Tallulah

Everything is a little blurry, or it was anyway, but it’s settled down now. I’ve told people my name, birthday, address, and other pieces of personal information enough times now that it doesn’t even sound like they’re real things anymore. But now that I’ve sat in this room for the last twenty minutes, staring at my reflection in the mirror and taking in my disheveled appearance—at the small tear on the collar of my dress, the dried blood on my cheek, my wild hair, the dried tears on my cheeks, and the bags underneath my eyes—I’ve finally been able to come to terms with what’s just happened.

I'm free.

Isn't that funny? As morbid as it sounds, I’m free. And I didn’t want it to come this far—I love him—but I wasn’t going to let him hurt me anymore. I just couldn’t. And I was also so angry about Grace—he lied right to my face and so did she and it’s finally just hitting me now. It's over. I want to cry but I can’t. I feel numb.

I take the moment to take in my surroundings again because it feels so surreal.

My name is Tallulah Roosevelt. (It’s weird saying that again. Tallulah Roosevelt, not Papadopoulos, not Papadopoulos-Roosevelt. No. Just Roosevelt. I almost feel like me again.) I’m twenty six years old and having a baby in two weeks. I shot my husband two hours ago. And now I’m here.

I did it.

Selma County Sheriff’s Department.

I should be scared. I should be terrified. I should be screaming and crying and telling them how sorry I am—I didn’t mean it really please let me go home please—but I’m not. I’m calm, and that scares me more than the prospect of what may very well happen to me. I look down at my dress and close my eyes at the splatters and how my belly swells so much that the buttons on the already ill-fitting dress threaten to pop right off and bounce off the one-way mirror.

“So, you—”

“I want to talk to a lawyer.” The police officer looks up at me, ruddy face falling slightly as he sighs and stands up, pinching the file between his grubby, fat fingers. “Please.”

“One’ll be with you shortly, ma’am. You just sit tight and holler if you need anything.” I sigh and he leaves, waddling out of the room as he shuts the door quietly.

I glance at my hand—the diamond ring and the thin band make me want to laugh, and I do, because they’re symbols of the one thing Addie couldn’t do, which was love me. I should take it off, right? We’re not married anymore, but I can’t, because they’re still mementos of a time when I was actually happy, when we were happy. Where we ever happy? I’d like to think we were, even for a little while.

I rest my hand on my belly, rubbing it slowly as I stare blankly at the door. I want to cry, but I can’t. I physically can’t, so I just tap my foot against the floor slowly instead, trying to calm myself down. I’m not due for another two weeks, and it dawns on me that he’s probably not going to be there, considering the events of the last two hours.

“Mrs. Papadopoulos?” I blush a little because he used to say that, but not nearly so questioning, before everything got so messed up and— "I’m your public defender, Mr. Elks.” He’s young, like Addie was—is?—and his eyes are brown and his smile is reserved and quiet as he places a brown suitcase on the metal table. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything, because it’s finally sinking in that I really did do this and that the blood on my dress isn’t just a spot in my vision. I can’t believe it. He keeps talking and I don’t understand any of what he’s saying because it all seems so surreal. “Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry?” I ask, shaking my head. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

“I want to know what happened. I can’t help you unless you’re honest with me.” I gnaw on my lip and he starts going through a file similar to the one the police officer had. “How long have you been married?”

“Eight years,” I say quietly, thumbing the hem of my dress. I drink some water shakily, rubbing my arm.

“And what does your husband do?”

“He's a cameraman, but he used to be a firefighter.”

“How’s the relationship between you two?” He starts writing some things down on a yellow notepad and I sigh. “You’re expecting, so I suppose things were good?” I shrug, rubbing my belly when the baby starts kicking.

“No. I was good to him. That doesn’t mean he was good to me.”

“So what why are you here?” he asks, propping his head up.

“I shot him.” Mr. Elks looks over at me, surprised. “I didn’t mean to do it, just like he didn’t mean to cheat on me, or hurt me, or do anything else he did to me.”

“What?”

“I mean—okay—he… he cheated on me during our whole relationship. He hit me. He slapped me. He almost pushed me down the stairs once, but I’d like to think it was an accident. Maybe. I don’t know." I stop short, biting my lip. "He just… he made feel like I wasn’t anyone without him, like I couldn't be anything unless he was with me. I just—I came to Alabama because I wanted a fresh start, you know? We’d just found out I was pregnant, so I told him it was time for a change. To be honest, I just didn’t want to raise my baby so far away from my family. I missed them because I didn’t have anyone but him. He wasn’t ever home. He was always at work or with her. That stupid little…” I shake my head. “He had a mistress.”

