by Betty Culley
his machines, the O tubing
stretched along the floor.
Your father’s car is very loud,
I say from the recliner.
Isn’t there a law against that?
Since Rainie’s father
is a policeman,
she knows lots of ways
people get in trouble.
Hunter’s mom dropped me off.
There’s a hole in the exhaust
of their car.
She didn’t make it loud
on purpose,
Rainie says.
Ah, HUNTER,
I say.
Rainie says,
It’s not like that.
I like helping Sara out.
We made goat-milk soap today.
Who’s Sara?
I ask her.
Hunter’s mom.
Hey, how’d it go at court?
Did the judge make Clay’s father
get rid of his guns?
I pretend that Rainie asked me
three things about the trial,
and throw in a few extra.
The trial is not over.
Tomorrow is day two.
There’s no decision yet.
Mom’s not trying to get rid
of Clay’s father’s guns.
She’s trying to get money
to pay for Jonah’s care.
Rainie picks up Zombie Vest
and holds it up to herself
like she’s at Walmart
and trying to decide
whether to put it
in her shopping cart.
My dad said that’s
what the trial is about—
guns.
But yeah, it must cost a lot
for all the nurses and stuff.
Phoebe raises her eyebrows at me
and smiles
when Rainie says that.
There is something I’ve learned
in my one day at court—
no matter how plain
you make your truth,
not everyone will see it.
Headwater Courthouse Day Two
You don’t have to
sleep on the floor,
Rainie says that night,
and moves over
to make room
for me
in my bed.
I think about
getting up,
and going to the river,
to look for Clay,
but I’m pulled down into sleep
and don’t wake up
until the morning
of Day Two.
Sara is there
with her loud exhaust,
to pick Rainie up.
Good luck,
Rainie says,
and runs out the door.
I don’t know what
Good luck
she means,
but I say thanks.
Good luck
for Mom and Mom’s lawyer
to win?
Good luck
not to pass out
again?
Good luck
for taking away
guns?
Good luck
for a miracle
for Jonah?
Good luck
for Clay
coming back?
Elinor is here
to watch the house.
The phone has been ringing
with questions about the trial,
photographers taking photos
of Number 23 and Number 24,
newspeople knocking on the door.
Mom hands me
a box of cereal
to eat in the car,
like I’m a toddler.
She has on her Day Two outfit—
brown skirt, pale-yellow shirt.
My Day Two outfit:
Jonah’s black-and-yellow hockey jersey
comes halfway to my knees—
CARRIER on the back
in yellow,
like GARRETT—
a thin, shiny black belt,
and black leggings.
Above my bangs,
the rest of my hair
caught up
in a waterfall
like Phoebe’s.
Today GARRETT and I
are old friends—
he waves at me
and I wave at him—
both of us
black and yellow.
Mom’s lawyer
looks even more nervous
than yesterday.
He avoids looking at me.
Even though
“fainting in court”
wasn’t on the prohibited list,
I don’t think he’s happy
with my court behavior
yesterday.
Clay’s dad and Gwen
sit in the same chairs
as yesterday,
with a Clay-sized space
between them.
Is there a spray
in Clay’s father’s truck
that vaporizes bugz?
Would Clay use it on himself,
spraying one
body part
after the other,
timing how long
they take to disappear?
Would he start with his feet
or his head?
Since he has that science mind,
he’d know he needed
to save
his eyes
for last
to see what was gone
or not.
It’s a cloudy day and no sun
shines through the tall windows.
It feels cold in the courtroom
and I shiver in Jonah’s thin jersey.
When the rain starts,
it’s so loud against the windows
and on the metal roof
that Mom’s lawyer has to
raise his voice
to be heard.
First he shows
the “before” video
of Jonah
on a screen
up front.
Some of it’s blurry
because Jonah is moving—
shooting a puck, pole-vaulting,
catching a baseball in midair.
In the parts where he is still,
Jonah smiles at the camera—
the happy face
that made everyone
like him.
There’s one clip
in our backyard
where I’m hiding
from the camera
behind Jonah.
You can see my arms
and my hair
and the Kennebec River
behind us.
That is Jonah then.
This is
Jonah now,
Mom’s lawyer says.
And we have Jonah’s doctor
here,
to explain what I will be showing
in the video.
Dr. Kate
takes the stand,
and spells her name,
and takes the oath.
She holds her hands together
in front of her
like she is praying,
and waits,
like we all do,
for the movie
to begin.
Jonah After
The screen lights up
right in front of where
Clay’s father and Gwen
are sitting.
Mom’s lawyer
pauses the film,
to say
how the first image
was taken by the police
when Jonah came into the
emergency room.
His voice is suddenly drowned out
by the pounding of the rain
against the windows.
It’s as if all the water in t
he river
rose up and threw itself
at the courthouse.
Did Hunter’s mom, Sara,
predict this?
Headwater Courthouse is old
and this must happen
in big rains,
because when water starts dripping
in the right front corner
of the courtroom,
the security officer appears
with a bucket.
Please continue,
the judge says to Mom’s lawyer.
It’s easier for me
to listen to the rain
than to Mom’s lawyer.
So I do.
It’s like tuning
to a different wavelength
on a radio.
I turn the dial
in my ears
to Rain.
Clay’s father and Gwen
don’t have much choice
where to look
but at the screen.
If they turn their heads one way,
Mom and I
are sitting there.
If they turn the other way,
the judge will see
they are looking out the window
instead of
eyes up front.
Then come videos of Jonah
after his surgery—
in the hospital,
in rehab.
His face says,
“WOW, something VERY BIG
must have fallen on me.”
The next thing we see
is the video
of Jonah at home
that the professional videographer
took when I was at school.
It shows Jonah
being fed
being dressed,
all his machines
working hard.
