The Frisson
Gabe
The phones rang through my ears, it was a usual day; everyone was busy. A multitude of people lined up at the front desk, all in search of some sort of aid. I’d love to say, I give them that aid, that I fought their cases in court, that I gave them the advice they needed, but that’d only be a lie. I’m simply a volunteer.
“Get Dovani on the phone.” I looked over at one of the attorneys, Michelson. He was a man in his early fifties, with a family of two boys and a grandkid on the way. For the past twenty years he’s been a public defender.
Nodding to him, I picked up the phone and dialed the number without thought. Calling Dovani, the county judge, was nothing new.
While Michelson spoke with the man, I left my small desk and went to the coffee station. I’ve been here for five years, starting a year after earning my paralegal license from the National Bar Association. In that time, I’ve seen a lot. It was really shocking how many people needed in what I thought was a small town. Half of the people I’d never seen before, then again, I moved here after graduation, six years ago.
“Still just keepin’ this as pro-bono work, Gabe?” I smiled as I looked at Maggie. She’d been working here since the beginning of time, or so it seemed. Lines etched her face, telling a story of laughter and hardship. She was a good woman, but very stubborn. Since I first stepped foot in the door, she’d been at me to work with legal aid full time.
“Still have those college debts to pay off, Maggie.” She nodded before looking at the time.
“Very well, anyways, I’ll see you next week, need to get home to Herb.” She smiled before finding her coat and wrapping a scarf around her neck as she made her way out of the office. Sighing, I ran a hand through light brown hair before taking a sip of the cold coffee. Unless the attorneys stayed late tonight, that’d be the last of the coffee made, no new pots for the night.
“Go home, Willoughby, we’re done with you for the night.” I nodded at Michelson before tossing the rest of the cup, I’d stop at Starbucks or something on the way home, and grabbing my coat. Sometimes I wondered why I continued to volunteer, it was only one day in the week and it wasn’t like I could fight these people’s cases.
With another sigh, I stepped out into the cold, I quickly found my car, a ’91 Honda Civic. The old girl was on her last leg, but I needed to get as much out of her as possible. I couldn’t afford a new car yet. She’d gotten me through the last years of high school and college, I just needed her a little while longer.
As I put the key in the ignition, I glanced around. I bit my lip as I felt a familiar frisson. It was dark; the streetlights cast a yellow glow over the run down buildings and worn roads. I was willing to give my time, but each week I always wondered if I would soon need to acquire a license to carry a concealed weapon. After a minute I started the car and made my way to the apartment, now longer thinking of the moment of fear I'd felt.
From my pocket, I felt a vibration, my phone. With my eyes on the road, I pulled it out, answering it as fast as I could.
“Hello?”
“Gabriel Willoughby.” Rolling my eyes, I grinned at hearing an old familiar voice.
“What’s up, Tucker?” Tucker and I had been roommates, freshman through senior year. While I was on the track to becoming a paralegal, he was on the track to doing something with computers.
“Just seein’ if you wanted to catch a beer tonight. Back in town.” At least four times a month, he visits, claiming his own life his too boring to stay home. He’s single, has an apartment filled with Star Was memorabilia and some of the latest technology. It doesn’t surprise me that he visits, not that my life’s any more interesting.
“I’ll see you at the Old Mill Tavern, on my way back from the projects.” We talked for another minute before hanging up. He had to one of the few from my college days that I still spoke with; maybe because he helped me through everything back then, I don’t know.
Turning the volume up on my radio, an old Weezer tune blared from the speakers as I made my way to the Tavern. It was a regular meeting spot before heading to the apartment where he slept on the couch. It was the regular routine. Like many, I like my routine. It keeps me settled.
“Get Dovani on the phone.” I looked over at one of the attorneys, Michelson. He was a man in his early fifties, with a family of two boys and a grandkid on the way. For the past twenty years he’s been a public defender.
Nodding to him, I picked up the phone and dialed the number without thought. Calling Dovani, the county judge, was nothing new.
While Michelson spoke with the man, I left my small desk and went to the coffee station. I’ve been here for five years, starting a year after earning my paralegal license from the National Bar Association. In that time, I’ve seen a lot. It was really shocking how many people needed in what I thought was a small town. Half of the people I’d never seen before, then again, I moved here after graduation, six years ago.
“Still just keepin’ this as pro-bono work, Gabe?” I smiled as I looked at Maggie. She’d been working here since the beginning of time, or so it seemed. Lines etched her face, telling a story of laughter and hardship. She was a good woman, but very stubborn. Since I first stepped foot in the door, she’d been at me to work with legal aid full time.
“Still have those college debts to pay off, Maggie.” She nodded before looking at the time.
“Very well, anyways, I’ll see you next week, need to get home to Herb.” She smiled before finding her coat and wrapping a scarf around her neck as she made her way out of the office. Sighing, I ran a hand through light brown hair before taking a sip of the cold coffee. Unless the attorneys stayed late tonight, that’d be the last of the coffee made, no new pots for the night.
“Go home, Willoughby, we’re done with you for the night.” I nodded at Michelson before tossing the rest of the cup, I’d stop at Starbucks or something on the way home, and grabbing my coat. Sometimes I wondered why I continued to volunteer, it was only one day in the week and it wasn’t like I could fight these people’s cases.
With another sigh, I stepped out into the cold, I quickly found my car, a ’91 Honda Civic. The old girl was on her last leg, but I needed to get as much out of her as possible. I couldn’t afford a new car yet. She’d gotten me through the last years of high school and college, I just needed her a little while longer.
As I put the key in the ignition, I glanced around. I bit my lip as I felt a familiar frisson. It was dark; the streetlights cast a yellow glow over the run down buildings and worn roads. I was willing to give my time, but each week I always wondered if I would soon need to acquire a license to carry a concealed weapon. After a minute I started the car and made my way to the apartment, now longer thinking of the moment of fear I'd felt.
From my pocket, I felt a vibration, my phone. With my eyes on the road, I pulled it out, answering it as fast as I could.
“Hello?”
“Gabriel Willoughby.” Rolling my eyes, I grinned at hearing an old familiar voice.
“What’s up, Tucker?” Tucker and I had been roommates, freshman through senior year. While I was on the track to becoming a paralegal, he was on the track to doing something with computers.
“Just seein’ if you wanted to catch a beer tonight. Back in town.” At least four times a month, he visits, claiming his own life his too boring to stay home. He’s single, has an apartment filled with Star Was memorabilia and some of the latest technology. It doesn’t surprise me that he visits, not that my life’s any more interesting.
“I’ll see you at the Old Mill Tavern, on my way back from the projects.” We talked for another minute before hanging up. He had to one of the few from my college days that I still spoke with; maybe because he helped me through everything back then, I don’t know.
Turning the volume up on my radio, an old Weezer tune blared from the speakers as I made my way to the Tavern. It was a regular meeting spot before heading to the apartment where he slept on the couch. It was the regular routine. Like many, I like my routine. It keeps me settled.