Begin reading Rebecca’s story here.
Have you ever sat in a court room? It is nothing like what you would imagine. There is nothing fast pace about it. It is all about the hurry up and wait but don’t dare be late.
Our first court day I walked through security with Lawyer, my Mom and and my Ex. We had to wait outside the court room for over an hour, in which I ran to the bathroom somewhere around 10 times to puke, my nerves had the best of me. Bio Mom sat on a bench on one side of the door flanked by her entourage and me on the other side by mine. My Ex would hold my hand and fidget, my Mom would remain calm and make small talk with hometown gossip. Anything to make it seem like that day wasn’t what it truly was.
Talk about never-ending tension.
The people watching sucked and the vision of people in orange jumpsuits and handcuffs walking around was enough to make me sit up straight and not even want to take the Lord’s name in vain.
Whatever case was happening inside the chamber that day took up the entire day and we never got a chance to set foot inside. But Lawyer was paid for his pacing and time on the phone with other clients. Eventually we would become the case that took up entire days with people waiting outside and never getting a chance in. Fair is fair I guess.
That first chance of walking into the chambers and taking my seat was gut wrenching. Nothing about it felt right and I would never recommend it. Thank God our divorce happened in a completely other courthouse or the Ex and I may not have even gone through with it. I go back to that moment every time the news shows the dingy, dark brown inside of that exact room. I suppose the place isn’t meant to feel inviting but it was really depressing.
I sat at the front table with Lawyer to my left, our supporters in the seats behind us. They may as well have been five miles away, I felt naked and lonely while I fought back tears. The judge sat up on his throne looking judgmental, as one would expect and you could hear a pin drop if need be. It was the tick tock on the clock, the sniffle, the tiny inhale that meant life was happening somewhere, just not here. Here it was just purgatory. Life on pause, again.
You stood when told, you sat when told, and I attempted to look like I knew what I was doing. I mainly learned I never wanted to be a lawyer and that I would never think highly of judges. In the beginning it was just the lawyers talking, submitting the evidence that took us months, blood, sweat and tears to collect. Evidence that I though surely the judge would be floored by but hell if that man was even fully awake. Nothing excited that man. I wanted to scream at him when evidence was submitted that we collected by having a private investigator, didn’t he know that cost us $150 an hour that night? Didn’t he know we sat by the phone all night? Didn’t he know we worried? The FUCKING WORRY, DID HE NOT GET IT??
Clearly he didn’t.
I wanted that judge to feel what I felt, instead of looking at me like a pathetic 23-year-old wasting his time. Did he not realize how much I didn’t want to waste his time and HE was wasting MY time? This was costing me a fucking fortune for him to take his time. This was costing a baby Rebecca, quite possibly, her life. Didn’t he know EVERY second counted.
Again, I wanted Lawyer to assume all responsibility. I wanted him to make everything okay and tell that judge what the fuck was up but I knew by then, that would never happen. Bio Mom and I still had to take the stand. We had to answer the questions, state the facts and act like it was all black and white and it was killing me inside. By the time we hit that court room I was a fucking mess, we were a fucking mess and things weren’t looking good.