“You should be ashamed of yourself,” the judge told me after hearing the fabricated tale of how I pushed Lady down a flight of stairs and threatened her repeatedly at knifepoint. I could only stare at my lawyer and wonder how long he would allow this onslaught to continue. It’s a wonder why so many of today’s youth get caught up in the judicial system.
Women have a tremendously unfair advantage when it comes to issues of assault. You see, in North Carolina, or most states for that matter, regardless of what truly may have happened, a women need only to say something happened then the burden of proof falls on the man to prove his innocence. Not a task easily accomplished unless you have a witness, and at this moment in time, with all the hurt, disappointment and anger I felt, I was alone. I was the angry black man who had attacked the “weaker” sex, at least in the courts eyes.
The true story is ironic in and of itself. I admit I have always had a bit of a temper since childhood. But I have always believed and stood by the fact I would never and have never laid a hand on a woman. I believe it to be an act of cowards and those harboring low self-esteem. But I was angry.
The argument had lasted way too long that day. The relationship was far overdue. The pain I was never allowed to express was being vocalized. A neighbor panicked from the uncertainty of the situation at hand. And the fact I was seen walking around the neighborhood with a knife in hand only exacerbated the fact the police needed to be called.
Lady and I were discussing the why’s and how’s of our relationship. I couldn’t understand how her curiosity would drive her to sleep with someone I considered to be my best friend. Can you believe that was the reason she gave me as to why she cheated on me all those years ago? She was curious. Ok, I can kind of sort of in a parallel universe while intoxicated and tired understand where she was coming from. After all, I was, up to that point, the only man she had ever slept with to my knowledge. But I also felt like our relationship was solid enough to be able to discuss an issue like that if it was on her mind. And why in the hell did she have to get curious about somebody I was so close with? I mean damn, she could have at least had the decency to find some stranger. Or here’s an even better thought, why not shut the fuck up and keep the shit to yourself instead of telling everyone you came to know about what you had done and making me feel like a fool in the process.
I digress. In either case, the anger boiled. I didn’t know what to do, so I removed myself from the situation. I walked out of the house and down the stairs to the parking lot. I begin circling the building trying to calm myself down. After all, I had determined long ago this woman was not worth the hassle. On my third lap around the apartment, I passed her car and stopped. As I stared at my reflection in the window, I began to think about all the things I had given this woman. All the time I had spent with her because it was what she wanted. All of the potential women I put on hold because of our relationship. All of the ass I had passed up on during my early years in college. And all the money I had spent a few months back to put tires on this car.
I continued my fourth lap around the complex. I reached inside my pocket and pulled out the knife I frequently carried with me. I don’t know why I carried it. Maybe it was to feel cool or something. I was young, and it was just the thing to do I suppose. I came around the corner again and focused on the front tire of the vehicle. At that moment, it felt like the right thing to do; to regain some of the emotions I had given for what I deemed were her years of betrayal.
As the blade pierced the wall of the front tire, I could hear the sound of air being released and with it my pain, sorrows and misunderstandings. I inhaled deeply as the front end of the car sank further to the ground and I could feel the release of pressure from my heart. I felt free at that moment.
I started back up the stairs towards the apartment door and saw Lady come storming outside. She passed by me silently headed to her vehicle. I walked inside the apartment, shut the door behind me and locked it. I could see Lady reacting outside to the revelation her car was immobile. A smile grew across my face and I felt redeemed, but only for a moment as I suddenly realized Babygirl was pulling into the parking lot. I opened the door and my argument with Lady erupted as Babygirl stepped out of her car.
“Yes.”
Babygirl was leaving in a fit of hurt and rage once the police arrived. Lady was standing on the curb and flagged down the officers. I wasn’t sure what she said, but something suddenly felt very wrong with the whole situation. I was getting ready to get in my car and follow after Babygirl when one of the officers told me I needed to remain at the scene. An ambulance showed up shortly after and escorted Babygirl away. I asked what was going on but it seemed as though no one was willing to answer any question I posed at the time. Next thing I know I was being read my rights. After hearing my side of the argument, the officer assured me it was merely a formality.
The first court date came and passed. It took me time and money to return to my hometown where this whole fiasco had transpired. Having to take an hour and a half to drive all the way into the city only to be told the case would be continued because the “victim” was not present was a bit disturbing. My lawyer asked what I felt Lady’s true intentions were. I had no idea. I would have never thought it would have come to something like this. He listened to my side of the story and told me I should have nothing to worry about. Besides, I had a witness. Babygirl had continued to stand by my side through hours of explanations and days of apologies. And she had made the journey to court with me to ensure things remained fair.
A few months later, a return trip was in order. Again, Lady did not show up. My lawyer decided at this point all of the hassle was Lady’s last attempt to hurt me, but perhaps she had realized the error of her ways and decided not to pursue this futile effort of hers. It sounded good to me. I hadn’t spoken with her for months. And besides, the thought of even being in a courtroom was becoming repulsive to me. I hadn’t gotten so much as a speeding ticket growing up and the only trouble I had found myself in were the childhood fights we all went through growing up. I had witnessed plenty but kept my distance from trouble.
My lawyer’s over-confidence assisted with my downfall. A few months passed and again I found myself back in my hometown waiting to hear my name be called from the list of the accused. My lawyer and I sat in the back of the courtroom talking about nothing. I was feeling relieved knowing I would no longer have to deal with this time consuming venture and I’m sure he was content because he would get paid regardless.
Just when I was preparing to leave near the end of the bailiff’s final call, a door opened and Lady walked in. Looking back now, it was actually quite dramatic. Here is the threatened female, too scared to show up in court alone, now present with another female friend by her side. This slim woman wearing glasses played the victim role so well and I looked to my lawyer for answers. His suggestion, since my witness wasn’t present, was to plead guilty in hopes the judge would show sympathy towards a first time offender who had realized the errors of his bad judgments. It sounded good to a young, scared nineteen-year-old black man.
Well, the problem with this was after my plea, they allowed Lady to speak. And she did what she had come to do. She would make sure I was punished for my disobedience. She would ensure I was forever scarred for my disloyalty. She would get on the witness stand in front of everyone who remained in the courtroom and lie about the whole thing to a biased female judge. She told them how I pushed her down and pulled her down the flight of stairs trying to remove her unwilling body from the premises. How I threatened her at knife point and slashed her tires as she struggled to get in the car and drive away. Maybe she should have been the writer; she was definitely more imaginative than I could ever be.
For far too long, Lady’s actions had scarred my being and had not allowed me to ever truly trust a woman or give them my all. I learned at that moment I could only control my own actions so I stopped concerning myself with the actions of those I chose to be with when they were not in my presence.
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