The Death of Intrigue

With swift decorousness, the judges gavel slammed on the ledge, creating a vibration of fear that shook the courtroom into silence. No one could match the judge’s power, his influence. He was a man who could change the world by his decree alone.

“Okay, okay, silence,” said the judge, looking down at those standing before him.

There was an atmosphere of finality, almost of some relief, for both prosecution and defense. Both had fought a hard fight, had come through a metamorphosis and into a new being. Both had sacrificed for this moment.

The judge signaled to the prosecution that it was his turn to give his final arguments. As quiet as it was in this courtroom, it got even quieter as the man began to speak.

“Dear judge,” said the prosecutor. “I will not waste your time with gentle platitudes and empty promises. I will only divulge the facts, or those as I see them presently. The current Mr. Maxon is a menace to society. He is a man who has never built a family, never worked more than a year at a time, never supported his community. He is also a butt-grabber. The State of Massachusetts believes that this man is a detriment to society. Prison is too good for him. He requires the ultimate correction. We feel as though a decade in prison and a lifetime sex offender registry should be enough to correct his errant behavior. I rest my case.”

“Good,” said the judge. “And does the defense wish to say anything?”

“Your honor,” said the defense. “My client was falsely accused. He didn’t even live in the community in which this crime was committed. He had moved away years prior. The timelines just don’t add up. This court has already established that my client isn’t perfect. It has already been established that he has had problems. But to ruin a man’s life over a handful of celluloid? That would be the ultimate travesty. My client is a good man. He has been compliant with all decrees and requirements up to this point. The most important thing is that he has been responsible. He has not abdicated what was his to complete. I ask only that you consider his good parts as well as the bad. Thank you, your honor.”

The judge thought about it for a moment. A hesitation of this kind could mean many things. Good or bad. Mr. Maxon was on the edge of his seat. He couldn’t not watch as his future was decided.

The judge found him guilty of butt-grabbing. His sentence would be 15 years in prison, plus a lifetime sex offender registry.

Mr. Maxon was prepared for this eventuality, but the power and strength of such an outcome was something that it was difficult to prepare for. He thought about his life thus far. He thought about all the things he’d been through, all the difficulty, the trials, and tribulations. Everything he’d tried to do to make his life better.

The prison bus took him away. It wasn’t a very long ride, by prisoner standards. He would have preferred to have more time to think. When he saw the sign of the prison, he knew he had arrived. Something came over him. He decided, sitting on the bus, looking at his new home for the next fifteen years, that he was going to treat this as an opportunity. Prison wasn’t the end of his life, but the beginning. He wasn’t dying but living. This was real life.

After placing his meager possessions in a locker, locked away, he proceeded to his cell. The halls of the prison were dingy. And as the guard led him to his cell, Mr. Maxon thought only of what lay before him. He was beginning to forget his past. He was certain of his future. This wasn’t some mistake. He was meant to bet here.

When the guard finally got him to his cell, Mr. Maxon was quick to place his things down on the bed. He then knelt on the floor to pray. He had never prayed before. Nor did he know who he was praying to or what he expected to hear back. Was he praying to himself? His own ego? He had no idea.

“Dear God,” said Mr. Maxson. “I’m not praying to you right now. I guess I am. I know I’ve never prayed before, but that’s immaterial. I am in a bad way right now. I know it seems like I’m whining, like I just want favors. I’ve never been to church, not even once.

“I don’t know how to say this, but it’s not as simple for me as saying that you do or don’t exist. I don’t believe in God, but this isn’t about what I believe. This is about the future. I can’t guarantee that my life will get better, but I’ve got to live it either way. What I’ve lost is nothing compared to what I could lose if I give up.

“So, let’s make a deal. You and me. I want you to know that this is the real me. I wouldn’t be coming to you for someone else. When I say it’s me, you know I’m telling the truth. God, I don’t care if it kills me. I will treat this day and every day going forward as if it were my last.”

Mr. Maxon then went for chow. At the tables, men regaled him of the times they’d tried and lost. The gigantic fish they had tried to catch somehow eluded them. Right after chow, Mr. Maxon went straight to the library. They were almost closed for the day, but Mr. Maxon was thinking differently. He’d never finished an adult book. For him reading ended in high school, in the twelfth grade. He picked up a book and finished it in three weeks.

The next book took one week. By the end of the six months, he’d read twenty-five books and was beginning to learn to read in other languages. As time went on, the worst thing that could have happened to him turned into a life that had potential. He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know what the world would do. The jury was still out on whether he had a future.

When he got out of prison after eleven years, for good behavior, he was ready to tackle the world. He had massive challenges as a man recently released from prison, but times were changing. He could feel his life becoming more of a beacon of hope exponentially.