by Monika Korra
Several of my good friends from school were also there that day. I wished that Kristine and Silje could be with us to celebrate, too, but they had gone home to be with their families for Christmas. They’d offered to stay, but I wanted them to enjoy as much time as possible back home. I wished Robin had been there to hear the sentence, too; he deserved to see that justice would win, for a girl he had helped to see that love conquers hate.
On my birthday in September, right before we decided not to be together in the same way anymore, he had given me a card that I picked up to read before I got dressed in red that morning. It said: “Together Monika we can fix everything!” We had done that, so far, but now it was time that I did it myself.
Brandon and Erin called two witnesses to testify before the sentence would be given. They were there to provide additional evidence that this man was a danger to society. As they were sworn in, I watched their eyes go to the Worst One. I saw a mixture of fear, hate, and vindication there. Arevalo stared ahead blankly, seemingly in his own world. How appropriate, I thought; he wasn’t fit to move about freely in ours.
Both of the men told a variation of the same story. That night they’d been out minding their own business when they’d been assaulted and robbed. Both of them spoke of having a gun pressed to their head; each man raised his right hand, formed it into a gun, and held it against his temple. I could see the gesture, but for the first time in a long while I couldn’t feel the cold metal against my temple. Knowing that Arevalo had been found guilty and was about to be sentenced had freed me from that.
At the conclusion of the men’s testimony, Judge Balido stated that she would take some time to consider her decision. We all rose as she walked out of the courtroom, and I wondered what she wore beneath her black robe. I knew she had a serious job to do and that required her to wear that dark robe, but what was she really thinking and feeling? Throughout the trial, she had seldom revealed any kind of emotion. I wondered if she wore her impartiality like a robe, something she put on when she stepped into the courtroom, while in private she was as disgusted by Arturo Arevalo as everyone else seemed to be.
Brandon came over to us and said, “I can’t give y’all any sense of how long this will take. Don’t take this into account, too much to heart. It’s all part of the process. I’ve got to ask you to be patient one more time.”
We walked out of the courtroom. I saw the two men who had testified and walked up to them. I nearly let it slip, but I recovered at the last moment and said, “I’m Jessica Watkins. I wanted to thank you for being brave and saying what you did.”
I held out my hand.
The first man nodded, and a brief smile moved across his face before his expression went blank. He didn’t meet my eyes, and that unnerved me a bit. The other was more gracious, less nervous, and he gave my hand a firm shake and told me how sorry he was for what had happened to me. “I can only imagine what you’ve been through. This was tough for me and my family, but for you—” He took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders.
As I walked back to my team, all of them clustered together in the fluorescent light like a bouquet in a florist’s refrigerator, I saw a smaller group clustered beyond them. Arevalo’s wife and other family members sat somberly waiting. I thought of what it was like in cross-country when I saw the opposing teams clustered together. Arevalo’s family members were, in a way, the enemy, the ones I had to beat, but I felt a kind of kinship with them. Just like opposing runners, we were engaged in the same struggle, and would feel similar kinds of pain. I didn’t like wanting to beat these people, to take a father away from his children, but I knew, deep in my heart, that they would be better off without that kind of negative presence, that lurking violence, in their lives. I wanted to be able to walk up to them and tell them that I was sorry, but just as in a race I wouldn’t say anything like that until we’d all crossed the finish line; we still hadn’t broken the tape, we still had more race to run.
I was so nervous and sad then. My thoughts that this would be a celebration and my party outfit suddenly felt ill-fitting, inappropriate. I needed a moment to compose myself, and I walked into the bathroom. I stood in the ghastly artificial light, leaning forward against the sink. One of the taps was leaking, and water dripped into the basin with a plink that echoed in the tiled room. The girl in the mirror didn’t match the girl in my mind. She didn’t look ready to celebrate. She looked about to faint. The pallor of her drawn skin was exaggerated by the chewed lipstick slash of her frown.
“Just believe,” I said, surprised by the sound of my voice. I repeated the words in English and again in Norwegian.
I splashed water on my face and twisted the knob as tightly as I could, but the drip continued, marking the seconds until this race was over.
I’ve always been a big believer that the image you project into the world produces results. If you look and act like a winner, you will be one. I reached into my purse and pulled out my red lipstick. I couldn’t control what happened to Arevalo’s family. All I could do was hope and pray that they would be well. I had to look out for me and my interests. And that day, a celebration was what I both wanted and needed.
I rejoined my team, and was startled when Brandon interrupted my mom and Kelly’s hugs by saying, “Court’s back in session.”
Judge Balido took her seat, and for a moment I thought she was looking at me. Then I watched her eyes as they darted around briefly, following a fly. She shook her head and then said, “Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict on the punishment?”
The head juror stood and said, “Yes, we have, Your Honor.”
I wished that I had a water bottle with me. I felt like every bit of moisture had been taken from my body.
“If you would, please, tender it to the bailiff.”
