All That's Left Of A Man
Let me tell you about this belt I saw today ...
I'm sitting in a federal courthouse pew. Next to me are three people -- two young men and a young woman. They're there to be sentenced for their part in a drug conspiracy.
A peculiarity of the court system is that you can be sitting next to a condemned man and not know it. Not everyone who is about to spend a good portion of their life in prison is already in jail. If they behave well, they get to live free until their day of judgment comes (if you call it freedom with what's looming on the horizon).
The first man is called up to be sentenced.
He's given a break on his sentence because he wore a wire, bought drugs and helped bust up another drug ring. He's sentenced to several years in prison and allowed to leave the courtroom and report to prison on his own in the coming weeks.
The second man makes his way before the judge. This man is guilty of the same crime, except that in addition he had a gun in his possession when the house was raided.
The gun means that he gets a stiffer sentence and that he's required to be taken into custody the moment the sentence is rendered.
He cooperated similarly, providing enough information to force the first man to admit what he did instead of maintaining innocence and forcing a jury trial.
Like the first young man, his cooperation allowed him to mingle among society until his sentencing day came.
He's wearing a collared shirt with a tie, dress pants and a belt. He walked into court today knowing he wouldn't leave a free man. Still, he's dressed as if he weren't a criminal. You have to suppose it can't hurt.
***
Whenever someone steps forward from the crowd for sentencing (instead of being led through a side door wearing bright-colored jumpsuits and bound by chains), the U.S. Marshals -- dressed discretely in suits, blending in with the lawyers -- position themselves in anticipation of what they think a sentence might be.
If they know someone is on the verge of being taken into custody, they block any path back out the courtroom double doors. Just in case the passion of the moment takes hold.
It's a surreal display, watching someone being surrounded ever-so-subtly in a strange reality theater.
The young man gets 14 years.
He's been in jail before. This isn't his first crime. Once the sentence is imposed, he looks around for direction on what to do next. A mixture of confusion and familiarity.
The marshals lead him to a side door and point at his waist. The door closes and he's gone.
Immediately after, the young woman, who had been struggling to catch her breath before her turn, walks before the judge. She's in less trouble. She simply helped them keep the "stash house" in order.
The second young man was her boyfriend.
As she stands before the judge, sobbing and begging for forgiveness, a marshal re-enters the courtroom with a belt in his hand.
It's one of those kinds of laced belts that has all the holes where you can stick the metal clip through any part of the belt (the kind that people who seem to be uncomfortable dressing up often wear).
The marshal sits down casually in a chair as the woman is sentenced. She gets a couple of years behind bars and is allowed to leave and report to prison later.
As she walks by, the marshal hands her the belt and tells her someone has to take it. The alternative is that it's thrown away. The fear is that a desperate man might try to hang himself before he's stripped of his possessions and dressed in prison clothes.
This man won't be seeing another belt until he reaches his mid-life crisis.
***
We die with each second that ticks toward inevitability, whatever that might be. In this particular reality, we have created a manufactured inevitability. The kind that makes loss of life seem ordinary.
The belt is well-worn. The leathery material is crusting off.
The marshal is holding it like a dead, decapitated snake.
As I look at the belt, I think of how a young man died today.
Or at least a part of him.
Or at least the man he was.
A free man.
The belt looked like something a beast would expel from its stomach after it devoured a person.
Like spitting out indigestible bones.
6 comments:
I feel sympathy for these kids... I could never feel sympathy for a rapist. Plus, I wouldn't want to sit next to one at the courthouse either.
Powerful writing.
Yup. Thought-provoking.
wow. one time I had to go to traffic court for a headlight that was out (hardly a crime). Anyway I was sitting in court waiting to be called, and listening to the parade of offenders going before the judge. One by one people sitting next to me went up and turned out to be skanks, hookers, druggies, child abusers...I was so creeped out.
you know, dealers are just people trying to make a living because it's the only way they know how.
and the users? they're using because it's the only thing they know that brings them comfort, even if it is only temporary.
it's easy to see by in ignorant bliss and say these people only have themselves to blame. it's easy to pretend that "social closure" doesn't exist. it's easy to pretend that there's a meritocracy. it's easy to pretend that we're okay and they're not.
Wow. This was an amazing post.
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