Civilly Courting Danger

Carl read over the e-mail from his attorney W---. It was a notification about his depsotion date. This has been the first sign of movement since Ms. Siocco's deposition on April 12, 2006.

Carl,

Don't get yourself worked up about your Misdemeanor Plea. Trust me, Sciocco's attorney wil not vocate your plea based on your civil testimony, it is to their advantage that you pled guilty and they will not challenge it... Perjury for you is not an issue. Your plea was based on options made available to you in Criminal Court. One of the requirements of your plea was to admit guilt. Just tell the truth. Mark this date on your calendar. Your deposition (and Mr. McBard's) will be on Wednesday, July 12, 2006.

Cheers, W---

July 12??? Come on, is Mr. McBard trying to get a tan before the deposition? I'd like to see how that cow-eyed poet looks when he lies. Will he at least admit that he had the worst sex he'd ever had in his life on that odd summer night night of 2004? Chirst! That must have been like screwing a rotten pumpkin. If I could've been be a fly on the wall... I bet he gets all sweaty under his arms. I bet his skin gets all sticky like a catfish.

I'm not allowed to look at him during the depostion but you know I'll be wishing him cancer the whole time. Not the cancer that my father had, slow and determined as it was. Maybe something more agressively that eats away at his face. And Ms. Sciooco? How does one put a curse on a curse?

Oi vey gevault. I Remember Sentencing Day...

I didn't sleep the ngiht before, I had to respond before 9:00 am if I were to take this guilty plea. Conflicted, I must have vomitted about six times if not more. A-----, my attorney, called repeatedly. Then his wife called. Then my first lawyer, D-----called. I called a few freinds for support. Then I called Larry, my brother. He called me a chicken. Then I called Ah Ro Ghant, he is an appeals lawyer and sixth level ranger. "So, do you think this is a good deal? It went from a Felony C with jail time to a Class A misdemeanor, Assault 3." I asked him in a cloud of confusion. "Carl, that's unheard of, going from a felony to a misdemeanor. It's not a bad plea. I think you should take it, rather than risk trial."

I unhooked the phone for a bit to collect my thoughts. Too much to handle at 7:30 am. Too much. I called A---- back, told him I'd take the Misdemeanor Plea. I shaved and showered to get the smell of vomit off me, put on the trial sweater that I had knit in court and caught my train.

I wasn't that good at knitting at first, but I improved over term of Criminal Court. I started knitting to quit smoking after September 11. I knitted through the entire discovery period (6 months and more) until I was told by the judge I should not be doing such. So I learned to crochet at some point as we went to trial.

What a day that was. DA G------ didn't show up, she sent another colleague, who sported the home-streaked hair (darling, that bleach wand is not made of magic). The thought of admitting to something I didn't do felt like a hot knife thrusting into my temple, and exiting through my mouth.

"I intentionally sought to hurt Ms. Sciocco." I said holding on to the chair. "How?" asked the judge. "By biting her finger." Then the judge threw in Anger Management for good measure. A----- and the other DA argued back and forth, then the judge yelled "Enough! There will be no appeal!" I forgot that my freinds were sitting behind me. I kept looking at the spittle that sprayed from the judges mouth and the DA's pointy hoof that intermitently peeked from her kaftan legs as she argued that I should also get jail time. My mind went elsewhere, I thought of places I'd never been, England... France... Montana... I couldn't hear A----- and the DA anymore. They ran back and forth the judge pointing at each other, gesturing in my direction. I knew it was over when a court official handed me papers to sign.

Afterwards, I walked with my friends to another court building to register myself as some kind of offender, then I peed in a cup with some guy watching over me, and then signed more papers.

Epilogue

Does the court ever reflect on how they can collectively destroy people's lives? Maybe they think of it briefly and then subtract. That must be like blocking out a train wreck. The court seems to serve itself. "Am I a dangerous man??" I ask myself every morning when I shave. Ms. Sciocco's finger is fine, maybe she won't flick the bird as often as she'd like. She lost a nail and it grew back. End of story.

Allusion: If you were in fact a dog, and the courts forced you to admit that you were a cat, you would be liable for Perjury if you barked in public. Locked away. Crazy stuff, eh.