Meatloaf The Cop and The Trashy Dreamer
Meatloaf hugged each "witness" as they left the courtroom. I was sequestered to my own hell in the hallway, sworn in under "The Rule". The rule is complicated, and until that very moment in my life I didn't know it existed. I was sworn to shut up, vowed on an oath with my right hand in the air to a judge, with every other witness. Our rule was simple- we would not talk about the case with anyone, including (and especially) each other.
There were 30 witnesses for the state, and only a few for the defense. I was on the defense so my place of solitaire was in the hallway on a bench made of oak, engraved with the star of Texas. I wondered how many people sat before me on that bench, in my position. How many sat here awaiting the fate of their loved one? The states witnesses had a room with food, coffee and comfortable seating. Rooms for "prepping".
Meatloaf was what I called the overweight man who escorted the witnesses in and out of the courtroom. I wasn't allowed to talk, so I didn't ask his name. I didn't know his role exactly, but I knew he wore a badge, so he was a cop of some sort. He dressed for court, and wore a tweed blazer so he wasn't a beat cop. I sat on the 3rd floor of the county courthouse for 5 days, 48 hours to be exact.
My solitaire confinement was hell. I couldn't ask my family what had happened, and could only read it on their faces. Poker faces were best, exhausted faces meant maybe it was iffy, but tears- tears were bad. Tears meant they'd seen something horrible. In those moments I was grateful I'd been ordered out by the Judge.
What details I did learn, I learned from Meatloaf. Meatloaf was white, about 65, redneck and cornfed. A big ol boy from Texas. Maybe 6'2", and easily pushing 275. Nice enough, but he was paid to be nice. I guessed what his life was like, what he did on the weekends, what his family might be like. He seemed like his wife tried to match his outfits for important court dates, but maybe she wasn't the best at that. His face was scruffy and puffy, with a mustache that had greyed. Meatloaf seemed to fit, so it stuck.
I could tell he didn't know who I was either- he eyeballed me. Dressed in a Calvin Klein suit, I was ready to take on the world, yet crumbling inside. He watched me, as I typed on my phone, as I wrote in my journal. With each escorted witness in and out I jotted down notes:
Meatloaf told overweight lady in tank top and sandals that she did a great job. Her outfit wasn't court appropriate according to the rules clearly posted outside the 3rd floor district court. No flip flops, no tank tops. No talking about the case. Obviously she didn't take the rule as seriously as I did, it wasn't her persons life on the line. Meatloaf hugged her and said she'd done it exactly as they'd discussed.
My brain went haywire. Just a few hours earlier we were sworn in all together to not discuss the case with each other, to anyone, and especially in front of other witnesses UNLESS a prosecutor or defense attorney was present. If this happened the rule was broken and the witnesses were void. Did I miss something? I'd seen 50 or more people walk into the courtroom that day. I could only guess what they were for, but I knew from previous encounters and my own research who she was. And she was sworn in 5 feet from me. Fucking rule breaker.
I continued my notes:
Meatloaf held the second set of double doors open and they carried on their conversation. She laughed. Why did she laugh? He walked her about 20 feet to the elevator and pressed the button. I hear them talking about the case. She says in the mouth southern undereducated twang imaginable: "I know I didn't know him (talking about the deceased) but it was like I was right there with him. He comes to my dreams every night and I say, it's okay Joe, go with God. I can still hear him moaning and begging for his life. I know that I wasn't there with him but I feel like I was. Maybe it's just my imagination, it has been two years. But it's just like the Lord is telling me to tell this story! And every night I tell him it's okay and to just let go, and go with God. He was a good man, I mean I didn't know him, I'd never met him. But he meets me every night in my dreams. And so that's what I told the jury. I told them just like I remembered it. Maybe it was one shot I heard, maybe 3? I really can't remember but I do know I remember everything he tells me in my dreams."
"Well", Meatloaf touched her back, "I'm sure that is exactly what happened. And you did it just like we talked about. Our memories do miraculous things! I'm glad you were with him, even in the dreams."
What the fuck did I just hear? My whole family just hears this bullshit? My hands were shaking as I climbed up from the hard oak bench. I took steps towards them planning my words... do I say something? Do I intervene? Do I get closer to hear more? I'm so angry I can't stand and my legs are shaky. How is this a "witness"? I knew of her- she was the one who called in a day later claiming to have heard the whole altercation, at 330am, from 5 football fields away, when an actual witness, the only witness who actually saw some of the event said nothing of the sort. The STATE OF TEXAS let this woman, this drama queen dream bitch on the stand. They let her speak lies. They let her give an emotional plea to a jury about someone she doesn't know coming to her in her dreams? Are you FUCKING kidding me? Her hysterics were comical, an emotional lie for attention. A desperate move for the State. An attempt to put a woman 500 yards away in an event that nearly killed the person I love?
I approach Meatloaf and blinged out trashy dream queen. "Going down?", Meatloaf asks. "Um, sure," I replied, not sure of what my next move would be. The elevator doors opened. First the trashy liar climbs in, hobbling from her dollar store flip flops, and I follow. Before the elevator doors shut I say to Meatloaf, "I'm sorry- what's your name?"
He answers, "Buckley, why?"
"Oh, I was just making sure I knew what your name was, thanks!", I replied in a smart ass but upbeat tone and I smiled.
The elevator doors shut and with about 2 inches left he sticks his hand in from the foyer, abruptly stopping the elevator. My heart skipped a beat.
"Why? Can I help you with something?", he says, perplexed. I'd caught him off guard.
"Why actually you can. Are you a prosecutor?"
"No, I'm an investigator"
"Oh, okay! Well glad to know. Thanks!"
"Why", he presses harder, trying to size me up.
"Oh, just wanted to see if you were a prosecutor or an attorney, just want to make sure we're all following the rules here. Very serious stuff". I smiled wide and the elevator doors shut. His face was blank, and he knew he'd fucked up.
Trashy dreams looked over at me, I could smell her dollar store musty perfume. I guess she was so caught up in her lies this morning that she forgot who I was. She's sworn in next to me earlier that day, I guess she thought I was an attorney for something else or she was just utterly dumb. I stared straight ahead, because I wasn't going to break the fucking "Rule". No way- it was too important.
"Ugh, Murder Trial", she said in the trashiest southern twang, swinging her purse onto her shoulder. (Muh-er-dur Tryallll)
I hit the button for the 2nd floor right on time. "Yep", I said as I walked out head held high.
I knew the system was fucked. I knew they'd go to great lengths to attempt to convict my brother, but this- this was masterpiece theater, trailer park style. They had no idea who'd they'd waged war on. And thank God my Calvin Klein suit made my ass look good, because that is the last time she'll ever see me until her name is published in my book. I hope she remembers me walking off that elevator, and that no amount of money or drama or attention whore fame will ever bring her from trash to class. Her 15 minutes on the stand were lies, her 15 minutes were through. She has her own God to deal with now. I mean, after all, she's a "Christian", lying is still a sin, right?? Her 15 minutes were up. But mine were just starting, and 15 minutes will never be enough for me to tell this story. My story is timeless.
*based on true events. Real names changed for privacy.