Stand by me

DOORS

 

I approach the house that once was mine very slowly and pass it by.  It's been much too long since I've walked these streets. The few maple trees are higher and I know I am a lot shorter, limp on my prosthetic left leg. A few children play games, text their friends. These kids weren't even a gleam in their parents eyes when I left the neighbor- hood. No one smiles or waves to me. They don't seem to notice me at all. My heart palpitates, thumps. I feel faint for a minute but get my wits together and proceed.

 

The air is fresh, smells like just cut lilacs my mom used to put in a cut glass tall vase. The newspaper I had bought as soon as I stepped off the bus I threw in a city trash receptacle. It was useless to me. I own no more stocks and bonds, nor did I recognize the department store names offering a huge one day only sale. I worry. Did I get off my bus too soon, too late?

 

Then I calm down. On the corner is the Woodfield Drugstore, right where it was when my world turned upside down. I was paying for Barbasol shaving cream and a new razor. The register drawer was open. Out of the blue, out of hell, five policemen, guns drawn, drew closer and closer to me, made me lie down flat on the floor while they felt my entire body, pants' pockets. 'Stand up, don't say a word  and don't move a hair on your head until we tell you to.' One officer laughed. 'Joe,' he said, 'The perp doesn't have much hair to move.'

 

The store clerk comes over, looks me up and down and I am a goner. , 'Yes, he's the man who robbed us last week and killed our cashier.' My denials are worthless. My fear is evident. I pee in my pants.

 

Things go bad to worse. I am given a pro bono lawyer who looks like he just graduated law school.  I am identified by three  people who had been there when the tragedy occurred. I had not!.  Having no previous arrests does not stop the judge from slamming me into the hoosegow where I am in a single cell. My family visits, tries to console me, wants bail arranged but Judge Bancroft says 'No.' A trial is set for June 6 and this is only February 2. My dreams are fearsome. I languish as much as possible on the single cot in my cell, avoid trying to make friends in the yard. I read all the law books in the jail's small library, don't understand much.

 

Visiting is only twice a week for a half hour and it takes a month of waiting until my parents come, bring me a few sweets, magazines that are first examined before I get them. Hallelujah! They have a found an attorney willing to take my case. They have put their house up as collateral. Mr. Frank E. Stein visits me daily, has come up with proof that I was not the murderer and presents it, with diagrams, with witnesses who knew where I really was when the murder was committed. While I sit and listen, I realize how smooth he is and my confidence grows.

 

The jury is out for six hours when I hear the verdict, loud and clear.-'Innocent of all charges.' My wonderful family surrounds me. There are technicalities to be taken care of and I am return to my cell while papers are finalized. I am given a plastic bag so I can take my belonging home. I trash it. Want nothing from this god-forsaken place.

 

On my last day, Frank E. Stein meets me and my folks in a private area and I watch my Dad, see a tear go down my Mom's face, as they hand the deed to our house to Mr. Stein. We leave and the door automat- ically closes and locks!