This is part 1 of what will be a series of a short memoir.
One week after my twenty-fourth birthday, I am half-aware of sitting in a dimly lit courtroom, a judge and two men standing at a table before him mumbling. The room sharpens into focus as I realize someone, the judge, speaks more loudly, looking roughly in my direction. I sit diagonally across the room, distancing myself from the defendant. When the judge repeats the question, “Do either of those who pressed charges want to say anything before the defendant is sentenced?” I shake my head no. Now, I just want to get out of this dark room into daylight and away from everything that courtroom represents. The judge turns back to the defendant, who pled guilty to two counts felony in the 2nd degree indecency with a child, to read the terms of the defendant’s plea-bargain. Years later, I read them clearly on the official court document: ten years deferred community supervision; $1000.00 fine; $262.25 court cost; $25.00 crimestoppers fee; $25.00 time payment fee; and additionally summarized 30 days of jail time spread out over 5 weekends. Only the fine and fees doubled for the two counts. Those were the terms of my father’s bargain for pleading guilty to sexually abusing my sister and me.
That was what my saying something amounted to. That was what my sister Brenda’s and my rape was worth. All my life, including in that courtroom, I kept my mouth shut about what in therapy many years after that day I would learn was psychological, physical, and sexual abuse at the hands of both my parents. Was giving a written witness statement truly worth it? If I wanted my legal statement to right wrongs against myself, the court fell short. If I wanted my legal statement to make a difference for anyone, I fell short. I can’t do anything about the court ruling or what or how I spoke about my rape for my court case, but I can do something about what or to whom I speak of my rape and other abuse now. And the key to what and to whom I say it today is in my past.
The Hope Chronicles 