Just believe, I told myself. Just believe.
Judge Balido took the paper from the bailiff and read it silently for a moment. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my neck.
“We the jury, having found the defendant guilty of the offense of aggravated sexual assault as charged in the indictment, assess his punishment at confinement in the Institutional Division of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice for life.”
All I really heard was that last word. We all knew better than to shout for joy, but it took as much discipline as I had not to do so.
Judge Balido continued, “Counsel, do you believe your client is mentally competent?”
After his attorney said yes, Judge Balido asked Arevalo to stand and asked his attorney if there was any reason in law whether or not his client should be sentenced.
Without pause Mr. Mazek said, “No reason in law.”
Judge Balido nodded. Then she addressed Arevalo directly, telling him how horrible the crime he committed was. I knew that the judge had been fair and impartial throughout, and I was pleased that she finally got a chance to offer her opinion. Her words seemed to have little effect on Arevalo. Maybe it was because he didn’t speak English and the words had to be translated, but he stood there like someone standing in the middle of a rainstorm being pelted by drops but not flinching at all.
As her last official act, Judge Balido asked the bailiffs to take Mr. Arevalo away. I sat riveted, watching him to see if he would look over at his family, whisper some words, offer them some kind of reassurance.
He didn’t.
Everyone rose, and the judge left the courtroom.
I just sat back down and stayed there. Did not move. My tears came flooding out. “Oh my God,” I gasped. I didn’t expect this—the verdict yes, the punishment yes, but not all the tears. I hated whenever someone saw me crying, but they poured out of me. I was crying with joy, crying in relief, crying with so many emotions overwhelming me that I couldn’t think straight. So much was being released, as if Judge Balido had freed me and not just imprisoned someone else. I was free to live a life without fear. I know that you should not show that much emotion in court, but for just one minute in my life I had to give
myself permission to let go of control.
We had won.
Erin and Brandon joined us in the hallway. I congratulated and thanked them both. Erin took me by the crook of the arm and led me to the side.
“I know you want to be with your family right now. I’ll be quick about this. I have a good feeling about the next trial. Alfonso Zuniga’s attorney will let him know that his buddy just got a life sentence. That should put the fear of God in him. I wouldn’t be surprised, and I hope that this is the case, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he changes his plea to guilty like Luis Zuniga did. That means you won’t have to go through this again. I thought that would make you feel pretty good—a little icing on the celebration cake.”
I put my arms around Erin and thanked her again.
“That would be so good.” With the verdict and now this news, I felt that some of the extra weight I’d been dragging around for more than a year had now lifted. I remembered watching Arevalo walk out of the court in chains and thinking that the weight of what he had done was now on him. If Alfonso Zuniga pled guilty, that would be more weight off me. Erin’s words had given me even more reason to hope that my life would be back on track soon.
All of us went out to have a lovely lunch in the West Village. The baby blue chicken salad tasted better than anything I’d eaten. I had not had any appetite before then, but now food tasted so good. Then, after lunch, it was time to get home and put on my running shoes. I just had to go out and run, to clear my mind and feel that I still was alive as Monika, running Monika Kørra. I just flew; my legs were so light, I felt that I was the stone man from the Norse myth of Per, Pål, and Askeladden when he gets to take the weights off of his legs. Now the Worst One had weights put on his legs instead, and I, on the other hand, had been released.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Asking Why
One of the most important principles of training as a runner is mixing in easy days or rest days to give your body time to recover and rebuild stronger. Admittedly, I wasn’t as good about doing that as I should have been, but post-trial with my family and friends gathered around and Christmas just four days away, I did get a chance to relax. Not that I didn’t run, but with Erin’s words about the possibility of a guilty plea coming down the line, I was able to forget about legal matters and remain hopeful that another season—in this case seasons, with indoor and outdoor track on the horizon—wouldn’t find me having my attention split among competing factions. Unity was very much on my mind.
For so long, I’d felt like there were two of me. Maybe that had to do with living with the reality that I was both Jessica Watkins and Monika Kørra. I waited until two days after the sentencing to have a conversation with my family. Ever since the attack, I’d felt like I needed to do something to help make sense of what happened, to unite those two selves—the Monika from before and after. If I was going to have to live with being raped, then I could justify that better if my horrible experience could benefit someone else.
I sat my parents and Anette down and presented to them the logical case that I’d been preparing for a while.
“I know that last year when I saw that newspaper article in Norway that hinted at my identity, I freaked out. I was angry. I was scared. I wanted to have control of what got said and when.”
My family all nodded.
Anders Giæver from our national newspaper in Norway, VG, had been in touch with me. He wanted to do an article about my experience. I had agreed to be interviewed. He was going to call me on Christmas Eve morning. I wanted my family to support my decision. I reminded them of how I felt about contributing to others, to turning this into a positive experience somehow.
