by Mark Tiro
The door looked locked, but it swung open easily. Inside, Maya didn’t find her car. What Maya did see, however, was the girl she had seen in glimpses in her mind, while visiting David in jail. Huddling in a corner, and curled up in a ball, the little girl looked up at Maya.
Maya braced herself for the pang of fear she anticipated was about to sweep through her stomach. But it never did.
The girl looked up. Maya found herself saying ‘everything is going to be okay,’ reassuring the girl. But Maya was on the outside now, looking in.
That’s when she noticed that a different feeling had gripped her stomach. It wasn’t fear though. It was a sick feeling. And she felt it sinking down into the pit of her soul. All at once, Maya convulsed. She wanted to throw up, because at that moment, she realized, she knew—everything is not going to be okay.
“You left me alone here,” the girl told her. “Why did you leave me alone here?” Tears, innocence and confusion all streaked down the girl’s face.
“I didn’t, I… I… I don’ t know.”
“When you walked out of this room, you left me here. I waited for you to come back. I waited and waited, but you never came.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…” Maya’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t finish her words.
Images flashed in front of Maya: her mom, alone, angry, depressed on their couch. An old TV flickered in the background.
“Do you see?” the girl asked Maya, and they turned towards the corner where the girl had been curled up, crying.
And then, another image: Maya looked up towards her bedroom door. Her oldest brother Tom walked towards her saying things she couldn’t understand. But something was different, something was wrong. His eyes. Those eyes. Seeing now, Maya remembered. And remembering, she realized that even though she hadn’t thought of this in decades, she had never really forgotten.
The look he had in his eyes—it didn’t make any sense. It terrified her. She was confused. This was her big brother. She loved him. But now he terrified her. Was this really Tom her brother?
He kept advancing towards her, step, step, step.
“Mom!” Maya had screamed. But her mom didn’t come. “Mom, mom, mom, please…” Maya was paralyzed now, frozen. She couldn’t move.
Her mom never came.
Then, all at once, he was on top of her, frenzied. Tom was on top of her, his pants off, tearing at her clothes, pulling off her pants. And for Maya, everything turned grey.
Just then, Sean her other brother came in. By accident, maybe—he was still wearing his headphones when he opened the door, probably just getting back from school. Sean tore those headphones off his head, and then he tore Tom off Maya.
Now Tom was the one crumpled in a ball, sobbing in the corner.
Just an instant more, and Maya felt the rush of…emptiness, confusion and then falling. And after that—the crushing weight of overwhelming guilt. Maya wanted to die. Numb, she sat collapsed onto the floor next to Tom.
“No, you bastard! Get away from her! Get out, get out, get out!” Sean screamed as he pushed Tom out of the room.
And then, that was it. Maya wasn’t crying. She was quiet. She was drifting again—off to some dark place, down now, away.
“Maya! Maya!” Sean was saying, over and over. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was Sean’s scream as he pushed Tom out of the room. Either way, just then, Maya seemed to snap back, pulled by Sean’s voice back to the room, from the dark, catatonic place she had been silently hurtling towards.
“Sean?” Maya looked up at her brother, tentatively.
“It’s okay now. He’s gone,” Sean told her, putting his hand gently on her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she managed. Maya, at last, was back. Now she didn’t want to die.
She didn’t want to die because another feeling had rushed in to take its place. It was one she felt for the first time. It was rage. And she liked it, welcomed it. The sudden rush of power coursed through her. She luxuriated in its warmth and the strength it gave her. This new feeling was a relief from the overwhelming crush of guilt she had felt. She completely forgot now about the tunnel she had been hurtling down. Sean’s screams had been the lifeline she had grabbed onto. She shuddered, and her eyes narrowed, thinking where she had been headed.
For the smallest imperceptible interval, Maya felt good. Powerful. Fury and Rage. And then—explosion. HELL NO! HELL NO! Maya roared to herself, as she felt the rage course through her. But she didn’t scream. Not a word came out. Not externally at least. Inside, though—Maya screamed. She raged, furious. ‘HELL NO!’ The silent scream echoed around, built to a crescendo, and then seared itself deeply into her mind.
Maya saw the scene play out now. She saw her mom, who despite Maya’s pleas, never had gotten off the couch to check on her little girl. She saw herself pull her clothes back on. And she saw herself turn her back and walk out on that little girl she had once been, leaving her curled up and sobbing in the corner. “Wait—” the little girl had sobbed, trying to stop her. “Don’t leave me here alone…” the girl cried out. But the words were too quiet, and Maya hadn’t heard a thing. Maya watched as the figure she was to become turned her back on the little girl she had once been. The figure disappeared off into the distance, without ever turning back to look at the little girl she was leaving behind.
“Why didn’t you come back for me?” the little girl asked now, looking up at Maya from the corner. Maya remembered her vow. For the first time since that day, she remembered. Maya had sworn to herself that day never to come back to this place. Never to look again on what had happened here. Never to think about it, ever again. But here she was now, face to face with innocence and tears.
“You left me alone here. Why did you leave me alone?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know, I, I….” Facing the girl she had been before Tom had tried to rape—before Tom had… Maya couldn’t put words together. She struggled to answer the girl’s question.