You can see Vivian
giving him meds,
washing him,
pedaling his legs,
rowing his arms.
As we all watch,
Dr. Kate tells the ways
Jonah is a baby now.
Tube-fed
Total care
Nonmobile
I like that the rain
washes away her words.
Apnea
Aspiration
Oxygen dependent
Seizure activity
Partial paralysis
Permanent brain injury
When Mom’s lawyer is done
with the Jonah show,
Clay’s father’s lawyer
gets up.
With her back to the screen,
she speaks to Dr. Kate.
Let me ask you this.
Would you say that there’s always
a chance Jonah Carrier’s condition
might improve, that new treatments
or medications might mitigate the
severity of his present diagnoses?
The rain comes down harder then.
The security officer checks the bucket
under the drip.
Even with my ears
tuned to the Rain station,
I can’t help listening
for her answer.
Dr. Kate looks up at the last frame
in the video.
Jonah is being moved
from the bed
to the wheelchair
in his Trapeze.
I wish that were true,
Dr. Kate answers her,
but in Jonah’s case,
I have to say his condition
is considered intractable.
Clay’s father’s lawyer pauses.
I think she’s wondering
how she can look up the word
“intractable”
on her phone
without it being obvious
to the judge.
I don’t know
what it means, either,
but I can guess.
Instead,
she thanks Dr. Kate for her time,
and sits down.
I decide that
even if it’s still raining,
tonight I will go to the river,
and wait for Clay.
Hair Trigger
I didn’t know there were
“firearms experts.”
It’s not a subject
they teach in school.
Not even in the
“hands-on” programs
they won’t let me join.
The firearms expert
doesn’t look much older
than Jonah.
He is wearing a police uniform,
and in between answering,
he bites his fingernails.
After he says and spells
his name
for the court,
A-B-R-A-H-A-M B-E-R-R-Y
explains that he first
saw the firearm
after the accident,
when he was asked to
examine it
for the police.
I think Clay would like
Abraham Berry.
He tells the facts
he knows to be true
about the gun.
He doesn’t seem to be on
one side
or the other.
No, he answers Clay’s father’s lawyer,
the Smith and Wesson Model 17 revolver
belonging to Arthur LeBlanc
was not damaged
and it did not have a hair trigger.
Yes, he answers, my findings are
that the gun did NOT go off by accident.
That means the gun
can’t be blamed
for what it did.
No, he answers Mom’s lawyer,
it did not have a trigger lock
or a cable lock,
and there were five more bullets left
in the six-bullet cylinder.
Mom’s lawyer asks
the firearms expert
another question.
Were there other firearms
taken from the home of Arthur LeBlanc
that you examined?
Objection, lack of personal knowledge,
Clay’s father’s lawyer shouts.
The judge turns her
see-through-you eyes
to Abraham Berry.
Arthur LeBlanc previously testified
that other firearms were taken from his home.
Did you examine those?
Yes,
Abraham Berry answers.
I will allow it,
the judge says.
How many other firearms
did you examine?
Mom’s lawyer asks Abraham Berry.
There were six other firearms,
he says.
And how many of those
were loaded?
Objection,
Clay’s father’s lawyer says again,
more quietly this time.
I’m going to allow it,
the judge says again.
Two of the six guns
were loaded.
I didn’t know guns
had names,
and numbers.
I didn’t know
so many bullets
could fit in
one gun.
I didn’t know someone
would have
so many guns.
I have been in Clay’s house.
There are three rooms downstairs,
and three bedrooms upstairs.
Does Clay’s father have one gun
for each room,
and an extra
for the attic?
No one in the courtroom
has anything left to say.
The judge looks down from her
high seat.
Her X-ray eyes freeze us in place.
Each side to file posttrial
briefs
within two weeks, as agreed.
I will take this under advisement.
This court is now adjourned,
she says, smacks her gavel on her desk,
and stands up.
Someone says
All rise,
and everyone stands
as the judge disappears
through the curtain
behind her.
Clay’s father and Gwen
immediately get up and leave
out the back door.
What does that mean?
Mom asks her lawyer.
It means she will consider all the facts
and render an opinion sometime
in the coming weeks.
Is the trial over then?
Mom asks.
Yes, it is,
he answers.
Good. Two days’ lost pay
is two more than I can afford.
How do you think it went?
Mom asks him.
I think it went as well
as it could.
How it will turn out,
what the judge will do,
I can’t predict,
he says.
The ride back home
is quiet
except for the rain,
that is still coming down hard.
Mom has her headlights on.
That’s a rule in Maine,
Rainie told me—
if you’re using your windshield wipers,
you have to have your lights on.
Now that the trial is over,
Mom says,
I expect that you’ll put your attention
back where it belongs—
on your schoolwork.
Mom is concentrating hard
on the rainy road in front of us,
so she doesn’t notice that I’m trying
to defrost the foggy windshield
with my laser judge eyes.
I’ll take that under advisement,
I answer.
Where Are You, Clay?
Clay is not at the river.
There is no note left
under a rock there,
because I look.
Mama duck swims by,
her babies following
in a row.
I throw one of Dad’s
work hats
into the eddy.
Lightweight, it bobs there
on top of the water.
I turn back home
before it sinks.
Clay is not at home.
I see his father leave
in the Bugz Away van
by himself.
No light comes on
in Clay’s room,
no hand at his window.
The next day it’s me
on the line,
waiting for when Gwen
gets the mail.
Only I can’t see the line
anymore,
and I cross over
to the mailbox.
Gwen’s not wearing
her bathrobe,
but her sweatpants and sweatshirt
are not much better.
Her hair looks like
she just woke up
and forgot to brush the back.
I don’t even have to ask.
She tells me
three things about Clay:
Yesterday,
he cashed all his paychecks
at once,
that he’s been holding on to