“So there were a lot of issues?”

“That’s putting it lightly.” I look down as I started to cry. “You don’t understand. I should have left. I know I should have. I just—I loved him so much.” I cover my mouth as Mr. Elks slides a handkerchief across the table. I look up at him, curious. (Addie never gave me a handkerchief when I cried. He just looked at me and told me to stop, maybe hugged me or kissed me, but this lawyer’s small act of kindness makes me smile.) “I’m sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes. “Anyway… I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to kill him, okay? I didn’t just fly off the handle and go crazy. It just happened. So, anyway, he—he had this mistress. And he’s had others before, but she was... different. I caught him on our first Valentines’ Day with the intern from his office. He promised me it wouldn’t happen ever again. He was a pretty good liar back then, and I was young and stupid. I was 19, for God’s sake and I thought he wouldn’t ever lie to me, so I believed him.”

“He’s had other affairs?”

“Many. I think, including his latest…conquest of sorts, it’s been about 12 or 13. The others didn’t matter to me because they were just stupid girls and he loved me. I mean, he had to. You don’t run away to the other side of the country with someone you don’t love, right? We eloped a month after my 19th birthday. I thought that meant something. That meant he loved me, at some point. Anyway,” I say, shaking my head as I move my hair off my shoulder. “This one was different.”

“How?”

“Before I met Addie, there was a boy named Percy. I was a freshman in high school and he was on the football team and I really liked him, or at least I thought I did. It turns out I didn’t, but he always liked me. When I got with Addie, he was kind of sad, but I know he got over it. He married this white girl named Grace. I didn’t know about her until I moved back and ran into Percy and he invited me to this party at his house.” I rub my belly when I get a cramp, biting my lip. “I, uh, I went with Addie because he rarely let me go anywhere without him. At least until he met her. Grace and I were friends. Or I thought we were.”

“So he slept with Grace?”

“She was my best friend.”

Mr. Elks looks sympathetic as he nods, setting his pen down.

“The worst part was that they both acted like they weren’t doing anything wrong and kept lying to me. I trusted her.” I sigh, looking down. “Today, I invited her over so she could help me settle down the nursery. I’m technically supposed to be on bedrest because I went into false labor a few weeks ago, but…” I shrug. “Anyway, I confronted her today and she had the nerve to tell me I didn’t love him.” I look at Mr. Elks, annoyed. “Do you think I’d take all his nonsense for the last eight years if I didn’t love him?”

“Was he home?”

“Not then.” I sigh—how can I talk about this? “I had been planning on leaving him after I had the baby. I’m due any day now, if you haven’t noticed. But after Grace pretty much confirmed that Addie—I mean, Adonis—it’s weird, calling him that. Anyway, after she confirmed my suspicions, I decided that I had to leave. I didn’t want to raise a child with someone who didn’t love me and hit me and cheated on me. What kind of example would that set?” I sigh, starting to cry. “I don’t—I don’t wanna—I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Mrs. Papadopoulos.”

“It’s Tallulah.” Calling myself Tallulah instead of Lulu—his Lulu, his stupid little naïve girl—feels odd, but good, like I’m almost myself. Almost. “I just can’t. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I never wanted that, you need to understand. You have to believe me.”

“I do.”

“He came home when I was packing my things. My sister is a lawyer and she was going to help me find an attorney once I left. I was going to stay with my parents until I had the baby, which is going to be soon, I guess. I just wanted to leave and he wasn’t letting me. He hit me. He pulled my hair. He slapped me. He just... I was getting sick and tired of being treated like I didn't mean anything to him anymore." I glance up at him and bite my lip nervously. "Anyway, uh, there was this, uh, gun in his nightstand that I found while I was getting my things together. I was actually looking for money. I didn’t even know he had it and I wasn’t going to use it, but I had to get away and keep him away.”

I can’t stop crying and it feels like I can’t breathe until Mr. Elks asks me to calm down, rubbing my hand.

“You’re okay, Tallulah. It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?" I asked, glancing at him curiously, sniffling as I tried to collect myself. "I didn’t want to shoot him, okay? That wasn't... that wasn't ever supposed to happen. I loved him, okay? But he was going to hurt my baby and I didn’t want him to do it again, not again.” I start hiccupping as I shake in the chair, covering my mouth. “I wasn't going to let him do that to me anymore. I was just trying to protect myself.”