“Were you ashamed of me?” the little girl asked.
And with that, Maya crumpled into a ball on the floor next to the girl. They both fell into a hug, crying, clinging tightly.
Maya broke down, sobbing: “I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” The little room dissolved, first, and then the little girl, and then Maya herself.
Maya woke up, her pillow, wet, like her face. She felt no need to get up, though, to go anywhere, to do anything.
And this is how Maya texted Donald and asked him to cover all her cases that day. Then, after he said yes, and for the first time in her life, she called her boss and told him she was sick and couldn’t come in to work.
10
Maya didn’t get out of bed until sometime after noon that day. She had been planning to take off work early and have drinks with Joel, the forensic psychologist she appointed on most all of her cases.
But now that she hadn’t gone to work that day, she wavered, between the relative merits of taking a shower vs. just going back to bed and trying again tomorrow. In the end, the shower won out. Shower, and then happy hour. Maya had planned earlier in the week to go to the happy hour. After yesterday, she was grateful for the momentum that would get her out the door for the first time that day.
There was an entire list of various court-approved psychologists and psychiatrists available for appointment as expert witnesses. They would evaluate and give opinions on the varying mental states of defendants in criminal court. A lot of the lawyers Maya worked with bounced back and forth through the list, from expert to expert. When she was new in the office, Maya had done the same, appointing different experts on different cases.
“What can I say—girls like variety,” she told Michelle that evening, as they found themselves, over happy hour drinks, discussing the relative merits of various experts.
At some point, Maya had stumbled across Joel. Dr. Joel Lehner, Ph.D. By the time she had received David’s case, Maya had long since been appointing him on mos
t every case that required a psychologist. As a result, Maya could count on him taking more time with her clients. And the reports he wrote—they were almost consistently helpful. “He gives good report,” Maya said, winking at Michelle. They sipped on whiskey and Michelle laughed.
“But have you ever met him? I mean, I know we all talk to experts on the phone all the time. But…in person? What does he look like?” Michelle asked, eager for details.
“Of course I’ve met him in person. I don’t know, how would I describe him?” she racked her brain, before giving Michelle an answer proper. “Well, he’s not any younger than the usual suspects,” Maya answered. “He’s definitely ‘better preserved’ though.” They both laughed.
“I’ll introduce you tonight,” Maya told her. “I’m meeting him here later, for drinks.”
“Ooooh,” Michelle said, rubbing up against Maya, in mock-seduction. “We could share, right?” Michelle laughed. Maya took a second to process, trying to decide if Michelle was being serious.
“Sorry, though, I have a date in a few here, maybe next time,” Michelle cut her off, settling the issue. “Try him out for me, though?” She leaned over and gave Maya two European-style kisses, one on each cheek. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t…” Michelle started to say, but stopped, and smiled. “Oh, never mind—go have fun. Details on Monday, k?”
“Of course! You too. Have fun tonight,” Maya told her, as Michelle headed off.
Two more drinks later, Maya looked up to find Joel standing in front of her.
“Hi. Sorry, I’m late. I was up at Northside jail seeing some custodies. Got stuck in traffic on the way back down.”
Joel Lehner, Ph.D. was married. This was the big attraction now for Maya, though she never quite figured it out for herself. Married men, with all their entanglements at home, meant less chance of entanglement for Maya. She was usually able to duck out before these married men got up their long-repressed courage to make a move.
“I have someone—a new client,” she told Joel as they settled into his first round. “Murder charge. Guy made some weird statements. You live for this stuff, right?”
“Of course I do. I mean, it keeps a roof over my head, right?”
Maya had, in fact, seen that roof. And the rest of his house as well. It sat halfway up the winding canyon road separating the city from the valley. He’d gotten quite a deal on it after the riots—and now that roof he slept under each night was worth a couple million.
“Hey, be careful,” Maya said, smiling. “I pay that mortgage of yours. Or at least most of it…”
She had a pretty good idea that she actually paid all of it with her steady stream of court appointments for him to see her clients month-in and month-out.
Years earlier, she had gone over the night before a trial to prepare him for his testimony. After an hour of discussion of British diplomacy in the Far East in the early part of the 20th century, she had found herself bored to tears.
It had been a shock then—especially to her—when she found herself that same night, three drinks in, lingering on his lips when he had leaned over to kiss her. At the time, Joel hadn’t been married. Notwithstanding his adjustment of status after he did get married, he had never stopped these periodic get-togethers with Maya.
Joel made a comment about a study that had gotten some publicity recently. It was about the relative differences between when a man and a woman reached their sexual peaks. It wasn’t too much later that he took his best shot: “So when do you think you’ll reach your sexual peak Maya?”
Maya pulled out cash and put it on the table to pay the bill. Then she looked at him, answering, “I’m hoping in about 20 minutes. Are you ready to go?”
