the guard stepped away.
At the front of the wide room with high ceilings was the bench. A court stenographer sat on the side and sitting tall at the top was a crusty old, female judge. She had short brown hair and even from where I was sitting I could see way too much makeup on her face and huge bags under her eyes. But it was the expression that said it all: her top lip and bottom lip didn’t touch. Whether she was speaking or listening, her two lips seemed to push away from each other like magnets that no matter how hard you tried you could never quite make them touch.
I sat on the bench waiting. A name was called and a guy to my right rose up. He sidestepped towards me and I backed up to let him pass. He walked around the bench and to a small table where the public defender, a middle-aged guy in a middle-aged suit, stood waiting. The public
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