My parents eyed each other warily. “You know, Monika,” my father began, “that we respect your decisions. But I have to remind you that what you went through was a very private matter. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You say you want to have control, but you can’t control what other people are going to think or say or do. I just want you to understand that there are consequences to every choice. I trust you’ve thought all of this through.”
“I have. And I have a life in both places now. Home in Norway is where I feel most accepted. I don’t want to have to hide there. What I’ll do later about here, we’ll see.”
My parents didn’t think this was a good idea. We were very private people, and we lived in a relatively small place; was it fair that because I wanted to come forward they’d all find themselves in the public eye? They also felt that I was still in the early stages of recovering, and anything I might do that caused a setback just wasn’t worth it.
I think my dad sensed that a reasoned approach wasn’t working. He normally chose his words so carefully and revealed little emotion in these discussions. So when he said, “Monika, I’m frightened for you. My job is to protect you, and I couldn’t do that on that night. But I can do that now. I’m asking you to not do this. We can’t control what other people might say or do. But you can control this.”
But I was stubborn.
It was my life. What had happened had happened to me. I had to deal with this my way. I needed people to see me again, not the rape victim. I needed others to talk to me like before, without being afraid that I would be shattered to pieces if they said or did something “wrong.” I needed to tell everyone that what happens to us does not define who we are; we can overcome it and gain strength from it. I needed to feel the relief that comes with not having to drag a heavy secret around. I had also started toying with the idea of writing a book about my experience.
I also knew that I had been accepting help from so many people that I wanted to help others in return. It was a blessing that I’d survived, and I believed I was given a second chance because I was supposed to do something about the issue of rape in the world.
I spoke openly and at length with Mr. Giæver, and on December 27, his interview article ran in VG with the headline I REFUSE TO LET IT RUIN MY LIFE. I meant that, and this was another important step to make that statement true. I read the piece online and was really happy that he concluded it with this line: “Don’t call me a victim, there’s so many things I rather want to be.” That was true as well. Maybe this Jessica Watkins identity issue could work in my favor. Maybe she could be the victim, and I could be all of the other things that I wanted of and for me.
I didn’t get to gauge the reaction to the article in Norway. The article did exactly what I’d hoped it would do, but it would be a long time before I learned that. We were spending the holidays in the U.S. and then just a few days in Norway before I had to return. But when I came home that following summer it was as if people saw me in a new light. They treated me like they had before. They even came up to me to tell me how sorry they were about what had happened to me and that they admired me for speaking out. Some people even shared with me their own challenges.
I spent New Year’s Eve day 2010 packing. I was standing holding on to two dresses, deciding which of them I should take back with me, when my cell jumped and my ringtone sounded. I picked up the phone, still clutching the two dresses, and said hello.
“Hi, Monika, it’s Erin.”
I could tell immediately that something was wrong. I mentally spun my wheel of misfortune, wondering what had happened. What was going on with the trial dates? Had Arevalo escaped, been set free by some mistake?
Instead, Erin told me something that I had never considered.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m no longer employed by the Dallas County prosecutor’s office. I got fired. It’s complicated, and I don’t have a lot of time to explain, Monika. I have to be out of this office in a few hours; they’re shutting down my e-mail, but I wanted you to know that I’m not fired from your life.”
I set the dresses on my bed, their dry cleaning bags heaving a sigh to match my own.
“What—” I stopped myself. This was a hard thing for Erin personally. How it impacted me could wait.
Erin must have read my mind.
“Brandon will still be working with you. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands. I want to make sure you have my cell number, my home phone. I’ll also send you my personal e-mail address. I’m not letting go of you, you hear me?”
We spoke briefly before hanging up. I didn’t like the idea that our team was being split up, but I had no choice. This wasn’t like when one of the seniors on the team graduated. You knew that was coming, and you prepared for losing a part of yourself. And it wasn’t like losing one of the girls to an injury. You knew that she’d be back, she’d still be around the training facilities, still in daily contact. Erin was gone from my legal team.
I wanted to know why this had happened, but Erin could only say that the reasons were political and complicated. I’d eventually find out it had to do with her boss being a Democrat. The team that had been so successful was losing a valuable member. We’d all have to work that much harder in her absence. So much for a rest and recovery period.
I walked into the living room, and my parents looked at me and immediately rushed over.
“What’s wrong?” my mother asked.
“Erin. She got fired.”
“What? She did wonderful.” My mother’s scowl matched my own.
“Listen,” my father said, “that’s not good. But in a day or so we’ll be in the mountains skiing. We’ll deal with this after. Now’s the time to relax and enjoy. The mountains, Monika, remember them?”
I hugged him. “I remember.”
My father knew exactly what to say. Even on the long flight home, I didn’t fixate on Erin’s news and the upcoming trial—not completely, anyway. And my father had been right. Being back in the mountains was exactly what my soul needed. Even though I was more active in Norway than I would have been back in Dallas, I felt more rested. Being on cross-country skis felt right to me. This was the environment I’d grown up in and thrived in.