“I understand.” He lets me cry for a few moments, and by the time he starts talking again, I’ve managed to calm down enough to listen to what he has to say. “You’re very brave. I hope you know that.”

“If I were brave, don't you think I would have left sooner?” I clean my face off again and blow my nose on a handkerchief he passes me. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

“Well… from what you’re telling me, we can probably enter a not guilty plea on the grounds of self-defense. I’m assuming the D.A.—that’s the district attorney or his assistant—is going to try to convince you to agree to a plea bargain, but I don’t think you should take it because you didn’t do anything wrong. You were defending yourself, like you said. If I can pull some strings, I might be able to have you not spend the night in jail like you normally would because of your present condition. Tomorrow, there’s going to be an arraignment. That’s where the State charges you formally with whatever crime they think you committed. The trial won’t start for a few weeks while evidence is gathered and both sides build a case against each other. I can’t guarantee anything, but we might just have a shot of winning this thing. Maybe.”

“You think so?”

Despite Mr. Elks’—his name is Leonard—best efforts, I don’t spend the night in jail, but rather, handcuffed to a metal table with an officer watching me for the whole night. I want to sleep but can’t—I keep having contractions, not to mention I’m tired, hungry, and still in shock at what happened. At least they were nice enough to take my clothes—for ‘evidence’—but they give me a white and black jumpsuit instead. It smells like sweat and desperation.

“I can't wear this. I’m not a criminal,” I say as I stand in the small room, feeling exposed as the heavy officer scowls.

“Says you. That’s all you’re getting.”

They do buy me dinner, but I can’t keep any of it down and end up throwing into the wastebasket. So I spend the night drinking a lot of water and having to pee, but not wanting to wake the scrawny guard assigned to me for the evening, and replaying the day’s events over and over and over. I still can't believe any of this is real.

Did any of it really happen?

When Mr. Elks comes the next morning, the guard—the officer was switched out with a nervous kid who probably just graduated from the Academy or something—all but ran from the room, like I was going to hurt him when I was cuffed to a table and could barely reach the empty water pitcher, much less do anything else. I stare at him in disbelief, shaking my head as I turn to my lawyer.

After we greet each other, he frowns, setting his brief case down.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s all they gave you to wear?” I nod, shrugging. “Goddamnit. Elaine sent over a bunch of dresses for you from the shelter—”

“Elaine?”

“I work for a women’s shelter, and they heard about your case and sent me over. They think it’s good press for them. They’re putting up your bail, whatever it is, and they got you this apartment downtown so you could stay there during the trial and all that. It’s nice. Elaine’s one of the social workers. She came down here on foot with a Macy’s bag full of all that kind of lady stuff so you could at least be a little more comfortable. They didn’t give you any of it?”

“No. That was nice of her though. So I’m like the poster child for domestic violence victims all of a sudden? It’s a good look for me, huh?” He shakes his head and I try to smile a little, but I’m not sure how it comes out. The action feels foreign. “I’m just kidding. Addie - I mean, Adonis always said I couldn't tell jokes." I feel awkward, so I try to change the subject. "So I don’t have to pay for any of this?”

“Nope. It’s a pro bono case. It’s on the house, Tallulah. I’ll make sure they give you Elaine’s bag before you leave though. You don’t need to be paraded around like that.”

“Thank you.” I gnaw on my thumbnail, glancing at my wrist. “I don’t think I can drag this table in with me, right? Can they unlock me, please? It's actually very uncomfortable.”

The ride to the courthouse is a blur. Mr. Elks can’t ride with me, so I’m left with the same nervous kid and his partner. The scanner is background noise. I wish I could open the window because I’m so damn hot and it smells like stale beer and sweat back here, but I’m not going to ask them. They’ve got me in cuffs again. Apparently, a woman who’s 38 weeks pregnant and is as weak as a scarecrow is a serious threat to everyone, including armed officers.

We drive past news crews and photographers on the courthouse steps. I frown, wanting to scratch the itchy spot on my neck where my hair is sticking to my neck. Why are they here? Am I on the news? How did it all get out so quickly? It dawns on me then that I haven’t spoken to my family at all and that they must be terribly worried about me. I have to call them after this, I think as the car comes to a stop in an alleyway. The nervous kid’s partner opens my door and helps me out, and then walks with me into a door. This is a side entrance to the courthouse. (Apparently Mr. Elks was very serious about not having me ‘paraded’.) We find ourselves in the lobby soon, where Mr. Elks is waiting, reading the paper.

