“Thanks,” I say.
She looks down at the floor after a few seconds, and I make my way toward the back door.
At the end of the hall, I’m already wondering who I’ll be at the end of the day. Will I feel different? Will there be any relief?
“I could fall in love with you, you know.” Her voice knocks me in the back of the head.
Oh, hell no.
I’m not turning around for that. Not now. Not today.
It is ironic that on a day like today when something big is about to happen, I notice more of the small things.
Dimitri that works the metal detector didn’t shave this morning.
I toss my wallet, keys, and cell phone in the little plastic tray. No one needs to tell me what to do.
I also know exactly how much money I have in my wallet. Exactly zero.
Dimitri gives me a full nod with eye contact this morning.
Even he knows.
We’ve never exchanged much more than a few words here and there over the years. Today, I see something else in the movement of his head, the way he takes a deeper breath as I pass.
I fucking hate pity.
I step through the X-ray archway.
With any luck, when I walk out of here, I’ll be legit. On my own, according to the great State of Ohio.
Not that I haven’t been on my own for a long freakin’ time already. But, according to the law, I still need supervision. That shit is hilarious.
I grab my wallet and keys after I’m cleared through the metal detector when I look down and see the dark gray, flattened spot of someone’s discarded gum on the marble floor.
What kind of asshole does that?
I guess some asshole that might not like the way things are going for them. This place is ripe with people who think they’re getting the shitty end of the stick. Most of them sharpened the damn stick themselves and went about doing as much damage with it as they could. Then, they’re surprised when their lives turn into an episode of Cops.
You need a license for almost anything, right?
Want to drive? Well, you need to take a class, then a test, and then you have to abide by a fuck-ton of rules, or they will snatch that precious piece of freedom from you.
You want a dog? Get a license.
You want to burn leaves in the fall? You need a permit.
You want to start a business? Get a shit-ton of licenses, permits, and forms.
You wanna have a kid? Do your thing, nothing else required.
All along the top of the hallway ahead of me, there are slanted white streaks of dusty sunlight filtering through elevated windows. I’ve made this trek so many times.
I see the wide eyes and pinched brows on the people I pass. There is an overwhelming stink of old cigarette smoke when I walk by a forty-something lady with a worn, thick manila envelope clutched in her hand.
It’s not enough that none of the damn windows open in this catacomb of limestone and marble. You add in too many humans and not enough soap, stir that up with lawyers and the sharp scent of whatever they use to polish the floors, and my stomach is ready to reveal my breakfast.
My boots make a thunk-scrape sound with each step. Thunk-scrape, thunk-scrape.
I dip my right shoulder and put more weight on the right step than the left. For some reason, today I notice the uneven cadence.
Miriam at the information desk has a line of irritated people in front of her, yet she still manages to catch my eye, and I wink.
She tugs her lips to the side in an attempt to squash her smile. In her job, it’s important to stay in character. Just as quickly as I pick up on the rare curve of her lips, I see the same look that Dimitri gave me.
Pity and relief.
People pity me either because they know my past or because they can see the evidence of it on my face.
People feel relieved because whatever has happened to me, hasn’t happened to them.
I notice the way kids stare and adults look away. By now, it’s just an observation. I used to get pissed, now I understand.
I get it.
I catch a reflection in the glass that runs along the mile-long hallway outside the courtroom doors. I tower above most people. My hair isn’t unruly, but it does need a cut. Due to budgetary restrictions, a trip to the barber will have to wait.
The wall of glass is on my right, the heavy doors along my left. I hear the sniffles of a girl before I see her. I look down where she stands next to a bored looking woman with a thick file in her hands.
God damn, how hard would it be just to talk to her? Comfort her? Distract her from whatever bullshit is waiting for her today.
She’s probably six years old. I can’t help but notice she has a huge, unkempt knot in her dirty, blonde hair. She’s wearing a ponytail, a messy one, but no one bothered to brush her fucking hair before she came to court. Really?
On top of that, her socks don’t match, and she’s wearing green sweatpants with a cartoon image of The Hulk on one pant leg. Her oversized, yellow t-shirt hangs off one shoulder, and I can see the jut of her collarbones through her pale skin.