Skin and Bones

Gerard is softly running his fingers in circles on the back of my hand as his thumb is wrapped around mine. My head is mainly hung low, but I do glance up now and then to catch Gerard’s beautiful eyes gazing back at me.
Our hands are joined like this on the table, but the social worker can’t see us from the living room. He can’t hear us either, since we don’t say a peep.
I can’t see him either, but I can hear him.

“I had no idea that he was going to behave this way.” He sounds frustrated. Not hair-pulling frustrated, but definitely pacing frustrated.
His footsteps are heavy as they trudge back and forth.

“It’s alright. I understand.” Donald’s voice is apathetic.
There’s a deep sigh, followed by a prolonged silence. Everything stands still. Even Gerard’s strokes stop as the silence is roaring through the house, and I swear I can almost hear the TV from downstairs – either through the two doors or the concrete that doubles as a floor and a ceiling.
Gerard offered to send the guys home, but I refused, telling him I just needed a few minutes to collect myself. He didn’t argue.

“Actually, I came here with one more message.” My eyes widen and my body tenses. Gerard’s strokes pick up again – a little faster this time, I think – and tickle the skin that’s stretching over my tense hand.
“Frank has to be in court on Monday. His mother’s trial is ready to begin, and he needs to give a testimony. It will be brief and private. Only him, the judge and the lawyers representing each side of the case. They have all heard the tapes from the police hearing, so all Frank will need to do is tell it again, so they know that he’s telling the truth.”

They will judge me. I won’t go to jail, but they will still judge me. I will be the weakling – the wimp – of the room, and they will laugh inwardly at the fact that I’ve been abandoned by my father and beaten by my mother.
I’ll be a joke to them – to everyone who hears about this.
But what if my stories don’t match up? What if I say something different or I forget to mention something I said back at the station? What if I accidentally lie?
Will they then let my mom go free?

“He has to be there by 9am.” I’m going to miss school.
“After this, he will probably have to give a public statement in court when that time comes.” I can’t escape this. I have to be judged in order to judge my mother.
I need to do this.