Although I am prohibited from talking about *why* (or who, when, where, and/or how) by a subpeona, and a severe admonishment from a rather dour looking judge, I can tell you that sometimes "doing the right thing" can be a huge pain in the butt. It also sucks, fun-wise.
However, during all of the waiting that occurs between intense flurries of legal activity, I have had plenty of time to reflect upon how I arrived at this place; a rather shabby little "safe room", tucked deep in the bowels of the county courthouse. It is in this room that I leave my possessions before entering the courtroom every day. Although I have no other experience by which to judge, I am impressed by how hard the D.A.'s staff works to help us feel comfortable and prepared for the ordeal of facing not just a judge, jury and defendant, but also for keeping us safely out of the harsh light that the media casts on this trial. They shepard us up and down corridors, standing between us and the accused's family and friends. They stock the fridge in the kitchenette with our favorite beverages, and they keep Twinks safely guarded while I testify. The Wrench stays close by my side; although he is not called to the stand, his presence in the courtroom is entered into the record, and he is identified several times by witnesses as being my husband. He has lived through this with me; we have cried together over this, and worked together as a team to bring this to justice, and now we watch the trial together.
So here I am, caught fully in the dysfunctional web of our judicial system. I have spent more than five years waiting for this trial. I have both dreaded and anticipated this - the march towards "justice", the opportunity to face the accused in a court of law, and have a jury hear my words, my testimony about how and why it all happened. To present the facts - hard facts, backed up by reams and reams of paper evidence, boxes and cartons full of the truth that are wheeled into the courtroom every morning in a display that surely must have some impact on the jury.
I am systematically and methodically working through the process of sending my best friend to jail.
For the rest of her life.
