Skin and Bones

“Alright. Frank,” the female judge says sternly, yet kindly, and I look from my hands up at her.
“I need you to remember that you are not the one who’s on trial here. I’ve already heard your statement. I understand that you might remember more things now than you did this Monday, but as long as you speak the truth, it doesn’t matter what you say. We have all the evidence that you were abused, now we just need you to tell the court what happened. Alright?” I nod quickly. She nods back and looks down at her papers.
I look down at my hands.

“The defendant may start.” I rub my thumb against my palm – hard.
They’re gonna ask me questions. They’re gonna make me go through all the painful memories and have me feel like I’m the one on trial despite what the judge just said.
But worst of all; they’re gonna make me send my mom to prison.

“Frank.” I glance up and see the face of my mom’s lawyer. Behind him, I catch a glance of my mom’s brown hair and I quickly look back down. I haven’t properly looked at her since I got in here. I’m facing her – sitting about 15 feet away from her – but I just can’t look at her.
“When did the abuse start?” The word ‘abuse’ makes me flinch. I glance up at the lawyer. He’s standing in front of my mom, so I can’t see her in the background.
But I do see everyone else in this courtroom. They’re staring at me.

“About a month ago,” I mumble and look down at the wooden semi-wall in front of me. At least people can’t see how fat my thighs look when I sit in this chair that’s too high for me.

“And do you have any idea why?” I swallow carefully. I’m know, but I don’t want to tell the entire truth. She slapped me because I told her I was gay, but she was drunk at the time. Actually, I think she was drunk every time.
I guess that’s the common denominator.

“She drank.” I don’t remember if I told the judge this. I don’t know if I mentioned this last Monday. What if they think I’m lying?

“Was she under the influence every time she hit you?” He wants this. He wants me to admit that she was drunk every time she hit me, so maybe she won’t get as harsh a sentence.
But I don’t want her to.

“I think so.” I don’t want her to rot in prison. I don’t want her to think that I’m the reason she got a long sentence. I don’t want her to hate me. I just want my mom back. I just can’t let go of my mom – the mom she used to be.

“Do you think this impaired her judgment?”

“Objection. Calls for an opinion,” the guy from court says quickly – turns out he’s a lawyer. He sounds relaxed, but outraged – like he knows he’s right, but needs to put some emotion behind it to make it less cocky.

“Sustained.”

“Do you know when and why she began to drink?” Of course he knows. My mom has told him. He knows about the doctors thinking I’m-
The doctors know what I am. And they told my mom. And now she told her lawyer, so she can get off easily.
But my eating disorder shouldn’t affect her sentence. If anything, her not taking care of me while I was…sick, should only add more years to her sentence.
But I don’t want that.

“She was upset that I was anorexic,” I say truthfully. I feel everyone stare at me. I can practically hear their minds scream out ‘what? How can he be anorexic? He’s fat!’

“I’m done, your Honor,” my mom’s lawyer says, and I hear him walk away.

“Mr. Guy, you may question the witness,” the judge says, and the guy from court gets up and walk towards me, straitening his dress jacket. He smiles kindly, but I only look down.

“Frank. Would you please tell us what your mother did to you?” He’s standing in front of me, but I don’t wanna look at him. My mom is right behind him. I can’t look at her.

“She slapped me,” I mumble quietly. My cheek stings a bit.

“Why, when and where?” I look off to the side and bite my lip briefly.
I’m not even sure how I feel right now. Something in my gut tells me that it hurts to bring back all the memories, but I can’t cry. My face and brain feels numb, while my stomach aches. The memories are easy to recall.

“I had made us dinner for when she came home from work. She didn’t like it. I told her that I was eating again, and she wanted to know why. When I told her, she slapped me.”

“And this was back when you had an eating disorder?” I nod.

“You have to answer out loud, sweety,” the judge says, and I quickly look up at her and nod apologetic.
I look back at the guy. He’s standing in front of my mom so I can’t see her, but over his right shoulder, I spot Gerard. He’s smiling sadly. I lock my eyes with his comforting, bloodshot ones.

“Yes.” Gerard’s eyes are helping me. Even though they’re sad and surrounded by tears, they’re giving me the strength I need to finish this.

“Do you still suffer from this eating disorder?” Gerard looks at the guy’s back quickly, before he looks back at me and gives me the same look he gave me yesterday on the stairs right before dinner.

“I’m getting better,” I answer truthfully. Gerard smiles through the sadness in his eyes.

“And is this the only time she hurt you?” I keep staring into Gerard’s eyes as I tell the entire room about how my mother punched, kicked and stepped on me repeatedly until I finally fought back and ran away. Through the entire story, my eyes stay only on Gerard. It’s the first time he hears it, and I can tell it’s hard for him, but he’s also happy. He smiles every once in a while to tell me that he’s proud of me and grateful that I’m telling him too.

When I’m allowed off the witness stand, the judge calls a recess and everyone files out. Except for Donna, Gerard, Mikey and I. We stay in the courtroom for a little while and don’t leave until Gerard and I feel comfortable enough to stop hugging.

-----

We’re sitting at a diner near the courthouse. We went here after I’d testified. Gerard is sitting next to me, rubbing my hand gently as he eats his burger. I slowly eat my tuna salad – without any help.

I can tell Donna was kinda sadden by the fact that I hadn’t told her about my trouble with eating, but she’s taking it well. She told me that I never have to eat anything I don’t want to, but that she’d be happy if I tasted all of the food she served. I promised her that I would.

A tune suddenly starts playing, and Donna rummages through her purse and gets out her cellphone. The tune stops playing when she flips it open.

“Donna Way.” While Donna repeats the words ‘mhm’ and ‘okay’, Gerard softly strokes my hand underneath the table. I smile up at him and he leans down to give me a quick kiss. I melt away into another world for a moment as I relish in the feel of his warm, wet lips on mine.
“Thank you,” Donna says and I start pulling myself back into the real, moving world that isn’t stuck in one moment forever.
“Bye.” She hangs up her phone and I hear her put it down on the table. I open my eyes to see her looking at me.
“That was Mr. Guy.” As if a bomb just went off, my head jolts back a bit from the shockwave. Donna smiles sweetly, but there’s sadness in her eyes.
“Your mom got 8 years of prison, with a possibility of transferring to an open prison after 5.” My gaze falls onto the table as I take in the news. I can barely understand it. It seems too big for me to comprehend.

I sent my mom to prison.

Gerard presses his lips to my cheek and whispers something against my skin. I can’t hear him.
I don’t know how I feel. There’s an uneasy feeling in my stomach that could potentially turn into tears, but at the same time there’s a light feeling in my chest that could make me laugh in relief.
I’m torn. I don’t know how to feel.

I sent my mom to prison.