Reconsider

RECONSIDER

A drop of rain hit the window and she turned her head to watch it roll down to the sill. Beyond, the dark clouds that loomed behind the straggled line of cypress trees - sentinels that seemed to break rank as they marched down the side of the hill - flashed momentarily with a shrouded lightning burst.

It was like one of those fluoro lights coming on at the mart when she opened up early every morning. Not the way it looked, but the way it felt. Lonely and a little sickening.

She turned her attention back to the man seated at the desk in front of her. He was balding. Used to be handsome, maybe still dependent on the idea of that. She had noticed his belt was too tight, and his jeans too skinny for his frame, suddenly heavy after a sunny youth spent drinking a little too much. Suddenly, only because he still hadn’t recovered from his change in physique, and was still making do with his old clothes.

He licked both the corners of his mouth - a purely utilitarian gesture meant to remove the dried spittle he had realised often formed there. She had to give it to him that, despite the vanity of not wanting to accommodate his pot belly with better-fitting clothes, he did not have the self-consciousness of a vain man.

He finally looked up at her, his fingers poised to turn another page of the document that was supposed to encapsulate months of therapy.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t reconsider?”

“Why would I do that?”

He smirked, going back to the document. She expected him to shake his head and make some remark about all things being final.

They had patted her down before she went in, having set off the sensor at the entrance, even after they had taken off her cuffs. A security woman had come over and run her fingers over her body, both hands together as they slipped down between her tits.

“Namaste,” she had said, but the woman had ignored her, splitting her hands and running them under her bust before rounding them out around her waist. Then she bent down, her hands tracing down the side of her pants to her calves.

“You got a wired bra?”

She had pulled her shirt right down to show her cleavage - the wires that were cutting into her flesh. The security man standing at the side had watched impassively.

“Why’s he staring at my tits?” she had asked, loud.

He met her gaze, dead-eyed.

“It’s too big in the band and you need to size up the cups. Your tits are fucking hanging.”

She blinked. “You, I’ll let live.”

She wasn’t sure she would let Desk Man live, not with his dry spittle mouth. She fingered the little switchblade that was now cradled in the light grasp of her hand that lay on her lap. He wouldn’t notice because of the way he held the document, a little too high above the desk instead of letting it rest on it.

The steel had gotten warm laying against the skin betwee the deadweight of her tit in her loose bra cup and her ribcage. While he had let her wait in silence as he read her file, she had reached under her shirt, swiped along the rim of the bra wire with a hooked finger, and let it drop out into her hand.

“Wouldn’t you rather plead insanity?”

“I’m not insane.”

“You could have been overcome in the moment. Years of abuse. Rage. He taunted you.”

“I knew what I was doing.”

“It means life. You’re a minor. You could be out in a few years and start over, if you would just reconsider.”

Lightning flashed again, and she looked back outside. The cypress trees were disappearing, rain blurring them into tall smudges on a wall of diminishing green.

The mart never looked bright, even with the ten fluoros overhead. The darkness there was pervasive, lasting long into the morning after the sun rose. It was only when the sun peaked overhead that its light would flood the entry and warm up the dimness and dankness.

But by then she would have finished the enduring, and the sun was no longer a help.

If she had had to lock up instead, she wondered what difference the sun might have made. Walking into the mart bathed in gold, instead of murk.

“I’m glad he’s dead. Glad I made him smile forever.”

Desk Man stared at her, his lips a thin line. She could see he wasn’t scared. What she had done didn’t scare him at all.

“Don’t pity me.”

“How do you know if I am pitying you or not?”

“You looking at me like that. Like you could ever understand-”

“I’m also glad he is dead. But I can go home tonight, not a murderer. I don’t know how looking at you makes you think I’m thinking about you. I got pets to feed and no one to do anything about it if something happens to me.”

She clucked her tongue, staring him down.

“You, I’ll let live.”

“Well, me and my pets thank you. Now, would you reconsider? Endure the jury and the public’s pity. Get put away for a few years and come out and live a life free from him.”

“I’ll never be free from him.”

“Aww, boo hoo.”

She frowned, feeling the spine of the blade that rested a little outside of the lip of its sheath.

“If you’re on my side, why wouldn’t the jury be? Why plead insanity?”

He finally put the document down and crossed his arms on the desk, almost hugging himself as he spoke. She could see how his chest bunched, almost up under his chin.

“You spent an hour carving his mouth out like a jack o’lantern. Hard to sell the self-defense part with that.”

“He was already dead. I did it because when I realised he was dead, I wish I had done it when he was still alive.”

Desk Man looked at her again, a long moment, thin-lipped.

“So, you see why I cannot plead insanity.”

Desk Man’s lips tightened as his chin jutted. Then he nodded.

“Alright. I know what to do.”

He called out for security, and the woman walked in from just outside the open door. She stood, offering her hands to be cuffed. The woman clicked on the cuffs.

“You, I’ll let live. You can thank him for that.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.”

As she was escorted out, she turned for one last look at Desk Man. He had sat back in his seat, stretching out the paunch a little. He ran a hand through his bald patch, scratching a little, pursing his lips as he stared at the paper on his desk.

Then she saw the moment his eyes caught the glint of metal on the chair, just beyond the edge of his desk. His eyes darted to her just as the lightning flashed again.

It wasn’t fear, no. More like surprise and maybe a little amusement. But he was certainly on his toes in a way he hadn’t been throughout the meeting.

Then she was outside, heading past the other security man. She caught his eye just as he looked up.

“Next time, you search me” she said, just as Desk Man yelled out to him. He frowned, but heeded the call and ran straight to the office.

In the car back to her holding cell, she stared out at the clouds over the hills. They had emptied their darkened bellies of water, and were now gauzy wisps petering out under the glinty sunlight. The rain had washed the roads and cars, and the air was glittery.

Now, she understood that she could be free - and unlike what Desk Man had said, she didn’t have to be out of jail for that to happen.

She would probably never get out til her middle age after pulling that stunt, but it didn’t ever matter, not even before she had met Desk Man. All that was left to endure now, was time.