At Last

There was ticking from somewhere in the back of the room. The clicking of time passing by slowly through atmosphere and space. I found my finger nails in shambles as they drummed quietly on the wood of the court room table. To the feeble minded, I looked nervous due to lying. To the intelligent, I was scared shitless of having to return home with my mother. Scared shitless of having to see her at all.1

The room felt tight and suffocating with her in it. She sat at the other table only partially obscured by my father and our lawyer who were positioned at the same table as me. Her hair fell in straw colored curls over her thin shoulders. Her eyes were puffy from fake tears; red rimmed irises the color of tree bark. And she looked at me, smirked at me; all too self assured that she was going to win this custody battle and walk out with me in tow. I wasn’t too certain that she was totally incorrect.2

I gnawed at my thumb nail, tasting the metallic, bitter tang of blood spill onto my tongue. Acid churned in the pit of my stomach as I began to feel overheated in the suit my Dad made me wear. I tugged at the color, my heart racing. I could feel the panic attack closing in. I could feel it getting harder to breathe.3

“Aaron, your mother’s lawyer is about to call you to the stand. Just tell the truth. No matter what she asks,” Mr. Johnson, our lawyer, instructed me in a whisper. I gulped down the vile that lined the esophagus and felt a cold, clammy sweat break out across my forehead. 4

“Kay…” My words came out trembling.5

“I’d like to call Aaron Whittmeyer to the stand.” Heidi Grantson, my mother’s attorney, said my name with all the conviction of a Catholic priest damning a sinner to Hell. Her shrew like face was pulled into a smirk. ‘I’ve got this in the bag,’ it seemed to say and the familiar sting of terror washed over me as I made my way up to the stand. 6

It was just like in the movies. They made me place my hand over the Bible and swear to tell the truth, which I agreed to do. All the while my mother’s eyes penetrated me.7

“Aaron, would you please explain to the court why you no longer wish to live with your mother?” Heidi said, pacing back and forth in front of me with papers folded behind her back.8

I swallowed hard. “She and I don’t get along. I don’t like living with her. I’m a lot happier with my Dad.”9

“Is your Dad home a lot?” She paces.10

“Not really. He’s an executive with his company. He goes on a lot of business trips. But he and I always spend time together when he’s home.”11

Her eye brows rise. “So, if your father is granted full custody, you’ll spend most of your time alone. Is that correct?”12

I pick at my finger tips. “Yes. I guess I would.”13

“Any particular reason why you’d want to be alone often?” She stopped before the stand and looked up at me cockily. 14

“No…” I stammered a response as her gaze intensified, honing in.15

“Do you really think that it’s safe for you to be alone all the time?”16

“I..I don’t see why it’d be unsafe.” My legs shook fretfully. Panic held me tightly in its clutches. Its claws clinched against my skin.17

Heidi shook her head, her face a mask of false contemplation. 18

“I would like to present to the judge the discharge papers from McCale Mental Hospital where Aaron Whittmeyer spent three weeks in treatment this previous August. Would you explain to the jury why you were admitted to this mental facility?” 19

I looked at my Dad and my lawyer. They both nodded in reassurance that the truth was necessary. 20

“I tried to kill myself.”21

“How did you attempt suicide?” Her voice was almost a hiss. Her eyes lit up with something close to bloodlust. 22

“I overdosed on Dramamine. I read about how to do it over the internet. We had a new bottle because my Dad uses it to prevent motion sickness on long flights. I took the whole bottle.” Sweat leaked down my back as blood leaked onto my face with embarrassment. 23

“So, it was premeditated?”24

“Yes. I had been thinking about killing myself for a long time. I was depressed.”25

“Why were you depressed? If the documents are correct, your father was home at the time of your suicide attempt. You voiced to the court that you are happier with your father.”26

“I am. I wanted the chance to say good bye to him,” I said, looking down at the grain of the false wood floor. “I was depressed being with my mother all the time. I hate being with my Mom.”27

“Now, Aaron. You’ve repeated this many times. But you are yet to tell the court why you hate being with your mother. Is it because she doesn’t allow you to do drugs?”28

“No. I don’t do drugs.” My face was contorted with offence. 29

“I would like to petition the judge for Aaron to be drug tested,” Heidi responded.30

“Your Honor, what does this have to do with custody? Aaron sees a therapist and was drug tested during his stay in the mental ward. No evidence was found that he has ever abused drugs,” Mr. Johnson called.31

“I’ll allow it. Just because he has no prior history of drug use does not mean that he does not currently use them,” the judge said in a proud voice. It made me wonder if he had some preconceived notion of teenagers.32

“Aaron. What reason do you have for not wanting to live with your mother?” Heidi asked in a brutal tone. 33

“I don’t like to.”34

“Why do you not like to?”35

“I…I can’t explain it.” Panic was choking me, smothering me, hanging me.36

“Please explain for the court why you don’t like living with your mother.”37

“I can’t!” Strangling me. Gagging me. Constricting me.38

“Your Honor,” Heidi began, a winners smile stretched across her vindictive face. “It is clear that Aaron has no reasons. Aaron has proven himself to be unstable in the past. It would be unwise to grant custody to a man who is unable to be present in his life. Susan Scott has been a good mother to her son…”39

“No she has not!” Cutting me. Breaking me. Splitting me.40

“Explain to the court then how she has been an unfit mother to you.”41

“Does a fit mother molest her son?” The panic subsided as the words throttled their way from my lips. Heidi’s face melted into an emotionless cast of shock. My mother’s face paled to a shade whiter than chalk.42

“Are you accusing your mother of sexually abusing you?” Heidi’s voice quivered. For the first time, she is uncertain. For the first time, I am honest with the world. 43

Hot, salty tears stung in my eyes. My throat felt painfully tight and my voice shook, uneasy and quiet, when I spoke. “I’m not accusing her of anything. I’m stating what’s true. She has been molesting me since I was eight years old and my father started going on his business trips. She tried to replace him with me. I can’t live like that anymore. If I have to, I will lose my life.”44

The court room erupted in mutters; there was a distant banging of a mallet on wood, but all I could see was my mother’s face seething shock, terror, and shame. The trial was postponed for two weeks and my other was taken into the custody of the law. My father cried and blamed himself. My therapist put me through rigorous mental evaluations for the sake of proving that what I said was true. All of this was just background noise. My inner self was peaceful. I had done the nearly impossible. I had admitted to being a victim. A victim, but a free victim. A victim with the chance to survive. A victim with hope. At last.45