After the officer leaves, he leads me into the elevator, where he asks me if I’m okay.

“As okay as I can be after the kind of night I had,” I say, shaking my head. “This dress is too small and it itches.”

“Sorry.” He looks apologetic as the doors open. “Elaine hasn’t met you yet, so she just guessed. They’ve got a room ready for us to wait until the judge can see us.”

The courthouse hasn’t changed much since the last time I was here. The room I’m in is oddly familiar, the chairs look the same and the window looks out into the same city square. I stand there and stare for a few moments while Mr. Elks sets himself up. I can’t figure out why it feels so familiar, but I’ll think about it later.

“Okay, so while we’re in there, just let me do the talking. Regardless of what the prosecution says, and trust me, they’re going to say a lot. Most of it will be untrue, or at least, twisted around. They're good at that.” I nod, watching as more and more reporters gather outside. Has the news really spread that quickly? “It’s going to be okay. You have to trust me.”

Trust. I almost laugh. I shot the last man I trusted. It’s a joke—a morbid joke—and I’m surprised I can even make it. I lean against the wall as another contraction rolls through me, breathing slowly. I’m due soon. Really soon. I can feel it. I’m not really due until August 21, but I think this baby is going to come a lot sooner.

Hopefully.

I rub my belly soothingly, trying to relax. I try to fill my mind with positive things, the color of the sky, of the sea, the smell of freshly cut grass, freshly baked cookies—happy things. It doesn't help me very much, though.

“You okay?” Mr. Elks asks, standing up. “Judge Madison is ready for us.” I nod and follow him out of the room, walking slowly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just—it’s just the stress. The baby gets worked up.”

I had thought, while I sat in that humid interrogation room, that the next time I saw Adonis, I’d be strong, firm, unyielding. I wouldn’t let him affect me. I’d feel bad, maybe, but that was it, but it would probably be during the trial. It wouldn’t be so bad. I really didn’t think I’d see him at the arraignment, so you can imagine my surprise when I see him sitting there with his serious, somber face staring straight ahead with a man in a crisp grey suit.

Am I going to faint? I feel like I'm going to faint. The baliff swears us in and I answer distractedly, still staring at him. He's alive. I didn't kill him. Not that I was planning on it or was hoping I had, but I had been entertaining the prospect of what would happen if I did kill him. But obviously, all my worrying is for naught, because there he is, in the flesh. I look down at my handcuffed hands resting on my belly, head spinning as I struggle to collect myself.

I hear them talking - but I can't breathe and I can't focus because he's here. And if that weren't bad enough, my contractions are starting to get really bad. Not like they did when I thought I was going into labor, but much, much worse. I bite my lip as I try not to whimper, struggling to keep breathing through my nose.

"How does the defendant plead?"

"Not guilty by reason of self-defense," Mr. Elks says confidently. I can't look up, so I just keep trying to rub my belly and breathe. It's hard though, when he scoffs and his lawyers have to settle him. I still can't believe this is happening.

"We would like the defendant to be remanded without bail - "

"Objection," Mr. Elks says, almost annoyed. "I don't know if the prosecution has noticed, but my client happens to be ready to give birth any minute and being detained will only put more stress on her and her child."

"She's obviously dangerous - "

"How? This was an isolated incident wherein my client was trying to defend the life of - "

"Save it, counselor," the judge says, sitting up in his chair with a heavy sigh. "Until the end of trail, this court orders the defendant to be placed under house arrest. Sound fair, counselors?" I look at Mr. Elks. House arrest? I don't have a house. My house is now a crime scene. Even if it weren't, I'm sure that there must be some news vans waiting for me there. Where am I supposed to go? "Is there anything else?"

"While we're here, my client would like to make a motion for divorce."

Divorce? I suppose I really should have seen it coming - I shot him, for crying out loud, but divorce? The word unsettles me and makes me feel ill, the itchy material of the dress sticking to me with sweat as another wave of contractions roll through me.

"We'll have the papers drawn up by the end of the week."

I gasp quietly, gnawing on my bottom lip as I feel something wet start trickling down my leg.

"No," I say softly, looking down. "God, no."

"Counselor, control your client," the judge says sternly, shooting me a look. I look at Mr. Elks apologetically as my water breaks for good, splashing against the floor.

"I'm sorry, I just, uh - " I look down at the puddle on the floor and start to cry, hiccuping, " - my water just broke, I think? I really need to go to the hospital, now, please."