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I had sorted my documents and images and notes upon the bed closest to the window. Not because there was any light, from it; storm clouds had rolled in and removed what little was left of the evening sun. It just seemed that looking at them...seeing them there...in order...I hoped they would soothe my worries.
They didn’t.
I’d shown them all to ReShawn (an attorney), and he had been very positive in his comments.
“You should let Walstead know about the school being moved,” he’d said. “Before the trial begins.”
“Why wouldn’t he already be aware of that?” I’d asked.
“He may have forgotten, or not really made the connection, yet. It happen fairly recently. He’s sure to agree this is a waste of time and resources and withdraw the charges.”
“What makes you think so?”
“It’s just a misdemeanor, Simon. To go through a trial for something this minimal? I don’t think Bush would go for that.”
“Bush?”
“Oh, he’s the DA. Very pragmatic.”
“But Walstead has a one-hundred percent conviction rate before Judge Falwell.”
“Of cases he takes before him. He’s not averse to refusing to take a case all the way if he doesn’t think he’ll win it. Even in municipal court.”
It made sense and I would like to have believed him, but something in my gut was telling me this was not a mere misdemeanor charge, anymore. It was more like a challenge of some kind. Like neither he nor that woman backing him up...Manville; Elissa Manville; get your names correct...they were unwilling to allow that a gay man might be innocent. The way they’d been so tense around me. Still and formal, in contrast to how ReShawn described them.
“Both of ‘em’re pretty easy-going,” he’d said. “I’ve dealt with them in other cases. Bush makes it a point for his office not to try and force a conviction in anything trivial.”
“Me being arrested is hardly...”
“To them, something trivial. Misdemeanor, first offense? No enhancement meaning no jail time? Small fine? It costs more to try it than they’d get in return.”
“That’s a business proposal.”
“That’s today’s system of justice.”
There seemed to be a great deal of truth to what he was saying, but he hadn’t seen how friendly Walstead and that fucking cop were. Or how Manville had gazed at the bastard. I had the distinct impression they were all great friends.
It had caused me to go online, once I got to my hotel, and look deeper into the three of them. Walstead’s bio on the office’s site had him on the debate team in high school, cum laude in pre-law and finishing at Harvard. Paley’s was harder to pin down, but I’d finally learned he had been in high school at the same time as Walstead. Same year. And was a total jock. A big man on campus, I’m sure. Manville was listed as a paralegal and had been two years behind them. I got the impression she’d probably hit law school, soon.
This only added to my certainty that the case would not only go through, but also be found against me.
I shut everything down and looked back at the things on the bed...and noticed it had started raining. Hard. I grabbed my hotel key and stepped out on the walkway to watch.
There was little breeze, so it poured straight down. Smothered the parking lot with water and splashing drops. I always found rain to be cleansing. The aroma of it. The gentle noise, no matter how loud it became. The near tenderness accompanying it. I could let myself be calm and think and my mind would settle.
I leaned against the door frame and slowly slid to the floor, letting the splashing hints of water drift over to me the from the railing. All they did was dampen the lower part of my trousers. I was wearing socks, so removed them and pulled my pants legs up to let the tiny puffs wash against my toes and ankles, emphasizing the tenderness.
Alain had thought me mad, the first time he saw me doing this. I was living in a duplex by Breckenridge Park, downstairs, and sitting cross-legged on the tile under the section that was covered. I’d had on shorts, a cut-off tee-shirt and flip-flops, and he’d scurried up from parking on the street. God...in that monstrous Matador he's thought was so cool.
“You goin’ out to dance in it, next?” he’d asked, shaking off the rain.
I’d just shaken my head. The silence was too nice, at that moment. I didn’t even need to get up and let him in. The door was open, so he’d headed inside, dripping wet.
That was the only time he’d ever left me alone with it.
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