TheBanyanTree: Too Personal for FB

[Indiglow]

      Theyled the women in first, wrists and ankles shackled, and a sturdy chainconnecting each to the next in the line. The deputy removed the connecting chain as each filed into her seat,shuffling up the steps as best they could with their ankles chained.  All but one was in the standard blues of thesmall county jail where they were being held.          The men came next.  He was first in line, dressed in the iconicblack and white stripes, with each of the other men in the standard blue.  Tall, even with head bent, slim, bearded, hisdark, near waist-length hair flowed loose around his shoulders like a slightlytangled mane.            Prior to that, the courtroom buzzedwith the quiet exchange of papers and filed between attorneys, case manager,the DA and the court (steward?), accompanied by their muted murmurs while theyprepared for the hearings in that session, proclaimed that this was a placeserious business was done.          When the men were led in, the face ofthe first man was serious, but not expressive. His expression quickly changed to a mixture of shock, concern, and aglimmer of hope when he saw the woman sitting in the first seat of thegallery’s front row – the nearest place able to accommodate her walker.  She was more gray and careworn than when he’dseen her last, but she was there, seated next to the white bearded,white-haired man who looked very little of Santa Claus, but very much ofmiracles.          The inmates had been warned to notspeak to those in the gallery.  As theywere released from their connection to each other, they filed into their seats,each obeying the admonition of the officer who escorted them.  Still obedient – if one looks at the letterof the law and not its spirit, the man could not resist signing “I love you” tothe woman seated on the aisle.            The woman shifted in her seat,determined to not succumb to the pain in her hip and her legs and her feet frombeing there, determined to not let the pain in her heart show, determined tonot shame her husband who sat beside her, sustaining her silently while hisface showed nothing of what he felt.          The bailiff, seeing the man sign,stepped between the man and the woman on the aisle.  Apparently the man attempted to sign again,desperate to be heard.  The woman onlyheard, “He’s been told ‘no talking’ twice” and then saw the man escorted fromthe room.  He was last to have his caseheard.          The woman listened to the cases of allthose who came before – a woman who was a nurse for 17 years, made a reasonableliving, helped many people, before succumbing to the lure of drugs.  Where does she go from here?            Another woman, with a few month’s oldchild, was back in the system for failure to appear, because she wasincarcerated in another small county.  Ayoung father, separated from his child because of his arrests – could notresist the lure of freedom from pain. Some of those called before the judge would shuffle and answer “yeah” or“no” when asked a question.  A fewrespectfully answered “Yessir”.  Noneknew how to show the expected respect.          The care-worn woman knew aboutpain.  She knew of the toll it takes onone day to day.  She understood how painleads to pain, but she knew… she knew that succumbing to pain would be herdemise.          She listened, next to the white-hairedman, and cried and cried inside, but never let a tear show on her face.  And finally, they escorted the man inside,prison stripes, tangled mane, and let him speak with the court-appointedattorney.  He did not try to speak orsign to her.  He knew the gig was up –yet still, he managed to petition the bailiff to ask the woman to get a phonecard so he could speak with her.            The bailiff complied with his plea,and the innocent and clueless woman asked for help in doing what theprison-striped man asked of her.  Thebailiff’s replies were eventually helpful, but not easy to follow.  “Call here” he said, without offering anumber or instructions on what to ask or say.          When it came time to face the judge,the man stood straight and tall.  Helooked the judge in the eye and addressed him as “your Honor”.  He pleaded guilty to the misdemeanorcounts.  He did not shame the woman withthe walker, who couldn’t help remembering the scripture from the previousweek’s adult Sunday School discussion  -Psalm  127:4-54 Likearrows in the hands of a warrior
    are children born in one’s youth.
5 Blessed is the man
    whose quiver is full of them.Theywill not be put to shame
    when they contend with their opponents in court.He did not shame her.  He stood straight and tall; he took responsibilityfor his actions – even though such actions were triggered by the use of drugs,which took over his sense of right and wrong. He realized that now, being clean and sober, and he realized how muchhe’d lost being caught in that lure.  The woman came home, followed instructions toestablish a phone card that same day, and was bitterly disappointed.  It would be a few days before the man couldcall her.  She cried and cried then,alone with her husband in their home. Innocent, to her knowledge and best of her ability, she was deniedcontact with the younger man she so loved.Two days later, drained and out of prayers, thewoman spoke with him.  It was a tenuousconnection on cell and hand-held phones, and understanding to her elderly anddamaged ears was a challenge.  Still, shespoke with the man she had once, long ago, cradled in her arms and called herbaby.  She heard his pain.  She heard his surrender.  She heard his love.  And she cried, needing to know more, but thetime wasn’t right.  He said he’d lost hiswife, and was afraid he’d lost the woman and the white-haired man.  They are his mother and father.  He cannot lose their love.Thisis not a short story.  It doesn’t haveplot twists, nor a beginning, a middle, and an end.  The woman doesn’t know the end, and who knowsif any more might ever be added to make it a real story. J