That night, Maya took her 40 something, well-preserved expert witness home and fucked him passionately for about a minute and a half, until she started to hate herself. About another minute and a half after that, Maya finished him off. Will you ever fucking cum you bastard? She thought, just before he made a mess. It was as quickly as she could do it, and then she rolled over and passed out from the whiskey… From the whiskey, and from the sex, and from hating herself…
Maya woke up the next morning alone. An instant later, she remembered that Joel had been over. And an instant after that, she was shocked—and then elated—as she realized that he had left voluntarily, without breakfast.
When she checked, she heard a voicemail from Joel, saying thank you, and letting her know that he’d try to go see David as soon as he could. The message went on, and he started to talk about what a wonderful time he had the night before. She deleted it without bothering to listen to the rest.
Hmmmpphhh! So needy, these old people, Maya thought. Would it kill them to learn how to text instead of always leaving these ridiculous voicemails?
11
David sat alone on the bottom bunk. He leaned back and looked out at the football-field sized room where over a hundred inmates idled away, passing their days. He shut his eyes.
The darkness only lasted a moment. Just as soon as he closed his eyes, the flood of images began. The movie screen of his mind flickered, and then lit up, roaring to life. David cried. Then he curled up in a ball in the corner of the bunk, and cried some more. Tears are okay—better than the alternative, he thought.
And what he saw through those tears was always the same:
“I’ll stop by Target to pick up a gift for her party,” he watched himself tell his wife. He shoved the last bite of toast into his mouth and then turned to Ella.
“Daddy, I’m not ready. I want to see the end…”
“You’ve already seen this one honey. And we don’t want to be late today, remember? This is your friend Sophia’s first day back from vacation. She’s so excited to see you.”
Ella’s face lit up, and she forgot everything else the way a five year old does. The way most adults never can seem to do.
“Daddy, can I take my baby to show her?” Ella asked, clutching a new doll she’d gotten from her grandpa a week ago.
“Of course honey,” David said, grasping Ella’s hand to maintain the forward progress towards the door. “You know they’re not supposed to bring their own toys, right?” his wife called after him, accusingly. He avoided eye contact with her and slid out the door. After nine years of marriage, David knew this was likely to be one of the kinder things she’d say to him today.
David always dropped Ella off. Her preschool was in the same general direction as his office. The drive was easy—just 30 minutes on the freeway, even with traffic. It was an easy drive for him now, ever since he had decided to stop fighting over every inch of freeway.
One day it had occurred to him that there might be another way to use his mind while driving. Instead of competing to weave in and out of traffic, he had the idea to just try to relax, to use the driving time to clear his mind. Almost immediately, that decision had made the drive, along with the rest of his days as well, more pleasant.
At first, David had noticed that the pleasantness of his drive would always come to a screeching halt whenever another car cut him off, or passed him, or did some other thing that he had no control over. After a while, the idea came to him that he might practice overlooking these little acts of rude driving that had gotten him so worked up. ‘To forgive’ he called it, but ‘overlooking’ seemed more accurate. Everyone’s going through something, he would try to remind himself. Little by little, he noticed his mind was clearing. At some point, David noticed that he had stopped caring if he got cut off. It didn’t shake him anymore.
“Do you think Sophia will like my baby?” Ella asked her dad, holding up her doll. She waited for his answer, hanging on his opinion.
“Of course sweetie. Who wouldn’t?” David looked back in the mirror, saw Ella playing with her doll, absorbed now and completely oblivious to his answer.
David cleared his mind. He relaxed—eyes open. He had driven this same way every day for years now. This was the most routine part of his day. Slowly, purposefu
lly as he drove, he simply put his mind on autopilot and turned his focus inward. He watched the road, of course, but in his mind, he was more interested in watching his thoughts. He would do this without judging them, and as each one would come up, he’d practice letting it go. This process of observing and forgiving his own thoughts was the best use he had found of his time driving every morning.
One day, he had realized the problem wasn’t the other drivers. Rather, the problem was with his thoughts. He decided then that if he was ultimately going to be at peace, he was going to have to solve the problem where it was—in his own mind. And so when he would recognize that he had gotten angry, when he would find that he had become anxious—he would consciously look at those thoughts, and then choose to overlook them. To forgive them. The result of this practice had been that he rarely found himself with anything but a quiet, peaceful mind while he drove.
David looked back at Ella in the rearview mirror. She was talking to her doll, and then she looked up at him. Their eyes met in the mirror. The exit for Ella’s preschool was coming up, maybe 10 minutes ahead, and David looked back at the road as Ella became absorbed again in her doll. He relaxed, looked out at the road and drove on a while longer. And then—everything went black. The images stopped. This is where the images always stopped.
David lingered in his mind now. Eyes closed, he tried to hold on to that last image of Ella—that glimpse in the rearview.
He lay back now on the jail bunk. His tears stopped, and he was curled up in a ball. With eyes closed, he was enveloped and walled off by memory and pain. He had chosen guilt—he knew it—and yet despite his hours of trying, the guilt was still there. He couldn’t figure out how to un-choose it, to make the pain go away.
Lying on the bunk with his eyes closed, David never saw the first blow. It knocked his head back into the wall next to the bunk.
He did see the next few blows however. He also tasted his own blood as it dripped over his face, down into the back of his throat. Then he tasted his breakfast, as it came up in the other direction.
